Wilds

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. I suppose there weren’t always dragons at all but Nana reminds us that they were here first. And just as she taught us to respect the sea and to never wade out beyond the anchor buoy, the same goes for trespassing into the lair. But things have changed since Nana’s passing. And although she never crossed paths with a dragon, she still lost her life to the fire.

Nana’s reminders take on a different form now. I see them when the clouds burst into shapes over the mountains and when the raven’s wings whisper messages from the afterworld. Her warnings aren’t always clear. Often, they are as subtle as a morning breeze spilling seeds off dandelion stems. Sometimes, they are sharp and loud like a crow’s caw. And they usually come in threes.

The tides have risen. And as waves beat against the cliff, it’s been harder to catch breakfast. Sammy is hungry. She’s up crying most nights. Mama does all she can, but she’s low on milk. Her dark eyes worry me. We’ve been surviving on fish and seaweed. Nothing has been the same since the Sevens took over and freed the dragons. The other bloods from nearby villages have just about cleared out our livestock. And the dragons have depleted much of the wild game. Robbie says that if we can capture the dragons, we can reclaim our resources. He’s taken over our blood’s hunting and gathering since Papa left. But Mama doesn’t think it’s all that easy. She’s weary of Robbie trespassing into dragon territory on his own. I’ve offered to join Robbie in trekking into the lair, but Mama doesn’t trust me. Not since the incident at the Point.

Mama has pleaded with me to avoid the other bloods. She’d seen what had happened to one of the Striker’s kids. She wanted me to stay on Moonlit territory, but I’d grown tired of talking to Charlie through smoke signals. The few signals we each shared back and forth had become redundant. I never thought I’d miss studies so much. The daily chores, pledge of loyalty, mathematics, and reading. I even missed our bloods’ history group. There I could at least pass Charlie written notes when Miss Rose wasn’t looking. And we could play Tip Tap Top during recess.

It wasn’t my fault that my best friend was a Zed. I needed to see her. So, one evening during the harvest moon, I waited for nightfall until everyone was asleep. And I hiked to the seashore past the rocks. And then I climbed. And I climbed. And I climbed some more using tree roots and Papa’s rope scaling along the jagged edge of the cliff. Once I reached the top, I hoisted myself up, and fell onto the landing. Facing compass north with the ocean to my left, the valley to the right, I’d finally made it to the Point. A wooden sign bolted to a beech tree read Wilds Not Allowed. I snickered to myself “ha, yeah right.” Beyond the beech tree, I followed the sandy path all the way down to a long row of stick huts. Before the Sevens breach, I’d remembered Charlie telling me her family had moved to the Point and into hut number 9. Some were still lit, so I quietly tip-toed down the back way. One.. two.. three.. four.. five.. but before I could reach the sixth, a large hand palmed my head and lifted me up off the sand. I heard a deep, gravelly rasp “where do you think you’re going, young one?” The next thing I remembered, I was back home being bartered for our last three goats. Mama was in hysterics, grabbing at me, wiping blood from my face with her nightgown, and nearly squeezing the life out of me. Papa shook his head in disappointment. You would’ve thought that I’d learned my lesson. But after all, Mama didn’t name me Arrow for nothing.