Why Dragons Visit the Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. That’s what mother always said. Perhaps one day there won’t be dragons here any longer. But tonight, as dark thoughts spiral around my head and I fist my covers- I pray they do not come for me. The valley is a big place. There are many minds to prey on.

I feel my heart start to calm. I whisper a prayer to keep them away. I am alone in my bedroom, there is nothing to fear. No one is coming for me.

Dragons come for those with darkness, and there’s no reason for any to be in my heart. Yet every night before I sleep, I dread the future, one so far yet also inevitable.

“Instead of being afraid you’ll die one day, be grateful you ever had the chance to live at all”. The voice is silky smooth.

I freeze. I dare not look.

“After all, it could end at any second.”

I do not know what to say. I might have let out a whimper.

“We don’t want that now, do we?”

My gut drops. What did it want from me? What other thoughts could I offer it so it might spare my life? I heard of those who feed the dragons every night. The light dims from their eyes. They look at everyone with distrust, as though we are the ones eating their thoughts.

“Be grateful your heart ever started beating at all. Do you know how tiny the odds of that happening are?” The voice continues.

Still, I do not look. Perhaps it would think I was slow and find another mind to eat.

“I’m speaking to you.” Its breath brushes my ear and I shudder.

A claw grips my shoulder and forces me to turn. I stare at its emerald eyes.

“Very rude of you not to respond.”

I can smell blood on its breath. I try not to vomit.

“Well? Say something or I’ll eat you.”

Its fangs glisten in the moonlight. My window is open and a gentle breeze brushes my cheek. It feels cold against my tear stains.

I can’t speak. Why can’t I speak?

It rolls its eyes, all five of them.

“Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“L-leave my mother out of this.”

I found my voice.

“What do you want?” I demand hoarsely. Why does its kind terrorize our valley at night?

It appraises me. A scaled tongue darts out its mouth and it licks the tear off my face, leaving a trail of red instead.

“Same as every mother,” the dragon whispers. “My children.”

I stare at her uncomprehending.

“You humans have kidnapped our children, left counterfeits in their place. They’re strange and weak, unable to hunt, much less fly.” The mother is snarling. “We will stay until we find our children.”

“T-there are no dragon babies here,” I say, appalled. I could not even imagine the idea of an infant dragon. In my mind, I was certain they emerged from a dark hole fully formed, menacing and tall, shadowy figures with glowing eyes, silhouettes of sharp wings and scaly tails.

The dragon must be telling me a lie.

After all, the words of a dragon are fires that burn into a mortal’s soul, their tongue a blade that could cut and slice and murder.

I could not comprehend a version of dragons that are weak or vulnerable.

“That’s what every human here says.” She narrows her eyes. “But I can smell something peculiar about the one you call mother.”

“Do not speak of her that way!” My fear of the dragon weakens under my reverence for mother. “She is high priestess and your venomous mistruths cannot burn her. She is blessed with the holiest of water-“

“Your mother smells the same as my counterfeit children.” The dragon whispers. “She doesn’t smell real.”

My temper rises, hot in my chest and ready to spill. Mother is simply sick and the dragon has no right!

“You are the false ones. Your kind is out of place in this world. You should not be tormenting our valley, you should not be here.”

The dragon blinks at me, one eye at a time. Then she laughs, big and bellied, her rows of razor teeth glinting. It is so bizarre that I almost want to laugh with her. I wait for her guffaws to die down and open my mouth to speak.

She lunges at me.