The Shepherd

Wide-of-Wing is my name, and all who see me tremble. My lungs are of fire, and my skin of ash. I am shepherd of the mountain, stirrer of The Blood. Since the last Great Hatching I have watched over the flock and they have grown strong under my careful eye. When the scent of the mountain’s smoke called my brethren home and hatchlings rose from the fires, the feeding would be plenty.

I wove through yellow-leafed trees, scenting the turning of seasons in the roots of plants and the changing of colors. I did not stumble on roots, or catch my wings on branches. The ground-terrain was rough, but it was I who planted these trees. I had raked through the ashes of the last Great Hatching and made the earth alive once more.

Then I had found the first of my flock and carried them to the base of the mountain. They were different creatures than my brethren had shepherded before, but I was a different shepherd than the ones in years past and my flock was grander. They had no fur or scales, but the were resourceful and they wove second skins of many colors from the furs of other animals. Over the seasons since I had brought them here, almost a full mountain cycle now, they had constructed strange homes at the base of the mountain. The homes were not like the orange-fleet-foot’s den, or the little-blue-wings nests. Instead they crafted tree-like pillars from stone and placed canopies on top.

Some of my two-legged creatures could protect themselves, the large and the strong. But I had found that many were weak of body. Knowing this, I often scoured the perimeter for predators like I was today.

My flock knew my protection. They had watched it day and night, generation to generation. Once, they had been afraid of my teeth and claws. Now they worshiped me. How clever a shepherd I was to make them dote on me, even as I stirred the mountain’s Blood to bring about their butchers day. Even as the mountain shook the earth the flocklings did not leave. When The Pot in the mountain boiled hot and spit ash into the sky, still they stayed. How pitiful they were.

The scent of a pawed-hisser drifted past my nose. I tasted the air to determine the direction. Tiny to my eye, the vicious little creatures were still big enough to threaten the weaker of my flock. I wound through the trees faster than before, mind now set on the hunt.

I scented the tang of flockling blood before I spotted the pawed-hisser.

Not far ahead one of my flock was bleeding out on the ground. Red dripped from the chin of the pawed-hisser as it sank its teeth deeper into the flocklings neck. I scented another flockling in the area, hidden and uninjured. A rumble grew in my chest and the pawed-hisser’s head snapped up. Like a horned-deer in my wake it froze, eyes locked on mine. It cowered like all animals cowered. I stamped my foot and the creature bolted, but not fast enough. I pounced, easily crushing it beneath my feet.

While I licked the remnants of the predator off my claws, I scented for the hiding flockling. It was curled between the roots of a large tree, no more than a little hatchling. I cocked my head at the wet-faced little one. It was draped in a sky-blue second skin that stood out against the brown and yellow forest floor. I raised a claw to measure the hatchling, a wisp of a creature. Probably two summers old. I glanced back at the remains of its mother. There would be no one to take care of it now.

I lowered my nose and nudged the little one. It reached up and gripped one of the horns on my jaw. I lifted my head to pull the little one out of the tree-hole and set it upright where it could not see its mother. I spread my wings to make a comforting shelter.

The hatchling toddled to my foreleg and hugged it tightly, arms not even wrapping halfway around. I smelled no fear in the air, only the same trust all my flock had for their shepherd.

I would comfort this little flockling as long as need be before returning it to the flock-city. I understood its loss. My guardian had been old when I was hatched two mountain cycles ago. He left me on my own to build this flock only a season after the last Great Hatching. I had done well alone though, no flock had ever been larger than mine. This was the first flock that did not fear dragons, they stayed because they were guarded and—

The earth trembled under my claws, and the hatchling tumbled to the ground. My gaze shot to the mountain above. The Blood needed to be stirred before The Pot boiled over and destroyed my flock. They could not be destroyed yet, not until my brethren arrived and the next Great Hatching commenced.

I scooped the hatchling into my claws and launched into the sky off of three legs. My wings caught the air like a little-weaver catches insects and we were soaring over the treetops in seconds. The hatchling made strange noises from its seat in my claws, but I had to ignore it. The Pot needed to be stirred now.

Halfway up the mountain I landed softly on dry, rocky ground. The hatchling could go no further, and this spot was safe. No predators came this high.

I drew a circle in the ground and set the hatchling carefully inside. It toddled away from the circle and I growled, picking it back up and placing it inside. The little flockling stayed put this time and I took to the sky once more, satisfied.

The air was harsh and dry due to the liquid-fire Blood of the mountain. It stole the moisture from my lungs and helped the fire in me burn hotter. How I loved the warmth of The Pot.

I flew straight up. As the heat of the mountain had grown, so had the winds. They came down along the rim of The Pot with a force that would bully me to the ground if I was not high enough. I was not fond of scaling the mountain on foot, so upward I flew.

I saw the downdrafts before I entered them, and I narrowed my wings to lessen their power. For the spilt second that part of me was in the downdraft and part of me was not, it tried to flip me over. I stayed strong, angling myself slightly down to work with the sky. The next winds were not far ahead, wild updrafts that would shoot me thousands of feet into the air. I looked down into the mountain Pot I would soon enter. It was a liquid-fire eye in the center of a grey and brown mountain. The new winds would hit…now!

I tucked my wings to my sides and dropped into a streamlined free fall as the upward winds tried to take me. The rush of sky against my ears deafened me to all else. Beneath me the mountain Blood boiled and churned. A comforting scene of warmth. I closed my inner lids a second before the boiling was all around me. Every dive into the pot reminded me of my hatching, escaping my egg into this orange sea. I had only been hatched for a few seconds when the mountain exploded. It had launched The Blood, me, and my siblings into the air where we were caught by older dragons and glided down to the flock to feed. That year’s flock had been four-legged and furred.

It had been almost three mountain cycles since my hatchling now, and I was the keeper of The Pot I was hatched in. I swam to the bottom and widened my wings to stir The Blood. This was why I was shepherd. No dragon’s wings were wider than mine, so only I could stir The Pot so well. And it needed to be stirred. If I was not here to keep it cool it would have exploded four suns ago. There would have been no Great Hatching then. My brethren and I would have had to wait another cycle for a new brood. It worried me that I could only hold the mountain back a few more suns, would my brethren ever arrive? Ash was in the air, and it should have carried the news of the mountain to all the dragons.

When The Blood was soothed, I swam to the edge of the pot and scaled halfway up the wall. My claws brought tiny avalanches down into The Blood. There was no purchase to launch myself from, so I had found another way to make air. I glanced down, determining I was high enough.

In one swift motion I pushed off from the wall, twisted my body, and snapped out my wings. The updraft in the center of The Pot caught my wide wings with glee and launched me upward. It pushed unevenly on my wings, trying to unbalance me, but I flew firm.

I landed softly on the rocky terrain where I had left the little flockling. The sun had set during my stirring, and the hatchling had fallen asleep in its circle. I scented its contentedness in sleep, and detected no sadness for the mother it had lost today. It would be a pity to move it to the city now when it was so peaceful.

I set each claw down with care as I encircled the hatchling and spread my wing overtop. Together we slept through the night.

Cries awoke me from slumber long before I would have awoken myself. The hatchling’s screeches split the sky like dawn broke the night. I arched my back and stretched my wings before shaking off the thin layer of ash that had fallen in the night. The hatchling cried even harder when the ash rained back down on it. I huffed, sending grey-flakes swirling again. How small my flockling’s stomachs were that they needed to eat so often.

I lowered my head and rested it before the little flockling. It stopped crying to touch my nose. I scented not only hunger, but also sadness. There was nothing I could do for this little one but return it to the flock where its own kind could feed and comfort it.

I scooped the hatchling into my claws and glided down the mountain discontentedly. The flock’s city sprawled along the base of the mountain. It was a positioning I had encouraged when I brought the first of my flock here. It was the perfect spot to feed from when the time came.

The air was clearer here.Though grey-flakes snowed down on the mountain’s side. the ash had not reached the city yet. But by nightfall it would, and my flock was not built to survive clouded air.

I landed in the center of the city where a circle was always kept open for me. My flocklings came running to greet me with offerings of meat and metal. I roared to the sky and they backed away. Unfurling my claws, I revealed the little hatchling and it rolled to the ground. I plucked it up with two claws and stood it on its feet. It was still so I nudged it toward the flock where I scented worship and curiosity. I was their protecter, their god.

From the hatchling though, I scented only fear.

I cocked my head. Curious creatures my flock were. They were afraid of each other, but not me. How could I instill bravery in this little one? I turned it around to face me, and did what my guardian had always done. I flicked my tongue out and licked the hatchling from foot to head then puffed warm smoke onto its face. The hatchling stared at me, no change in posture. I scented the air. There was a little bit of bravery floating amidst the fear now.

My heart reached out for the little one. I could keep it with me for one day more. I had grown lonely stirring the pot and prowling the woods. What would it be like to have a companion to pass the time with? I had grown fond of all in my flock, but this one in particular was special.

A new scent drifted to my nose. My gaze snapped to the south where the silhouette of dragon’s hung in the sky. Without a thought I leapt to the air with joy, and went to meet the first of my brethren.Warm-of-Lung, Swift-of-foot, and Narrow-of-Gaze! Nearly a full mountain cycle I had been alone, but now I rejoiced. Narrow-of-Gaze greeted me with a roar, and I returned it. I met them in the sky and brushed my wingtips with theirs as we flew to the mountain.

I saw the admiration in each of their eyes as we flew over my flock and they saw its size. Pride warmed my heart and shivered down my tail. I had made something worthy.

I scented envy off of Swift-of-foot and a bit of hunger. A trickle of protectiveness bled into my scent, and Narrow-of-Gaze looked over in curiosity. I kept my eyes to the mountain. My flock was for the hatchlings. I was protective now for the same reason I always had been. For the hatchlings. Nothing else could take my flock’s lives, not even my brethren.

Four more arrived while the sun was still up, and fifteen during the night. I saw each of them eye the numbers of my flock with calculation. Wondering if I would notice if they feasted just a little bit before the Great Hatching. I left my brethren at dawn to keep watch over the city. I did not trust them to leave my flock alone until the Hatching, so I kept watch for predators as I always did.

When the sun was high I caught Swift-of-Foot carrying a flockling off into the sky. Rage turned my vision red, and I tore her wing. She spiraled to the ground, losing her grip on the flockling. I caught it, and flew it safely back to the city. My flock smelled of confusion and fear.

As more of my brethren arrived more of my flock were attacked. Some of my flocklings tried to run, but when my brethren saw this they posted sentries around the city to keep them contained. Generations of trust had kept my flock in place all these years, but now that trust was broken. I circled the city where I could, and kept the sentries in line, but I noticed a difference in my flock. They recognized me when I passed, and though there was still familiarity in their scents, there was also fear. I resented that fear, but I did not dare place that resentment on my brethren. The Great Hatching would be soon, and the scent of fear would leave the air when it was all over.

As more dragons arrived, the females flew over The Pot, and dropped their eggs into The Blood. When all the males had arrived we would seed the liquid-fire and the Great Hatching would commence.

The next day Tall-of-Head arrived. He was king amongst us, largest of dragons. Many cowered before him. When he roared we bowed, bellies to the ground. I saw the same hunger in his eyes that I had seen in so many other dragons, and that filled me with dread. Now that he was here we would seed tonight.

It was with heavy heart that I returned to guarding the city. Narrow-of-Gaze had taken to prowling with me, but that brought little comfort. I smelled the same hunger on him as all the others, the only difference was his patience. He would wait for the Great Hatching as all dragons were supposed to.

That night at the calling of Tall-of-Head the males seeded The Pot. It was a night of joy for dragons and so I celebrated with them, trying to find that joy in my heart. On the morrow there would be new dragons in our midst, something that happened only once every mountain cycle. So I pranced and wrestled with my brethren, but the joy did not come.

When the moon was setting Tall-of-Head, who I had not realized had left, returned.Tangled in his claws were at least twelve of my flock. The writhed and shouted to no avail. I stepped forward, but stopped. Tall-of-Head was large, and he was king. I could not go against him, so I ducked my head and growled only to myself as he tossed a flockling into the air and my brethren leapt to catch it.

I stiffened at the sound of a familiar cry, and raised my gaze into the imploring eyes of the little hatchling. On little legs it took a toddling step toward me. All around were the arching necks of predators. Without thought I ran to the little one. I rammed Tall-of-Head in the side, making him stumble away. Surprise and aggression swelled in the air. Tall-of-Head righted himself as I stood over my flocklings. Three tried to run from me, but I scooped them back and my gentle touch reminded them that I was their shepherd.

Tall-of-Head turned to face me, and I raised my wings. He may be the largest of us, but no dragon’s wings could match mine. I was Wide-of-Wing, shepherd of the flock and stirrer of The Blood. I had reigned over this land for a mountain cycle, and he would not stop me now.

I scented the air and found hostility from every side. I was keeping my brethren from food, it was not often that a dragon went hungry. I hissed.

My flock was not for them.

Not. For. Them.

Tall-of-Head’s tail flicked an instant before he attacked. I launched forward to meet him in the air, and keep our fight from squashing the flocklings.

We slammed together with an earth shattering force and fell to the ground in a twisted mass of muscle and ash. I landed on top with my teeth in his shoulder, but was quickly overturned. Tall-of-Head’s claws dug into my sides as he pinned me down. I struggled, but he ripped his teeth through my left wing, tearing it into two fluttering pieces. I screeched, and used my hind legs to push him away. Scrabbling upright, I felt the sharp rocks of the ground embedding themselves into a cut on my foot.

I readied myself to pounce again, but a scream from my flocklings stopped me. My brethren were picking them off while I was distracted. I ran back to my flock, relieved to see the little one still alive.

There were eight left. I stood over them with a snarl. Red oozed from cuts all across my body, and my torn wing bled faster than a river. Around me all of the dragons closed in. I could not fight them. I was one, and they were many. So I did the only thing I could.

I ensnared as many flocklings as I could in my forepaws and took to the sky. My torn wing nearly failed me, but through force of mind we rose. Behind me were the cries of the flocklings left behind. I had the little one at least, and a few others.

Keeping a straight course with a torn wing was a struggle like I had never known. With every wing beat my blood rained down on the forest below.

We were almost to the city when a gust of wind tore the rip in my wing all the way to its base. I spiraled to the ground with a screech, twisting to crash on my back so the flocklings wouldn’t be hurt.

All the air left my body on impact, and the stars wheeled above me. I lay in shock, unable to move. Only when I felt the flocklings crawling out of my claws and sliding down my chest to the ground was I able to roll to my side. I keened in pain.

The trees had slowed my fall, but their branches were spears in my back and splinters in my wings. In the air all I could scent was my own blood, thick and warm.

The flocklings pulled on my claws, urging me to stand, but I could not. I could not move without pain, breathe without the tangy smell of blood. I closed my eyes to the world. Without eyes I could not see the destruction to come. I saved these flocklings for only the night. Tomorrow The Great Hatching would come, and this pain will have been for nothing.

A tiny hand knocked on my eyelid. I opened reluctantly, just a slit, and was met with the face of the little hatchling. Its head was turned sideways to match mine. It placed its hand on my face and leaned forward. I felt the moisture of its little tongue as it licked me. Its cheeks puffed up as it blew cool breath on the little wet spot. Be brave it was telling me. Just as I had told it a few suns before.

The flocklings looked on with pale, wet lines streaking their ashy faces. I scented the fear they had of what was to come, but also something new. Worry. Worry for me.

I pushed myself from the ground and stood on shaky legs. The mountain quaked in an effort to fell me, but I was resilient. Be brave.

I led the way back to the city with all the strength I could muster. The city-flock fled when they saw the approach of a dragon, but when they recognized me they ran back. Scores of my flock rushed forward to help those I had led back. Then they led me through the ground-paths to the city center. There I collapsed.

I felt tiny members of my flock crawl over my back and under my belly. Their soft hands pulled out the splinters and mended the wounds. For hundreds of seasons I had protected my flock from all manner of dangers. Now they thanked me with their efforts. They must have guessed that I had raised them for the slaughter, but I scented no resentment. In the air there was only tenderness and caring. So small the creatures of my flock were, but so large were their hearts.

The soft touch of little hands and the warm embrace of love carried me to sleep.

I woke to the earth shaking. Ash fell from the sky like snow in the winter. I looked to the mountain. All the dragons sat around the rim of The Pot. From the center rose a cloud of black, a reverse waterfall of smoke. The Hatching was only hours away. I scented fear all around me, and for the first time I truly saw the terror of the mountain.

I realized as I counted every single one of my brethren around The Pot that now was my flock’s only chance. My brethren were distracted. All would be looking into The Blood for the first of the hatchlings to break the surface.

I scooped up the motherless flocking who had slept by my side, and ran on three legs through the streets. All the flocklings that saw me followed their shepherd to the edge of the city. I ran through them to split them into smaller groups and I stomped my feet to set them running. Hundreds of my flock ran from the city in troves and scattered into the woods. I dropped the little one into the arms of a wind-worn elder. The hatchling gripped my claw, but I shook it away. Longing to run with them filled me, but I needed to help all of my flock. Not just one.

Sooner than I had expected a dragon spotted the fleeing flock. My brethren rose from the mountain on many wings, and the hunt began.

I fought where I could, distracting Fleet-of-Foot long enough for a group of four flocklings to get away. I was swift and wilely with every rescue, darting in just in time, and leaving before my brethren could retaliate. But for all my fighting, I was not enough. The flock was rounded back up, and corralled to the city. I could have escaped then. My brethren were too busy gathering my flock to notice if I ran, but I did not. I would be no proper shepherd if I abandoned my flock.

We gathered, my flock and I, in the center of the city, and I saw that we were nearly half our numbers. I hoped that some of those half had escaped. It saddened my heart to see the little one was still among us. It toddled to my leg and sat on my toe. The scent in the air was no longer fear, but exhaustion. I scented my blood too. Many more wounds had been dealt to me in the fight for escape, and old ones had reopened. I could feel a lightness in my mind that signaled the end was near.

Many of my flock came to touch me. I scented their gratitude. I had not saved them, but together we had tried.

We sat together in companionable silence as the ash rained down softly and the dragons prowled all around.

Not long after a terrible quake went through the earth, knocking over all the flockling structures. Instinct told me what would happen next, though I could not stop it.

One breath. Two. And then the mountain exploded. I raised my wings to shelter the flocklings nearest me seconds before a stone-hard wall of ash and rock leveled the surrounding area. I kept my wings low to the ground to keep any ash from getting underneath where the few flocklings left sat.

Those flocklings outside of my protection rolled on the ground, clawing at their throats as ash filled their lungs. I longed to lift my wings and protect them all, but it wouldn’t help. Wide though my wings were, they fell short now.

Above I could see the elder dragons diving through the grey clouds to catch to glowing embers that were hatchlings. They glided the skinless little dragons down the mountain and rolled them in the fallen ashes. The glowing fire of the hatchlings insides melted the gray flakes, and cemented them into a hard, flexible skin. The newly hatched were then set free into the city to find their first meal.

I watched the scene surrounding me with joy and dread. A new brood was brought into the world, even as my flock and home were burned and buried.

The world slowed as the sensation of floating overcame me. I felt my mind drifting away with every second. The ash, still falling, was so heavy on my wings now that I could not lift them even if I wanted to.

I was almost too tired now to feel sadness. Almost.

A soft hand touched the underside of my wing and I tucked my head underneath to see the little flockling. It patted my nose with tear stained eyes, and the red of my blood in its hair. I found new strength then. I could not save all the flocklings under my wing, but I could save one. Just one.

I scooped up the little hatchling for the last time as black darkened the edges of my vision. I limped up through the grey destruction. Ash congealed as my wounds wept for the dead. Every step was as heavy as a mountain, but still I forged onward. The warmth of the little one kept me strong as I carried us out of the city to a place with no mountains and no fire. A grassy field waved away the pain and the blue sky harbored no dragons.

* * *

Narrow-of-Gaze came upon the cold form of Wide-of-Wing. It was the scent of his friend that had drawn him here, but his friend was no more. Another scent was in the air though. Narrow-of-Gaze pushed away a limp wing and found a tiny little creature beneath. It coughed.

Narrow-of-Gaze did not know why Wide-of-Wing had chosen to die with the flock. He did not understand how the centuries of shepherding had turned into something more.

Though Narrow-of-Gaze did not have any loyalty to the little creature Wide-of-Wing was curled around, he did one last act for his friend. He took the creature in his claws, and he flew it above the ashes where it could breathe. Then he carried to a land he had discovered long ago where the same two-legged creatures dwelled.

There he left the little creature outside of a wooden hut. It would grow well in the open fields, and Wide-of-Wing could live on in the heart of his last flockling.