Valley of Bones

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. In fact, if I’m going to be perfectly honest, there still aren’t. I just have always thought that would be an epic first line to an epic fantasy; There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Notice that “Valley” is capitalized. That’s because, around here, there’s really only one. This is it. The one valley. The Valley.

My family has always lived in The Valley, but other folks live on The Mountain. They tend to mine, delving deep and using dragons to lift them into and out of the holes they dig for themselves. Others live near The Ocean, and their slithery serpentine dragons take them out to sea to fish and play.

In The Desert, dragons retain huge amounts of water in their bellies, assuring that no one who lives there goes thirsty, as long as they don’t mind the slight taste of dragon slobber that remains in the water. To be fair, the water actually goes through a complex intestinal cleaning process. Those who visit from The Desert assure us that the water is perfectly safe for drinking, and they even occasionally bring some of it to sell. I’ve always wanted to try it, but my siblings steer me away before I even get the chance to slip my hand into my pocket for the few coins put there on a market day.

There are dragons in The Jungle, on The Plain, between The Tundra and The River, throughout The Forest, and in every biome and environment of our land except for one; The Valley.

The place I live.

Lucky me.

I’m not actually in The Valley at the moment, although I’m sprinting toward it as fast as my asthmatic body will allow. Which, unfortunately, is not very fast.

“Oh, spikes,” I gasp. “Oh spikes oh spikes oh spikes oh spikes.” Some may say that lighthearted swear words could be considered “a waste of breath,” especially while running away from a fire-breathing beast when getting oxygen to my lungs is already difficult. I personally consider to it be a necessary expression of self, one that I’ve only recently begun utilizing when my family isn’t nearby. Also, in my defense, it’s a completely involuntary response.

“Fangs and teeth,” I wheeze, before finally quieting myself enough to concentrate on scrambling up and over the sprawling roots anchoring the giant trees of The Forest to the ground just beyond The Valley. I’m almost there, but when the dragon roars, it’s close enough to me that I actually stumble and fall between two of the three-foot high roots, crouching and covering my ears.

If I were an Armordillo, this would have been a good defensive tactic. I’ve seen these smaller dragons defend against bigger dragons in this way when their playful fights turn harsh. But I, being significantly squishier and more chompable than a ‘Dillo, probably should’ve made more of an effort to keep running.

But that roar has slammed into my ears and knocked me down, and I crouch there, wheezing and gasping, waiting for the barrage of sound to end. When the sound stops, it feels for a moment like it’s still going before I finally realize that there is silence. When I pull my hands away from my ears, I can hear the reptile’s breathing. Realizing that my own breath is still coming in explosive gasps, I move one of my hands to cover my mouth, even though it terrifies me to do so. Honestly, the thought of having a full-on asthma attack out here scares me more than the wild Goldwing Beast that is now sniffing the air not far away. With an attack, I know I’ll feel trapped and terrified for a prolonged amount of time as I try to take in air. On the other hand, if the Beast catches me, I assume our encounter will be painful but short-lived, which sounds preferable.

He doesn’t move for a minute, which confuses me at first. He’s got me backed into a tight spot, so why . . .?

It finally occurs to me that, from his perspective, it may have looked like I had simply disappeared. I fell down between the roots, vanishing from his sight. If he had blinked his double-lidded eyes at the wrong split-second, he may have seen me one moment and then lost sight of me the next. Maybe he tipped his head back when he roared.

Truth be told, I don’t actually know much about dragons. Sure, I’ve loved them my whole life and I watch them whenever I go to another biome, but that doesn’t mean I actually understand the differences between them. So now what I’m wondering is this; can this dragon find me? Will he sniff me out or use a draconian special sense to locate me? Maybe he has sensitive hearing, or can see through objects, or maybe, maybe, he’s got none of that and if I stay still and quiet, he’ll get bored and walk away. Well, stomp away.

I listen to him sniff and give a frustrated snort, but he doesn’t move. That seems good. Still, it is probably best if I have some sort of escape route planned. For the first time, I actually look around myself, turning my head slowly and trying to move just my eyes, relying on peripheral vision as much as possible. This strains my eyes, but it seems wise.

What I see gives me a rush of relief, releasing some of the pressure in my chest and allowing me to breathe just a little bit easier. The root to my right, toward the Beastie, is large and solid. But to my left, a root arches upward, creating just enough space for a thirteen-year-old to wriggle underneath it and away from an awkward situation. I’m tempted to try to scoot under it right away, but as I already noted, it would simplest if the dragon just—

Nope, now another roar is ripping from his mouth. I am so out of here. I let my hand come away from my mouth, drawing in a deep, gasping breath as I do so, then I move.

“Excuse me,” I wheeze to the tree as politely as the situation will allow. The trees haven’t swallowed up a Valleyer in years, not as far as anyone knows, anyway, but I still think that Old Man Brady’s disappearance had something to do with his freshly made log cabin, so I prefer to play it safe. I duck under the root, scrambling forward in an awkward crawl. I can feel the vibrations of the Beast’s movements getting close, and as I pull my legs out from under the root and push myself upright, the entire tree shakes as the angry dragon slams into it.

“Sorry about him!” I yell to the tree, then my running resumes, with the scaly Beast close behind. As I run, I get the feeling that maybe there will be dragons in my calm, peaceful homeland after all. It’s a very strong feeling, a feeling that courses as boldly through my veins as the adrenaline that is currently driving me forward and keeping my arms and legs pumping and my breath coming.

Yup, I really think that if I don’t shake it off my tail soon, the roaring dragon that’s chasing me is pretty likely to follow me straight into The Valley, which I can now barely see through thick patches of trees.

You might think I’m stupid to lead it right into The Valley, where it will break our laws and potentially burn down my entire village. All I can say in response is that it’s really, REALLY hard to think clearly with a two-ton reptile ruffling your hair with the fire it just shot over your head, which you’re hoping won’t catch on the trees and set the whole area ablaze. Plus, maybe this was a part of my plan. I can’t be sure yet. If it all works out, we’ll say I planned it.

When I reach the edge of the tree line, I come up against the small hump of a hill that surrounds the entire Valley. No one I know has any idea how exactly The Border came to be. It must be man-made; it’s too deliberate to be natural. We just don’t know who made it, how long ago, or why. It’s my last obstacle, and it looks like a mountain in this moment. I do the only thing my weary, wheezing body still has the energy to handle. I throw myself forward, diving over the hump and rolling from The Forest into The Valley. I land and twist over, propping myself up on my elbows, feeling my eyes widen as the Goldwing thunders toward me. It sees me lying there and opens its mouth as it runs, a glow lighting up its jaw as it prepares to fry me.

I really don’t want to die. I know I’ve been talking like I’m taking this whole thing lightly, but you’ve got to laugh or cry, you know? Still, I can’t close my eyes, can’t look away. I wanted to be near a dragon, and here he is, gleaming as the sunlight hits his golden, sparkling scales.

The dragon reaches the hump, and I expect it to jump up onto The Border, spread its wings in defiance of my stupidity, and let loose a snarling mass of pure fire.

It seems intent on doing just that. It jumps toward the hill and starts to unfurl its wings, opening its mouth even wider.

Suddenly, the Beast screeches and beats back frantically with his barely outstretched wings, sending himself back toward the trees before he can land fully on The Border. His talons just graze the hill and he flinches away, causing himself to tumble backward and slam indelicately into the trees. His prepared burst of fire bursts out of his mouth in an uncontrolled manner, actually catching some of the branches alight.

Fangs and teeth. Just because the dragon hasn’t killed me yet doesn’t mean the trees won’t. I’m too exhausted to move, struggling too hard to get a breath. I watch from the ground, The Border blocking my vision, as the Goldwing rights himself, getting to his feet. He glares at me and gives a roar, but this one is different. Where his earlier roars made me fall down in terror, somehow this one fills me with such an intense feeling of . . . something else . . . that I want to curl up and cry.

The Beast cuts off the sound and turns, tail whipping against the trees and sending sparks flying. He thunders back into The Forest, leaving me in The Valley, where I let my head drop to the ground and hope that someone will see the smoke and bring a bucket of water or two.