Cheryl’s Dragon day 2

The Dragon Eraina

A Short tale

Part 2

Michael smiled as he watched the dragons frolic. They drove their selves high in the air, so close to each other that their wings slapped against their bodies. Hitting, bumping, playing.

They reached the apex of their ascent, parted, and swept away from each other in long arching turns. They swooped toward each; a course that would end in collision.

Michael held his breath like an excited child. The dragons veered away from each other by inches. Their wings again hitting each other’s bodies. An audible wack came to his ears. These kids played rough.

Michael felt a presence near him. He turned to see Edwin, his assistant, holding two steaming mugs. Michael nodded his thanks and took a mug. It was hot, it’s contents thick and filling.

“Are they fighting, playing or mating?” asked Edwin.

Michael raised his mug to his mouth. “Yes,” he said.

They watched. The dragons met and took hold of each other. Feet grabbing, holding the hide of the other. Wings wrapping around each other and mouths snapping and biting at each other. All the while, they were drooping to the ground with alarming speed.

At the last moment they parted, glided to the ground, landed and continued their contest in the mud.

“They sound like they are laughing, singing.” Ewin said.

“The Old Speek,” said Michael. They are talking.”

“Do you know The Old Speek?”

“No human knows The Old Speek, only the dragons. I reconize some of the sounds, but I know the meaning of none of it.”

Earlier, Michael had approached his dragon in the stables.

“Good morning lady dragon!”

“Good morning to you my rider, how are you this sunrise?”

“I am well, lady dragon. You have a visitor.”

Eraina looked to the horizon and saw a huge male dragon rising into the air. Dispite her outward clam she felt her heart rise to her throat.

Taran spoke; “Fly with me, Eraina?”

“Yes!” and she was in the air. Rising above the dragon complex, they came together. She felt his body alongside her own.

They tumbled and grappled with each other, slapping wings and tails.

“You are slow husband,” she taunted, “how long sense you last sparred.”

“Slower, but wiser, wife,” he dropped his weight below her, gripped her shoulders and twisted his shoulders as he rose.

Eraina went over him and fell onto the mud. He was on her. Legs around her middle, wings circling her. A powerful hold.

She grasp, he was so very strong. She surged to be free. She made herself large then dropped limp gaining some space. She turned into him and bringing up a knee she plunged into his side.

He releast his grip and fell in a heep. It was as if she had hit an off switch.

“You are hurt.”

“A Wound, that is slow to heal.”

He drew in a deep breath and launched himself into the air.

The sparring season countinued.

On the ground, they heard Edwin say, “it sounds life laughing, singing.”

Taran dropped onto her and wrapped his legs around her, again. Eraina shook him off and followed his drop to embrace him with her own hold.

“Now is the time for you to take a Fly-a-Way.”

Now they rolled together in the sky.

“I can not, I have the children.”

“It is my time with the children.”

“I have duties here. A life, can not just leave.”

Taran roared in anger, “wife, you are to familiar. You speek like a human. Have you forgotten you are a dragon.”

Blinded with rage she struck out at his wound again. He parried the blow and brought her down to the ground.

“Fear not my love, it is an infliction easily cured. You need distance and time. You need to go on Fly-a-way.:

Little else was said. It was as when her mother had flown away. No need to go on about it, they were dragons after all, not human.

At lunch:

“So, the big male-”


“He is here now and Eraina is gone?”

Michael was explaining, for the dozen time, the changing of the dragons. At times, Edwin could be thick as a fence post. They sat together at noon meal. Michael took a loaf, broke off an end and placed it on Edwin’s plate.

“She never even said goodbye.”

“She is dragon, their way is not ours.”

“What of her children?”

“Their father is here now.”

“What is this Fly-a-Way?”

Micheal drew in a deep breath. He felt weary. Edwin could be a pest, a pup yapping at his heels. He was so concerned with his feelings of abandonment that he had no clue of Micheal’s own pain of loss. Eraina was ‘his’ dragon. They had flown in war and peace. There was a bond, she was family.

Sometimes dragons did not return from Fly-a-Way.

“We can learn to ride a dragon. We can speek with a dragon even come to love them, but we must never forget, they are not human, we can never really know them.

“Eraina has gone on Fly-a-Way. She may return, she may not. She is seeking the answer to questions she does not even know yet.

“She will see and live in other realms and lands. Some say that on Fly-a-Way dragons might even visit other worlds and times as far away as the stars.”

“Time travel? Space, far away stars, planets, if only I could have gone with her.”

Micheal grunted. There it was. The kid had hit it dead on; if only he could have gone with her. Adventure, wonders of far off worlds.

He scanned the compound that was his home and occupation for so long. Stables for horses, kennels for dogs, barracks for soldiers and the halls of the dragons; great homes of wood and stone where they chose to live and raise familes.

For a time! And then, without warning, they could just be gone. Off on a whim without so much as a ‘see ya later.’

Send out a text sometime he thought.

Author’s note:

I did not set out to write a story about dragons. I rarely read fantasy, sci-fi or fiction in general.

But, I wanted to paint a dragon for my wife. I pray it will turn our good enough to find a home on our hallway wall. Then, a background story took birth in my brain. A daydream. Who was figure? This creature of Legend and folklore.

I hope my little story does not cut across the grain of accepted dragon lore too much. (As a vampire story where the bloodsuckers walk around in the sun).

Next, I plan to have Eraina meet a character I have already written and painted; Cyndee Wide Track. A fellow traveler, journalist and seeker of truth.

If you like this silly story punch the heart or even leave a comment. If you don’t like it I welcome your thoughts.

Safe travels and peace unto you and yours,


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