The Five Sisters of Kintail

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Until the winter of 2031, they kept to the high Cairngorm peaks, each one claiming its own territory atop a craggy mountain pass, and only descending into the valley below when food was scarce.

It was on December 13, 2031, when Rian Baird, Senior Ranger for the National Trust of Scotland, set out from the carpark near Loch Shiel, in response to a report of a rockfall blocking the trail from the river valley up to one of the Five Sisters of Kintail, the peaks rising high above the valley. Climate change had brought fierce weather to the Scottish Highlands, causing extensive damage to the carefully-maintained trails. As Senior Ranger, it was Rian's duty to see that conditions were safe for hikers or to close the trail until repairs could be made.

The weather report called for more snow by nightfall, but it was barely midmorning. He would have time and enough to get to the damaged section of the trail, make some temporary repairs—or, if the conditions were dangerous, mark out a detour—and get back home in time for tea with his Mrs. and his two girls.

Rian set off on the trail along the old military route, heading for Sgurr na Moraich. He had been climbing for near on two hours when the clouds closed in overhead, shutting out the sun and casting the trail in darkness. The predicted storm had come in fast and faster. Looking ahead up the trail, he saw more snow already falling to blanket the slopes ahead. On top of the half-meter already on the ground, this storm could close the trail completely.

As much as he loved his job, Rian knew it wasn’t worth his life. Continuing on in these conditions was simply too dangerous. The temperature continued dropping as he dug through his pack for an extra pair of gloves. It was time to turn back and call it a day. He could only hope that no one else was up there on the trail ahead, heading over the peaks in the face of the storm.

As the snow began to fall in huge flakes around him, he squinted against the sudden onslaught. Intermittent ice crystals blew against his face, and even with his heavy scarf wrapped thrice around his mouth and ears, the frozen precipitation battered what little exposed skin it could find.

The storm came in howling fit to wake a dead warrior from his grave. Rian just hoped he would be able to make it back down before he became the next victim of the Cairngorms’ unpredictable weather.

Stumbling through the sudden white-out, Rian knew he was in danger. The trail beneath his boots grew squishy, soft dirt and native plants hidden beneath the ever-deepening snow, when he should have been walking on hard-packed gravel. At the back of his mind was the realization that even now he could be causing damage to the delicate foliage that spring’s awakening would reveal in a few short months. Native mountain foliage that could take decades to come back, and that he was entrusted to protect for future generations of Scots.

He couldn't worry about that now. The conditions had turned deadly on the mountainside. He tried to position himself mentally in the familiar landscape, now a trackless wilderness where he was as lost as any schoolchild. Toes nearly frozen through his heavy boots and woolen socks. Fingers numb inside two pairs of gloves. Even his thermal-tech long underwear wasn’t enough to retain body heat in the bitterly slashing wind.

Rian began looking around for a place to shelter, from the rising wind if not from the plummeting temperature. There was a pile of boulders somewhere along this section of the trail, if he was where he believed himself to be. But with the whiteout conditions, he couldn’t be sure of his position. And then—

Yes! Through the heavily-falling snow, he caught just a glimpse, the shadow of a large boulder. A monolith really, nearly twice his height. If he could get in close beside and beneath it, he might be able to wait out the storm without freezing. He stumbled further off the now-nonexistent trail and burrowed in as close as he could get to the rockface, finding a hollow at the base and pulling his pack in front of him to ward off the wind.

Snow quickly began to pile up against his pack, burying him inside a burrow formed by the huge rock. Rian pulled the hood of his parka down nearly to his chin, tucking his head down and crossing his arms over his chest, hands buried deep in his armpits. Within moments he began to thaw, his shivering easing as the cessation of the wind against his wiry body allowed his blood to flow to his extremities. It was almost warm inside his rock-and-snow burrow. And he was exhausted by his struggle through the sudden storm. And the warmth—

The unexpected warmth.

Within moments, his eyes began to close.

***

<>What is this<>

The dragon of Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe poked at the tightly-wrapped piece of meat her sister had carried back to the summit.

<>The hunt was successful, Sisters<>

The dragon of Sgùrr na Càrnach gloated slightly, preening as she presented the evening meal to her clutchmates.

<>Not much meat on its bones<>

The dragon of Sgùrr Fhuaran tsk’ed, poking at the bundle with her claws, her natural inclination to criticism coming to the fore even when presented with the gift of a solid meal. But her sister spoke placatingly.

<>Enough for now. There is always more meat to be had<>

The dragon of Sgùrr nan Saighead spoke swiftly, always the peacemaker.

<>The storms are growing stronger every year<>

The dragon of Sgurr na Moraich did not seem displeased by the changing conditions. The snow dragons of the Cairngorms gloried in the biting cold, despite it making prey more difficult to find.

<>All to the good<>

The dragon of Sgùrr na Càrnach said, somewhat self-righteously. She had long despised the humans’ encroachment into their territory.

<>Soon the humans will leave our mountains<>

The dragon of Sgùrr na Ciste Duibhe, the oldest by several minutes, warned. She was the lazy one, preferring it when dinner came to her, instead of the other way around.

<>And we will follow them down to the valley<>

The dragon of Sgùrr na Càrnach spoke reassuringly. She was optimistic, as always. After all, they had survived over three thousand years of human encroachment in their territory. And the snow goddess had grown bountiful with her blessings in recent years. Climate change was proving to be a benefit. To some of earth’s denizens, at least.

<>Tonight we will eat. And with the new day comes new meat<>

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I have challenged myself to write twenty-seven dragon prologues/stories for the Vocal.media Fantasy Prologue Challenge, one for each day the challenge runs. Here's a link to my next entry: