Chapter Twenty One

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Chapter Twenty One

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Mother was already gone when the hatchling awoke. Her dawn farewell was a drowsy memory of loving licks and soft murmurs woven into his dreams. The scraps of old fur and hide she slept usually upon were draped across him. They were warm and pleasant, if a pale imitation of her comforting touch. The hatchling closed his eyes and pretended the warmth was his mother’s wing. He dozed a little longer, dreaming of his favorite tales.

Hunger rumbling in the little dragon’s belly roused him again. He pinned his ears back and yawned, stretching his forelegs. He shook the bits of fur and hide from his body and rose to his feet. The cool but humid morning air was heavy with the swamp’s brackish scent, tinted with the sweetness of the fresh water dribbling from porous rock. His mother’s scent was still there, as well. And something else, delicate yet tantalizing.

He swiveled his head around, green nostrils flexing. Near the entrance to the cave sat a creature with a flat gray shell, many legs and two sets of big claws. He sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. Swamp crab! He snuck towards it, not wanting it to scuttle away and out into the water he could not drink. Though as he drew nearer, he saw its legs and claws were damaged. It could not have escaped, but neither could it have grabbed him with its pinchers while he slept. Mother must have left it for him.

The hatchling fell upon his prey, tearing it apart. The cracking of its shell was almost as satisfying as the sweet aroma of its flesh. So many of the things he ate held a bitterness, or a muddy taste, but not the swamp crabs. They tasted sweeter, more like the fresh water that ran from the rocks and sticky-sweet stuff that dripped from sting-bug nests. The little dragon cracked open two of its big claws and gulped down what lay inside, then did the same with a few of its legs.

Once his hunger was quelled, he decided to save the rest of the crab for later. He grabbed the broken creature’s shell in his jaws, and dragged it to the back of the cave. Mother wouldn’t be back tonight, so he wanted to make his breakfast last long enough to be his dinner, too. He set the crab near the trickling water, and then filled one of the hollow shells to quench his morning thirst. After four shells full of water, he belched and licked his muzzle.

After breakfast, the hatchling prowled their home. With mother gone, only he could keep their cave safe. He stalked it, inspecting their walls, looking into crevices, examining the wet places. So far, so good. No sign of poison salamanders today, only a bright purple wing-frog that clung to the ceiling, and stared back at him with wide eyes, displaying the red spots on its wings.

He found a place where a sting-bug was building an upside down nest of mud and dead leaves on a low spot on the ceiling. Mother told him how to deal with those. He waited for the vibrant, gold-shelled bug to fly off for more building materials, then he scaled the rock. With his hind paws braced against crevices in the stone, he jumped off the wall and swatted down the nest. It dropped to the floor alongside where he landed. The hatchling sniffed it. Nothing sweet about it yet. A shame they didn’t make the sticky-sweet stuff until the nest was big and full of dangerous bugs. The hatchling swatted the nest out of the cave, then chased it down the hill and knocked it into the black water. With its home gone, the insect would fly off and find a new place to start over.

Once the cave was secure, the hatchling patrolled the hill upon which it lay. Their home was a stone-capped island, grass and mossy earth rising from the water he could not drink. He paused at the edge of it, and stared into the swamp. Things he could not see chirped and splashed, yowled and called from far away. The black water stretched beyond as far as he could see, and further still. There was more of it than mother could cross with her wings, and mother had very big wings.

Towering trees jutted from the water. Some of them were dead, with nothing left but gnarled, rotting boughs. Others stretched immense canopies with broad, sharp edged leaves of green and black. Still others had layers of bristling green needles, dotted with red flowers. Bright green vines crept up many of the trees, clutching at them with curved black thorns. Sometimes the vines crawled from tree to tree, or slithered across the water. He’d even seen them snare things, a spike fish from the water, and a blue screech bird from one of the trees.

Ooh, screech bird. He licked his muzzle. That sounded tasty. He hadn’t eaten screech bird in a long time. They were hard to catch because they lived in trees. Mother was too big to climb most trees, and didn’t like it when he went climbing. Once in a while mother used to snatch them out of the sky when she flew. Last time he asked, mother said she used to be better at flying. Maybe she was just too tired now.

The hatchling completed his patrol, happy that their home was secure. He did see a red and orange salamander swimming through the water towards their hill, but a few ferocious roars later and the poisonous creature wisely changed course and clambered up a tree. It made him wonder how salamanders and frogs and bugs climbed so easily. He had to use his claws to climb trees and rocks but salamanders and frogs and bugs didn’t have claws. Maybe he’d go climbing later, while mother was gone.

Mother was gone a lot lately, and gone for longer. Now that he’d proven he was a big, strong hunter, she knew he’d be safe on his own. It made him proud to know he could hunt his own food, and protect his own home. He knew mother was proud of him too. She told him as much every time she finally came home again. She hugged him and licked him and told him she was proud and he was big and strong and that she loved him very much.

Her words and her love always made him happy. He wanted to be big and strong for her, to be a great conqueror like from the exciting tales she spun him. Mother often talked about finding them a new home, a place they’d both be safe and happy. Soon he’d be so big he could conquer just such a place for her, so they could be live there together. Safe. Happy.

The hatchling thought about their new home as clambered his way up the rock plates that capped their hill. His little black claws caught purchase in crevices and gaps. With practiced ease he climbed all the way to the top of the stone slabs and settled himself on a flat area to keep watch over their domain. How he hoped their new home would be just like in the stories. With clean water everywhere, and a sky that shone bright blue during the day, with stars at night. Mother said the stars were like a thousand shining claw holes poked in the darkness. It sounded wondrous.

The little dragon tilted his head back, staring up at the only sky he’d ever known. The gray clouds were not as low today, but they drifted and churned just the same. Some days the clouds were thinner, and the sun’s hazy outline showed itself as an eye-burning halo. Mother told him not to look at it. The only time he’d ever glimpsed the blue beyond was when mother cradled him in her forelegs and took him flying. When she broke the clouds, there was blue above them, but it was pale and distant. In the stories it sounded so much closer, so much brighter.

From his place atop the stone, the hatchling gazed across the black water and the fallen logs towards the spider-snake rocks. Since he’d first successfully hunted one of them, a few more had come to occupy the area. They were smaller than the one he slew, scrabbling across the mossy stones, chasing smaller creatures. Maybe they were young, like him.

The young dragon whimpered. He hoped he hadn’t killed their mother. He tilted his head. Did spider-snakes have mothers? His own mother once told him most of the creatures of the swamp were on their own after they were hatched. But he knew some creatures had mothers. Like the screech birds. They built nests from the shells of their prey and the bones of spike fish, and raised their little fluffy blue babies in them. He’d seen them a few times, watched them with his own momma. Sometimes they grew up and flew away. Sometimes they tumbled from the nest, into the water. Their own mother wasn’t strong enough to pull them free like his was.

The hatchling whimpered. His tiny frills drooped around his head. Loneliness made him hurt inside. He tried to brush it off. He had to be strong. He had to protect their home while mother was away. Though he knew he was a big, powerful hunter now that he could kill spider-snakes, that didn’t make him miss his mother any less when she was gone.

With a long sigh, he stretched himself out upon the stone. He curled his neck to lay his head upon his forepaws. “I miss you, Momma.”

He grit his teeth. She’d only been gone a half day and he was already acting like a baby. He had to do better. At least he was strong for her, when she was home. He’d never tell her how lonely it got when she wasn’t around. She didn’t need to know it made him sad. She needed him to be strong, and so he would be strong. He could conquer them a home someday, a safe, beautiful place to call their own, but first she had to find it. Momma swore it was out there, and he believed her.

After all, where did stories of blue skies and clean water come from if not from some beautiful place waiting to be found?

The day dragged on, and the hatchling tried to keep busy. He prowled their cave and their earthen island. He chased bugs and stalked wing frogs. He made daring leaps and scrabbled over slippery logs and went to the spider-snake rocks. Once there he did not hunt the half-size spider snakes. Instead he just watched them slither and scuttle. Their green scales blended into the moss, but their black legs gave them away, just like the big ones. They foraged and ate little bugs. One even caught a small spike fish that swam too close to the rocks.

He studied the way their green scales hid them against the moss. It made him wonder if his scales hid him against anything. He compared his paws to the mossiest of stones. The colors were similar, though his green was darker. The little dragon spread out his wings and gazed back at them. The copper spots strewn across his wings looked a bit like the brighter globs of algae that sometimes crept over the moss. He lifted a forepaw and splayed his fingers. Momma once told him the soft webbing between them was for swimming, just like webbing amidst his tail nubs. She said those would grow into spikes someday. But what good was swimming when the water made him sick?

It wasn’t fair.

The hatchling sighed, and sulked all the way back to their home. He drank some water, ate some crab, and curled atop his tattered furs. He wanted to swim and he missed his mother and he wanted to hear a story. But there was no one there to tell him a tale of a world filled with clean water. He splayed his webbed paw, staring at the green webbing between his toes.

“Once, there was a dragon.” He whispered to himself, fixated on his paw. “With webbed paws cause he lived in a great swamp. He was big, and strong, and green, and…” What was that word mother used? “Resp…respen…resplendent. And the water was clean, and so he could swim all day. And he was a great conqueror…but he wasn’t bad, so everyone loved him…”

He dropped his paw down, pinning his ears. Momma was better at stories than he was. Maybe he’d work on that. He lay his head down and closed his eyes. Wouldn’t mother be proud if one day he was the one telling the story to take her mind off her worries? He liked that idea. Momma worried too much. Momma…needed to relax…

His thoughts drifted, and soon the little hatchling slept.

The next day passed much as the last. Mother had not yet returned. He was disappointed but not surprised. She was often gone for a few days at a time now. Though he missed her terribly, he did what he could to be happier for her. Whenever she did return, she always sounded so sad to have been away from him so long, and sadder still when she told him she’d leave again soon. And she always came back so tired. He wished he was big enough to fly, so he could be the one searching for their new home, and she could stay in the cave and rest.

He spent the first part of the day hunting his breakfast, and got lucky enough to catch a screech bird perched on a lower bough of a nearby tree. Then he prowled their home, chased away a poison salamander, and went to spider-snake rock. He watched the young ones stalk their own prey, then peed on part of the rocky mound so they’d remember it was his. He’d let the little ones live there, so they could be his subjects, like in the tales.

When night fell, he didn’t want to sleep. He tried to tell himself a story. But he couldn’t figure out what story to tell, so he told himself one of his favorites. It was exciting and filled with adventures and a heroic green dragon, just like him. He tried to tell it just like mother would tell it, though mother changed it a little every time to keep him on his toes. She liked to add in creatures from other stories to make it seem more exotic. He did his best to tell it right, and soon he was changing things to make himself giggle. The laughter helped him miss his mother a little less. By the time he was dozing off, he was murmuring a story to himself about a dragon with horns so immense and majestic they weighed his head down, so dragons had to help him carry it around.

The hatchling awoke earlier the next day, roused by a strange, omnipresent hissing sound. He swiveled his ears, blinking bleary grogginess from his eyes. What was that strange noise? It came from outside, but echoed around his cave. And a funny scent smothered the air. An odd sort of sweet freshness, like the water that dribbled from the rock, but heavier, stronger. The sound and the smell both roused a shrouded memory he could not quite grasp.

Confused, he pushed himself to his paws, gazing at the exit. Somewhere beyond the ever-present clouds, dawn was breaking but the morning light was even grayer than usual. It looked hazy outside, a bit like when the fog rolled across the black water. But it wasn’t fog. It was water. Curtains and curtains of it, falling from the sky. Rain. He knew the word, but usually it came with terrible storms and black water that kept him and mother huddled in their cave. But this…this was different. He took a few hesitant steps towards the exit, sniffing at the breeze blowing in. It smelled safe. Drinkable.

Then, through the veil of water, he saw green scales. His heart leapt and his frills flared and he squealed in loving delight. “Momma! Momma, your home! Momma Momma Momma!”

Mother sat outside the cave, her green scales soaked by the deluge. At the sound of his voice she turned her head, laughing. “Little one! You’re awake!”

He bound to the exit, then stopped just before the rain, bouncing in glee. “Momma Momma Momma!” Then he cocked his head. “What are you doing?”

“Savoring the rain. Come outside! This rain is safe.” She beckoned him with a forepaw, and smile, then crooked her wing to offer him a place to shelter.

The rain was safe? It did smell nice. Hesitant, he stuck his nose out into it. A few droplets splattered his snout. He jerked his head back, then licked the water from his muzzle. It tasted fresh and sweet, as good as the water from the rock. With a frantic giggle, he dashed outside the cave and into the rain. The cool downpour soaked him instantly, rivulets of water running between his pebbly scales. He tried to lap at it as it fell, curling his tongue in the air.

“Isn’t it wonderful, my love?” Mother’s laughter was filled with joy that was all too rare in her voice these days. “Savor it! Soak it in while you can!”

Squealing once more, the little dragon ran circles around his mother. His paws slipped on wet grass and he flopped onto his belly and skidded away, laughing. He jumped to his feet and dashed around the hill, then sprinted a few more circuits around his mother. The world had never tasted so sweet, smelled so fresh. With a waggle of his haunches and a playful snarl, he leapt onto his mother’s tail, then scrambled up her back. Her green scales were slick with water, so he used his claws to help climb.

“Ow!” Mother laughed again and wriggled her wings. “Watch the claws!”

As soon as he’d reached the top of her back, he slid right back down her slippery scales and off her tail into the grass. “Wheeeeeeeeeee!”

She turned her head to smile at him. For once, her eyes didn’t look so tired. Just loving. “Having fun there, little one?”

“Uh huh!” He scaled his mother’s back again, then hugged her around her neck with his forepaws. “Momma, I did good while you were gone! I hunted and patrolled and scared away a poison ‘mander and knocked down a sting-bug nest and caught a screech bird and made the baby spider-snakes my subjects!”

“My, you’ve certainly had a busy few days!”

The hatchling beamed, nodding. “Uh huh! I kept everything safe for you!”

“I’m so proud of you.” She smiled at him in that strange way again, as if she was almost as sad as she was happy and proud. “You’re going to be so strong.”

“I’m already strong, Momma!” He gave a playful growl. “So don’t be sad!” He went to swat her neck, but as soon as he pulled his paw away he tumbled down her back and onto the grass again. “Whaaaaahhh!”

Mother laughed, and twisted around to curl her foreleg about him before he could wriggle away. “I’m not sad, love. I’m happy knowing how strong you’re growing. Here, sit with me a while.”

She picked him up and cradled him against her chest plates. Even as her body had grown thinner over the months she’d been searching, it remained as warm and comforting as ever. He snuggled against her warmth, rumbling a happy purr. She supported him with her forelegs, holding him the same way she did whenever she took him flying. No matter how high above the trees she went, or how far into the swirling clouds she rose, he never felt safer than he did in her loving embrace, cradled against her chest.

“Tell me a story, Momma!”

Mother laughed, and the sound left her body vibrating against him. “Not just now, love.” She sighed, lowering her head to nuzzle at his belly. “You know, I met your father on a day like this. Pouring rain. I’d not seen such pure rain in quite some time till that day. I half thought he’d brought it with him, from wherever he came.”

The hatchling leaned his head against his mother’s chest, listening to her heart. The beat wasn’t quite as loud as it once was, but it was still just as soothing. “Father made it rain?”

“Not literally, dear, but…” She trailed off, and tilted her head back to stare up at the clouds. Her flight membranes dulled the glow of her eyes. “I’d like to think that…wherever he is, maybe he brought this for us, as a sign. It’s nice to feel…watched over.”

“Do you miss father?” The hatchling stared up at his mother. She tensed at the question, sucked in a breath. Her spines drooped and he wished he hadn’t asked. “It’s okay, Momma. You’re still big and strong even if you miss him! I’m still big and strong even though I miss you when you’re gone…”

Oops, he hadn’t meant to tell her that.

When his mother started to laugh again, he was glad he’d admitted it. He liked it when she laughed. She turned her head away, blinked a few times, and made a sniffling noise. She growled, rumbled, shook her head, and then turned it back towards him. She curled her neck to nuzzle at his belly again. Then she nipped playfully at his paws, her breath tickling his pads. He squirmed and giggled and swatted his paws at her nose.

“Yes, love.” She smiled at him, then give him a gentle lick. “I miss your father. I wish you could have known him. He was so proud of you, though I’m sure you’re too young to remember him. And I’m…sorry you miss me when I’m gone. I miss you when I’m gone, too. You’re the best part of my life, you know. That’s why I am gone so much. I have to find a place you can grow up and live happily. You deserve better than I had. And my love, I will find that place and take you there if it…” She trailed off, the nosed at him. “Well, whatever it takes. I promise you that.”

“Did you find it yet?” He pawed at her nose again, and she rocked him in her forelegs. “Is it far?”

“I think I may have, and yes, it’s very far. But now that you’re so big and strong…” She pressed her nose to his, her eyes shining. “I think you’re ready to make the journey. When I have my strength back, we’re going to go. This rain is…a sign. It’s time, love. Time to find the place your father talked about.”

The hatchling cocked his head. “What did he say?”

For some reason that made his mother laugh. “More things than I could ever tell you. But he knew the world as my parents knew it, as I but glimpsed it when I was only your age.” She gestured with her wing at the vast swamp around them. “He told tales of a time when our world was more than just poisonous swamps and blasted, lifeless wastelands. Long before everything changed. Life goes on in the swamp, but the poison is…well, creatures with short life spans adapt better. The old races, we can only cling to our lives here for so long. Your father and I…never-mind. The important thing is I think I’ve discovered our way out.” She eased him to the ground, smiling. “Come. I’m getting cold in this rain, and I want to show you your present.”

“Present?” He bounced on his paws, beaming. “Present?! Where’s my present? I wanna present!” Then he caught sight of a wound along her belly, longer and deeper than the welts she usually came back with. “Momma, you’re hurt!”

She arched her neck, gazing down at herself. “I’m alright. Barely even hurts any more. Come on.”

Mother rose to her paws, then limped towards the caves. The hatchling stayed behind, watching her walk. Rain splattered her, and ran from her drooping wings. The way her wings hung and her paws dragged, she looked as if the whole world itself was weighing her down all at once. Even her tail slid across the grass, her tailfins bumping the ground. Her hind legs looked slimmer again. He could almost see her ribs through her green scales.

“Momma, are you hungry?” He padded after her.

She glanced back at him, smiling. “A little.”

“I’ll hunt your food!” He hopped around a few times. “I’mma good hunter!”

“I know you are.” She laughed, stretching her wing to shelter him from water cascading in streams over the rock and across the entry to their cave. “But right now I’m more tired than anything else. I flew most of the night to make it back to you. After I show you your present, I think I shall take a nap. Perhaps after that, when the rain stops, I’ll let you hunt me something to eat.”

“Okay, Momma.” He smiled at her as he walked under her wing and back into the cave.

Once in dry space, his mother shook herself. Water droplets flew from her scaly body. She stretched her wings, beat them against the air, then shook her body once more. The hatchling watched, then walked alongside her and emulated her motions. He wriggled, flexed and pumped his little wings, then wriggled again. Mother laughed and stretched her neck to give him a few long licks.

“Momma!” He squirmed away, swatting at her muzzle. “Yer getting’ me all wet again!”

“You’d have to shake a lot harder than that to dry yourself.” Smiling, she limped towards the back of the cave.

As he followed her, the little dragon spotted a vaguely rectangular brown object placed near their bed. When he awoke he’d been so distracted by the rain he hadn’t even noticed it. “Is that my present?” He bound towards it, only for his mother to snatch him by his tail. He scrabbled at the floor without advancing, then glanced back. “Momma, leggo my tail!” He scrabbled again.

“I’m sorry, love, but I’ve just realize we can’t take it out yet. Not till our paws are completely dry. Otherwise we’ll damage the vellum.”

He scrabbled again, growling to himself. Maybe if he ran in place hard enough he could drag his mother with him. “What’s vellum?”

“It’s what stories are scribed upon. Or at least, it used to be.” She kept her grip on his tale. “I’ve brought you a book I…” She glanced at her wounded belly. “Found on my travels.” She licked her nose and gave him a smile. “It’s in an old pack, to keep it safe. I’m amazed it hasn’t fallen apart. I dare not touch it until our paws are dry.”

“It has a story?” He lifted his head, beaming. “Tell the story!”

“I don’t know the story yet, but it has pictures drawn inside I want to show you.” She hobbled to their bed, then eased herself down with a groan and a whimper. “I think momma needs to rest. Tell you what. Let me sleep a while first, and when I wake, we’ll both be dry. I can show you the book then.”

Aww, he wanted to see it now! But Momma looked awful tired. She looked even more worn out than usual. He smiled and nodded. “Alright, Momma. When you wake up I’ll hunt you food.” He clambered over her foreleg, and rested against her chest plates. She snuggled him up to her, and he lay his head against her scales. “Wanna tell a bedtime story?”

“It’s only a nap.”

“Nap time story?”

Mother laughed, and gave his head a few gentle licks. “Mother’s too tired. I’m sorry, love, I know you just got up. Tell you what. I could tell you a riddle, if you like. And you can think about it while I sleep.”

“A riddle?” He tilted his head, ears perked.

“It’s one your father used to tell me.” Mother lay her head down against him, closing her eyes. Her words reverberated through him. “Who dreams the dreamer?”

“What?” He tilted his head the other way.

Mother only smiled. “Who tells the storyteller’s story?”

He scrunched his muzzle. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s a riddle, not a joke.” Mother chuckled, draping her wings across her body. “Just…think about it. Who tells…the storyteller’s…story?”

“The storyteller.”

“Do they? The storyteller spins a tale, but who spins the tale of the storyteller?”

“…What?” He giggled. “That’s a funny riddle.”

“Mmm.”

“Momma.” He nudged her foreleg.

“Yes?”

“Want me to tell a story?” He licked her muzzle, smiling. “To help you sleep?”

She cracked her eyes open to smile at him. “I’d like that.”

He smiled, lay his head against her. “I’mma tell my favorite. Once…there was a dragon. Green! Like me. He lived in a dangerous place where all the water was poison. But he searched, and searched, and one day…he found a way out.”

Mother flicked her ears. “Was he resplendent?”

“Not yet!” He nipped her, grinning. “Quit skipping ahead, Momma.”

“Alright love.” Mother closed her eyes again, smiled, and gave a happy sigh. “Tell your story.”