Uttered with a Breath of Flame

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

Or at least, that’s what they wanted us to believe. After all, a just cause inspires the masses. Mention an invasion – a deliberate attack against our people and culture, and we won’t hesitate to fight and die to reverse it.

But what if they weren’t the invaders?

I’m not going to lie... The question kept me up at night.

That darn dragon! Why did he have to ask me the question that changed everything? “What if we weren’t the invaders?”

~ ~ ~

I knew I was being unreasonable – there was no way to justify my foul mood.

Was I functioning on zero sleep? Yes.

Had everything I believed just been placed in doubt? Yes.

Did I wish I could return to my previous ignorance? Yes.

Was that my unit’s fault? No.

My self-awareness, earnest as it was, didn’t save the people around me from my grouchiness. I even snapped at Frog when he offered me a bowl of porridge.

That earned me frowns from everyone within earshot. Frog was something of a mascot for our unit. The young man offered no discernible tactical or practical advantage within the group. Even the porridge he handed out had been cooked by some other kind soul who decided to spare us from whatever charred slop Frog was capable of whipping up. But no one begrudged his presence because, if nothing else, Frog was unfailingly optimistic, ready with smiles and hugs (for those inclined to accept) and always eager to please.

Frog’s perpetual grin wobbled slightly, and I cringed, “Sorry, Froggy.”

“Rough morning, Cat?” Frog wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

My mood might have lightened if Badger hadn’t muttered, “We shoulda called her ‘Bear.’ Wakes up cranky every –”

He choked on his words when one of my mambele thudded into the mossy ground an inch from his foot. My weapon of choice was far from common – a curved iron stake with an additional prong. In my hands, it was as deadly in hand-to-hand combat as it was thrown. I met his scowl with one of my own, wishing again that I had nixed the idea to assign animal-themed nicknames to the group. It had seemed harmless at the time, but certain members of the unit kept abusing the privilege.

Frog stepped away from me, twisting to look for some other hungry soul to foist the bowl upon. “Good morning, Jorian! Would you like some porridge?” Frog held the bowl towards the new arrival, his wide face seeming even wider with his welcoming smile.

A stab of bitterness renewed my sulk. I never should have permitted Jorian to refuse an animal name. It seemed endlessly unfair that he alone was allowed to maintain his dignity.

Jorian accepted the bowl with a solemn nod.

“How was your guard duty last night?”

The reminder of the prisoner sent my swooping mood into a plummet. Jorian lowered himself onto the blanket he had vacated hours earlier when he began his shift. He took his time scooping a bite into his mouth, chewing and swallowing. I simmered as I was reminded of my original inclination to dub him ‘Dragon’ because of his aloofness. Of course, I never would have actually suggested such a thing, considering the war and all.

Now, I realized that my perception had been skewed. The dragon we held prisoner was nothing like Jorian. I searched for a word that would better suit the scaled fiend.

My mind settled quickly. Insolent.

“Quiet. He’s yet to speak.” Jorian deigned to answer.

I groaned. Of everyone, why had the prisoner chosen to unleash his disquieting words on me?

Every eye swung to me, and I waved away their attention before turning and prowling away from the group. Only one person held the answers I required.

I moved reluctantly through the trees. My steps were silent on the spongy earth, each footfall placed carefully to avoid whatever inconvenient twig or leaf might give me away. It was a habit which was partially responsible for my nickname. The prisoner was being held out of sight of the camp, but close enough that any alarm or struggle would be heard and responded to quickly. Frog’s voice echoed through the air, dispelling the hush of the trees. I loved the boy, but sometimes I wished he’d be quiet so I could enjoy the natural sounds which were surely being overtaken.

Owl was alert when I approached, and she raised her eyebrows at me in question.

My eyes flickered towards the prisoner, who looked far too comfortable where he sat in his human form, tied to a tree. In fact, he seemed to be sleeping. “I’ll watch him for a while, Owl. I’d like to speak with him.”

With a shrug, Owl headed towards the rest of the unit, but she paused to say, “Captain Cat,” Owl was the only one in the unit who made regular use of my rank, “The General should arrive to see the prisoner before lunch.”

“Thank you, Owl.” I kept the unease from my face. It would do no good for the other woman to know I was beginning to doubt my superior.

The General was a stern man whom I had always looked up to. He seemed larger than life, entering every situation with an unwavering confidence that gave no cause to doubt him...

...Or so I had thought.

If the dragon’s insinuation was correct, it meant the General was a liar, along with the king, nobility, and goodness knew how many high-up soldiers. As an officer myself, I wanted nothing to do with their schemes, and didn’t want to be responsible for leading my unit into a war based on deceit.

Shaking off my musings, I gestured toward the sleeping dragon, “Has he been soaked?”

“Jorian did, just before his shift ended.”

At my nod, Owl disappeared into the trees.

I hesitated to turn my full attention to the prisoner. However, I was running out of time. Slipping closer, I studied him.

Even sitting on the ground, the dragon’s height was impossible to miss, although his frame wasn’t as bulky as I would have expected. Indeed, he seemed downright lanky, though none would mistake him as weak. His features were almost unnaturally straight and sharp, but I still couldn’t quite reconcile that someone who looked so human could shift into a hulking scaled beast. He looked young, but I knew he could be decades older than he appeared.

Creeping closer, I studied his skin: the only certain way to identify a dragon in human form. In the dappled sunlight, it was difficult to make out any sign. When exposed to full sunlight, I knew it would be easier to discern the translucent pattern of scales shimmering across his skin.

But I had already seen it, and that had allowed us to capture him.

I saw the moment he opened his eyes, realizing for the first time how close I had come to him – close enough to smell the sharp odor of the vinegar and to note that the eyes I had assumed were brown were actually dark blue. Forcing myself to remain still rather than lurch backwards, I was impressed when he didn’t react to my presence. He either had impeccable self-control or had been awake this entire time.

The dragon glared at me, and I felt a spark of pleasure to see that I wasn’t the only miserable one this morning. Gone was the cockiness shown during the initial days of his captivity.

A shiver swept through his body, and I straightened in surprise, “You’re cold?”

He bared his teeth at me, “Of course I’m cold, Captain. I’ve spent the entire night drenched.”

I couldn’t bring myself to regret his discomfort. A regular dousing with vinegar was the only thing keeping him from taking his true reptilian form. The discovery of dragons’ weakness towards vinegar had made a huge difference in the war, as humans finally had a weapon to use against the beasts.

“I didn’t realize you could grow cold.” How could a creature that breathed fire become cold because of a little wetness?

“Don’t be stupid,” The dragon shifted, drawing his long legs towards his chest. “In this form I have no access to my fire.”

I rolled my eyes but had no response to give him. Briefly, I considered that he seemed willing enough to converse with me, though apparently, he offered the others only silence.

Running my fingers through my chin-length hair, I made myself comfortable leaning against a nearby tree. “’What if we weren’t the invaders?’” I repeated his question that had stolen my peace.

His expression became notably less petulant, but he didn’t say anything.

“What in the world is that supposed to mean, Dragon?” It felt entirely too natural to address him with a name I might have used for another member of my unit.

I expected him to laugh or insult me, but he simply said, “We weren’t the invaders.”

We stared at each other. It was with a touch of desperation that I searched his face for any trace of dishonesty. Instead, I found only gravity and sadness.

“We weren’t the invaders.” He repeated.

I scrambled for rationality. I couldn’t take the word of this creature over that of my people. Still, my voice sounded strained when I demanded, “Why should I believe you?”

“I can explain, but you need to be willing to listen.” The dragon shifted to face me squarely, his eyes serious, “I should warn you, however, that what I’m about to tell you will change everything you think you know.”

Hesitation fluttered through me. It would certainly be easier to walk away and continue to live my life as though I’d never set eyes on this dragon. But I knew such a thing would be entirely unacceptable, so I braced myself, “Tell me.”