The Boy Who Loved Stories

In a land far to the east, on the edge of a great forest, in a small cottage of straw eaves, there once lived a little boy named Niklaus. The little boy’s family was poor and he had little to claim as his own, save for a large storybook. His mother had given the book to him to ease his sorrow after the death of his father, and Niklaus would spend long hours under the eaves of the house, pouring over the countless fantastical stories within and imagining himself as the hero of one of those tales.

One day, his mother came home and told him that the two of them would be living in a new house far on the other side of the forest. Niklaus did not understand why they needed a new house, but he obeyed his mother and put on his thick boots and scarlet coat, gathered up all his clothes, and of course his priceless storybook. And so, the two of them left the cottage with straw eaves and traveled through the forest.

The sun was low in the sky when they arrived at a large stone house roofed in slate. When Niklaus was led inside, a dark-eyed stranger with a large scar on his cheek was waiting for them, a hint of a scowl on his face. The imposing man towered over him as his mother rushed over to kiss the man’s face, and as the stranger held his mother away from him, the little boy felt truly afraid.

“This will be our new home, Niklaus,” his mother said. But the little boy wanted nothing more than to return to the familiar house with straw eaves where there were no strange men, and do nothing but read all day. And so, late that night, when his mother and the man were asleep, Niklaus packed up as much food as he could fit into a large satchel, put on his traveling clothes, and went through the forest to find his real home.

Before long, the nighttime forest became rough and rocky by the light of his lantern, and Niklaus knew that he had lost his way. The noises of creatures in the dark frightened him terribly. But he couldn’t bear the thought of turning back, and so continued on through dark, unfamiliar terrain. He kept walking, hill after hill, hour after hour, on and on until his legs gave out beneath him and he could walk no more. “I may as well rest here,” the little boy said to himself.

Niklaus lay down beneath a thick and gnarled tree by a winding pool of still, cloudy water. As he looked up, he could see by moonlight a tall stone tower close by, enshrouded by fog. The tower looked like nothing he had ever seen before.

“Why, it’s an old ruin, like in the book!” he exclaimed. At last, the little boy had stepped into his one of his stories, and the thought excited him, but there was also an uncomfortable feeling as well. The darkness surrounded him with a thickness that felt like being smothered, and Niklaus had never felt more vulnerable and alone. “This doesn’t much feel like being a hero,” he mumbled. “Perhaps some food will make it feel better.” Hungrily wolfing down some bread and cheese from his pack, he wondered how long the tower had been here, and perhaps if any vicious creatures lived inside.

As if answering his question, from behind the tower crept a scaled creature, as large as a warhorse. Niklaus froze as the creature came closer and closer, crawling noisily and huffing with enormous breaths. As it came into the light of his lantern, the little boy could see the rust-red skin of a Dragonling, with cold, dark eyes and massive jaws. The Dragonling halted only a few feet from where he sat.

Niklaus trembled, looking up at the ferocious-looking creature. He knew that he could not hope to fight such a beast, and as tired as he was, the Dragonling would surely catch him if he tried to run. “Have you c-c-c-come to eat me, m-m-mister Dragon, sir?” he asked.

The Dragonling did not reply, nor did it come closer. It simply stood, looking down, as smoke puffed from its nostrils. The little boy thought as quick as he could, in hopes of finding some way to placate the savage creature. “I’m m-much too small a meal for you, mister D-Dragon. If you wait a few years, though, I’ll be much bigger for you. Wouldn’t you like that better?”

The Dragonling still did not reply, and Niklaus began to wonder if it could speak at all. One look at the creature’s eyes, though, gave no doubt that the Dragonling understood him. The little boy could see a perceptive awareness in those eyes that fascinated him, and for a moment he was torn between fear and wonder.

“Is that tower your home?” the little boy asked, hoping that his questions would keep the monster from making a meal of him. Again, the Dragonling did not reply. “It seems far too small for you. I don’t think you’d fit. Towers are supposed to be small on each level.” He thought about the tales in his storybooks, trying to remember if any of them mentioned large creatures living within tall towers. “Dragons are supposed to live in caves, not towers. That’s what my book says.”

At once, an idea struck the little boy. “Would you like to hear a story about dragons, sir?” Not waiting for an answer, he flipped the pages in a hurry, hoping to keep the great beast distracted. Maybe if enough time passed, someone would find him, and then he would be safe.

“Once upon a time,” he read, “in a land far, far away, there was a kingdom that stretched as far as the eye could see. The king and his daughter were loved by all, and the land was at peace, but the king feared the powerful dragon that lived in the hills to the north. Many sheep had been lost to the dragon’s appetite, and the king worried that one day, the dragon would try to devour the princess as well.”

As he continued to read, the little boy saw that the Dragonling had begun to lower itself down and sit across from him. “And so,” he continued, “one day, the king gathered all his knights and tasked them with slaying the dragon for good.” At this, Niklaus glanced up in brief panic, dreading that the words ‘slaying the dragon’ could upset the beast before him. But the Dragonling continued to sit and stare.

And so, the little boy continued his story. He read about how the knights tried to ambush the dragon in his home, and how the dragon easily beat them all back. He read about how the king’s builders created enormous wooden war machines, and how the dragon burnt them all with its fiery breath. At last, he read how the king lured the dragon into the castle courtyard, where the dragon was finally captured and restrained with a giant magical net.

The Dragonling sat fully attentive as Niklaus described how the princess threw herself in front of the dragon, stopping the blow meant to kill it as she pleaded for her father to show mercy. For the princess knew that the dragon was a noble creature, and felt pity towards him. The king, seeing his daughter’s passionate plea, was deeply moved, and he knew he could not go against her wishes.

“And so, the king told the dragon that if he promised to help protect his realm and never harm any of his subjects, he could go free, and the kingdom would provide him plenty of sheep to eat. The dragon agreed, and he lived in the northern hills for many years to come, and came to be known throughout the kingdom as a reliable friend. The End.”

His story being finished, Niklaus had run out of ideas to distract the creature before him, and it seemed there was nothing to do but wait for it to finally gobble him up. The Dragonling waited in silence for a long time, and then, very slowly, leaned forward and nudged the storybook with the tip of its snout. The little boy was amazed to be so close to such a magnificent creature, and wondered what it was doing. It nudged the storybook once more, looking straight at Niklaus. And so, the little boy flipped more pages and began to read another of his stories from his book.

The boy continued for the entire night, reading story after story, telling tales of terrible curses and ambitious squires, wise sorcerers and evil queens. As the night went on hour after hour, the boy found himself getting accustomed to the Dragonling’s presence, almost as if it was comfort from the dark unknown beyond. As dawn came upon them, the Dragonling seemed far less menacing than before. No longer worried about being eaten, he looked around at the tower and surrounding mist and the still, empty air. The little boy realized just how far from home he was, and suddenly began to cry.

“I’m so sorry, mister Dragon,” he choked out, “I’ve enjoyed sharing my stories with you, but I don’t know where I am, and I’m so far from home and I miss my mother. I think I should go back, but I’m terribly lost and don’t know what to do.” He began to cry again, and hid his head in his arms.

The Dragonling sat still as always, and then began to gesture in the air with one of its front claws, hissing into the air, until a faint ball of light appeared, hovering in the air. Niklaus recognized the ball of light as a will-o-the-wisp, glowing and pulsing as it flew fifteen paces away, and then stopped. Niklaus gaped open-mouthed at the light as the Dragonling nudged him towards it with its snout. The little boy wiped his eyes, gathered up his satchel and storybook, and followed after the will-o-the-wisp, turning back once to wave goodbye to the Dragonling.

The glowing light led Niklaus across rocky ground and through the forest, back into familiar sights, until finally he arrived at the large stone house with the slate roof. His mother ran out and hugged him tightly, and led him inside, where the tall man with the dark eyes and scowling face was waiting. Niklaus waited for the scolding to come, for the man to tell him what a foolish thing he had done. To his surprise, the man bent down, gently picked him up, and brought him to the little boy’s new bed, carefully tucking him in for a long-awaited sleep.

And the little boy no longer felt afraid.