Hic sunt dracones

A word on draco–um. Dragons. There are two branches of dragon ancestry–eastern and western. In the Middle country dragons are the ancestors of empire, the progenitors of kings.
They are, in short, our parents already.

The western tradition is entwined with the eastern in that the Mongols crossed the steppes and who knows what Marco said about them? But the western dragons are a chimerical bunch–they have arms, legs, wings that may or not be vestigial.

Their blood might be either immortal or toxic. They are the clear and long-sighted guardians of treasure, rivers, waters, and lairs.

They have fire in their nostrils. Armored skin. But who knows their hearts? Who knows their ancient souls?

The Baby

At first there was stillness, the even breathing of the child. The dragon marveled at the tiny child–how beautiful he was and how much she loved him.

She could not bear the thought of ever being away from him. She was afraid of what the world held. Plus, she was beginning to worry about food. What would she do? What could she do? She was a dragon.

The dragon and the human child

It is your choice to believe.

The dragon might have always been a dragon and the story might have been the simple gift of a child.

Or…perhaps the dragon was once a woman who was robbed of her human form by the usual wizardly enchantment. Had she been foolish or proud? Had she refused the wrong man’s hand?

The dragon is not saying. She has wrapped herself in a mantle of smoke. She is thinking about what is to be done with the lovely small thing wrapped in a soft blanket, somehow sleeping next to the warm heft of her serpentine splendor.

Surely no child should be raised by a dragon…
She thinks
And yet how could she bear to lose him?
How could she ever bear to live away from this bundle of light?