The Black Collar: Chapter Fifteen

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Chapter Fifteen

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Alvaranox had collected himself by the time Kirra returned. He sat upon his haunches with his black spined tail curled around his paws. The sun drooped lower and lower as though the sky itself were struggling to stay awake. The early evening light painted the dragon’s copper eyes in shades of vibrant gold, hiding his emotions.

Kirra came around the side of Nylah’s house, following the trail that Alvaranox’s paws cut through the grass over the years. An odd, jangling clatter accompanied her return. She pushed weeping willow boughs out of her face, passing beneath the ancient tree. Kirra brushed her hand over the surface of one of the colorful murals Nylah was painting across the wall of her home. Alvaranox hoped the paint was dry or Kirra’d be in trouble.

“Ready!” Kirra announced as she came around the back of Nylah’s home. By then Nylah was back to gardening as though she hadn’t been comforting a sobbing dragon only minutes earlier. “You sure you don’t want to go, Nylah?”

“Oh yes,” Nylah said, smiling at Kirra. “I don’t think my back would take it.” She shook her trowel at the dragon, little bits of dirt flew from it. “But don’t think I won’t take you up on that offer in the future.”

“You say that as though you expect me to offer it again,” Alvaranox said. He thumped his tail against the grass, spines tearing up chunks of sod while Nylah glared at him.

Then he turned his attention to Kirra, cocking his head. Kirra now wore a green and black blouse, and some dark breeches with heavy boots as though she expected to go hiking through arduous terrain. She’d wrapped herself in a heavy, dark green cloak with black threading in the shape of leaves hemming it. She also carried a heavy pack, and whatever was in it was rattling whenever she moved.

Alvaranox snorted at her. “Why do you clatter so?”

“It’s probably the pan I brought,” Kirra said, glancing over her shoulder as though she could divine the pack‘s contents through the leather. “Or the flask. Or the mug. I’ve also got a sturdy lantern because I’m sure you haven’t got any lights out there. Oh! You know what I forgot?”

“When to stop talking?” Alvaranox smirked at her.

“Very funny, Dragon.” Kirra glared at him a moment. She marched over and prodded the dragon’s sturdy chest plates with a finger. “A bedroll. Should I go and get one? I’m sure I’ve got one somewhere.”

“No,” Alvaranox said, pinning his ears back. “I should like to get there before morning.”

“But the sun hasn’t even set yet…”

“Which was the point, Kirra.” The dragon licked his nose. “I have plenty of blankets and pillows and things at my island. You shouldn’t need anything else. Now come.” The dragon eased himself down onto his belly, flattening out his black-marked wings. “You may as well climb upon my back before I change my mind.”

Kirra beamed as she walked around to the side of the dragon. “You’re going to let me mount you?” It only took Kirra a moment to realize what she said, but the dragon was already laughing. “Oh shut up, lizard. Now how do I get up here?”

Alvaranox turned his head to watch her. “How should I know? I don’t make a habit of letting people ride me. Nylah’s done so a few times, and that’s it.”

Nylah pushed herself to her feet, dropped her trowel in the dirt and walked over to join Kirra. “It helps if you put your foot here, on his shoulder. And you can grab him here.” She gestured to a few places, then cautioned Kirra. “But don’t squeeze his wing joint too hard, that can be painful. And if he curls his head around to try and offer you assistance, don’t grab him by his ear.”

“Or my horn,” the dragon said, snapping his jaws. “Don’t grab anything related to my head at all.”

Kirra nodded at the instruction. She tried to climb up the dragon’s side, but her boots slipped against his scales and she fell onto her rump. She yelped and her pack clattered. Alvaranox shook his head as Kirra pushed herself back to her feet. Her second attempt was more successful as Nylah gave her a boost. Soon Kirra got her boot against the dragon’s shoulder and her fingers against his wing joint. She hauled herself onto the dragon’s back, settling near his shoulders.

Kirra wriggled herself as Alvaranox carefully pushed up to his paws. He glanced back at her. The feeling of the woman’s warmth against his back was not unpleasant, and her weight was barely noticeable. She leaned forward when he started to move, nervousness flickering across her face, tightening her features.

“I’ll walk around a few moments so you get used to the motion.” Alvaranox took a few slow steps around Nylah’s back garden to let Kirra grow accustomed to the rolling motions of a dragon’s body. “When I fly, I’ll do so as smoothly as I can. Try not to scream when I take off.”

“Don’t make her scream, Dragon,” Nylah said, sounding exasperated by antics that hadn’t even begun.

“I had no such intentions,” Alvaranox said. Actually, he had every intention until he thought better of it. He strode around a little more until he could feel Kirra sitting with a bit of extra confidence against his back. “Think you’re ready to fly?”

Fear and joy shone through Kirra’s voice in equal measure. “No! So just take off before I lose my nerve.”

Alvaranox dipped his black-horned head in a single nod. “Right. Lean forward for now and wrap your arms around my neck. Hold tight. I’ll run a few steps and then leap into the sky. Nylah told me the ascent is rougher than the rest of the flight.”

Alvaranox felt Kirra gulp as she leaned forward against the back of his neck, and wrapped her arms snug around him. The woman pressed herself so firmly against the dragon the contours of her body nearly matched his neck. Kirra felt soft and warm against him. He gave her a moment to prepare herself and then bound forward. After several bounding steps the dragon leapt, propelling himself as high into the air as he could off his powerful hind legs.

Kirra gave a little scream even before the dragon’s first wing beat. She clamped her jaw to try and hold the rest of her squeals inside as the dragon began to pump his wings. The talons at their tips nearly met above her head and again beneath his belly. Wind swirled around her, buffeting her dark green cloak back and forth. Every beat of the dragon’s wings pulled him further into the sky, and left Kirra’s stomach further below them. Thankfully for the young woman’s dinner, Alvaranox did not ascend very high. He soon stretched his wings out at his sides to ride the currents over Asterryl for a while, giving Kirra a chance to relax.

“You alright?” The dragon called back.

“Yes,” Kirra said, though she sounded a little uncertain. “I think we have to go back for my stomach, though!”

Alvaranox laughed, flaring his central spines. “I think Nylah said the same thing the first time I took her flying.”

“Have you taken her often?” Kirra called up to the dragon, not yet pulling herself away from his neck.

“Not as often as I should.” Alvaranox glanced back. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m one slippery scale away from falling to my death.” Kirra lifted her head from the dragon’s neck to grin at him. “I think if I got used to this, though, I’d love it.”

“Don’t know how you humans live without wings.”

“It’s awfully windy up here!” Kirra leaned around the dragon’s neck a little to try and peer up at his face. She squinted against the battering winds. “Doesn’t it hurt your eyes?”

“I have flight membranes.”

“You have what?” Kirra called over the rushing winds.

“Don’t lean,” Alvaranox warned her, glancing back again. “Flight membranes. They’re like…a second set of eyelids, only they’re clear. Normally they’re retracted, but we flick them closed to protect our eyes from the wind when we fly.”

Kirra sat back a little bit, taking the dragon’s warning to heart. “I don’t think we have that listed in your charts. That’s amazing, though. You dragons are wonderful.”

Alvaranox smiled as he flew. Kirra really was fascinated, wasn’t she. “Yes. We are. Don’t you like the feel of the wind against your body?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Kirra called back. “It will take some getting used to. Going to be hell getting these knots out of my hair.”

Perhaps the touch of the wind felt better against scales and membranes than it did skin and hair. Still, there were other aspects of flight Kirra could appreciate. “What do you think of the view?”

Kirra hadn’t actually looked at the view yet. She was still trying to get used to the idea of actually being up in the air, on a dragon’s back. Once she had mustered what little nerve she could she turned her head to peer past the dragon’s wings. Even without leaning over, she had an excellent view of all of Asterryl and the lands beyond. Her breath caught in her throat. She never thought it would look so beautiful.

All the winding roads and ancient walls looked like some elaborate drawing scrawled upon the ground. The many banners and painted buildings and colorful signs looked like patches of brilliant wildflowers amidst a rocky meadow. Though it was not dark yet, people were already lighting street-side lanterns and lamps for the evening. After nightfall, the town must look like the sky painted with an array of manmade stars twinkling through the dark hours.

“It’s beautiful!” Kirra called up to the dragon. “I never knew Asterryl looked so beautiful.”

Alvaranox glanced back at her, his eye ridges raised and ears perked in curious confusion. She thought Asterryl was pretty? He thought it was a gray blight upon a radiant land. He supposed that was the difference between seeing the place as a home, and a prison. Still, he was glad Kirra appreciated the view.

“Wait till you see the moors tomorrow!”

Kirra smiled, stroking the scales of the dragon’s neck. Now and then his muscles rolled beneath her as he pumped his wings. It reminded her a little of riding a horse, but the dragon’s wing strokes were more fluid, and in a way, the motion against her body was more intimate than that.

From Asterryl, they were soon passing over the lake. Kirra stared out across waters awash in the golden fire of the setting sun. The whole lake glowed. For the first time in her life, she could see the edges of the far shore. Kirra found herself smiling as she turned her head, trying to see every inch of shoreline. From the ground the expanse of water seemed nearly infinite. Yet from the dragon’s back, even at a low altitude, the lake suddenly seemed that much smaller.

Kirra’s whole world suddenly seemed smaller. In minutes the dragon could probably fly the entire distance from Asterryl Kirra had traveled in her life. The collar often called him to fly further town than Kirra had ever ventured. She could hardly imagine the distances the dragon could travel and the things he could see were it not for the black collar that bound him to Asterryl. She scowled on the dragon’s behalf.

Alvaranox’s barrel never seemed so small.

“How far can you fly?” Kirra leaned forward against the dragon’s neck again. She rested her cheek against his warm, green scales. Down below, fishing boats were easing into the docks for the night to unload the last of their catches. Fish would be taken to the evening market, and around to taverns and restaurants for the night’s meals. “In a day, I mean.”

“Never measured it,” Alvaranox called back. “Dragons don’t count distance the way you do. We count things in days of flight. If I told another dragon it was three days flight from here, they would instinctively know how far that was. Three days!” He laughed to himself, wishing there was another dragon around to share that joke. “But I don’t know what that span would be the way you measure distance.”

“Have you ever flown to another town?”

“No,” Alvaranox said, stretching his wings to allow himself to glide. His island was in sight.

“Do you think you could? I mean, assuming there wasn’t a threat. Do you think the collar would let you fly that far?”

“I’ve no idea,” the dragon said, glancing back at her. “Sometimes if I get too far, it starts nudging me back towards Asterryl. But I don’t know how far the nearest town is.”

“We should try it!” Kirra smiled, rubbing the dragon’s scales. “If I’m with you, the collar might let you fly further! It would be wonderful to get to visit another town. Maybe we’d even see another dragon!”

Alvaranox flattened his spines against his head. He made a show of looking at the far shore, not wanting Kirra to see his scowl. Somehow, if they were to see another dragon in another town, he doubted the circumstances would be pleasant. But no need to sully Kirra’s mood. “We could certainly try it.”

“Worst comes to worst, we’d just have to turn around part way there.” Kirra was still smiling to herself. As they began to near his island, she spotted the far swampy shore. Her eyes were not as sharp as the dragon’s and she could not make out the fine details. But she could tell the land there was forested rather than rocky. “Oh! That forest over there, on the shore. Is that the swamp?”

“Yes,” Alvaranox said. “I’ve been there a few times.”

“That’s where the lizard boys live, right?”

Alvaranox burst out laughing at Kirra’s choice of words. “I don’t think they’d like you calling them the lizard boys, but yes, that’s where the Va’chaak live.”

“We should visit them! I’ve seen them in the market a few times, they’re fascinating.”

Alvaranox grinned. Seemed Kirra was fascinated by anything with scales. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. They have multiple tribes, and I don’t know which ones are friendly and which are hostile. They can be quite territorial. Besides, you’re female, so they might want to keep you for their harem!”

“What?” Kirra gasped, leaning back against the dragon’s shoulder blades. “They do that? With human women?”

Alvaranox gave a loud, growling laugh. “I’ve no idea! But I thought it might get a reaction out of you. Now, hold tight again. My island is approaching, and I’m going to spiral around as I descend. It’s a bit of a tricky landing inside the old courtyard.”

“Why don’t you land on that beach?”

“Because you’re carrying too much extraneous shit!” Alvaranox laughed even if Kirra didn’t seem to share his humor. “Might as well land where you can drop it off.”

When Kirra was ready, Alvaranox began to spiral in for his landing. He kept his turns as gentle as possible, not wanting Kirra to feel like she was going to slide right off his back. After making a few descending circles around the island, the dragon swept in over the rocky shores and broken walls, extending his hind legs. He touched down on the crackled cobblestone that still covered much of the courtyard, then dropped his forepaws onto the ground and trotted a few steps before coming to a stop.

Alvaranox tossed his head, grinning back at Kirra. “You can get off me now.”

“Says the bossy dragon,” Kirra muttered. She stuck her tongue out at the dragon, and then swung her leg over his neck. She jumped down, landing in a crouch with a grunt. Then she pushed herself back up and dusted herself off. She turned towards the dragon, and gestured for him to lower his head. When he did so, she threw her arms around his neck in a warm hug. “Thank you!”

“For what?” The dragon said, snorting. He pulled his head back when she released him.

“I think you know,” Kirra said, smiling. She rubbed his shoulder, and then slowly turned in a circle peering around the place. “So this is where you come to hide from the town.”

All around them ancient stone walls rose and fell in broken lines. Crumbled limestone and mortar lay in little piles at the bottom of the walls. Much of the old gray stonework was covered in layers of yellow lichen, and carpets of verdant green moss. Entire sections of wall hid behind heavy blankets of vine and bramble. Beyond the manmade walls were natural ones, narrow spires of stone and cliffs that plunged into the lake below. The ground beneath their feet held lots of cobblestone, though it was long since cracked and broken. Thistles and other weeds grew up from crevices in the stone, small trees grew where they had reclaimed patches of earth.

The courtyard was larger than Kirra expected, it was a big island and she imagined if the place was intact they could have fit much of Asterryl’s market inside it. A lot of men must have once lived on this island, guarding the lake and the lands beyond from invaders. Now the place was empty save for the dragon who occasionally called it home. The buildings that once stood in the courtyard were in various states of disrepair. Many of them had crumbled into broken walls like the lines of stone that marked much of the island. A shattered tower lay battered and collapsed in several sections across the ground. From the looks of things it had destroyed a few smaller buildings when it fell. The sturdier, squared structure that was once part of the fortress’s central keep still looked mostly intact.

“What do you think happened to them?” Kirra asked, walking around the courtyard a little bit. She crouched down and overturned a long, flat stone. Insects scurried for cover when exposed to the light.

Alvaranox flicked his tail, smirking at her antics. “You’re like a curious little child, Kirra. And I’ve no idea what happened to them.”

“Perhaps a dragon came and tore this place apart,” Kirra said, grinning as she stood back up. She spun on the balls of her feet, swirling her green cloak around her. Then she gave her best Alvaranox imitation. “And I’ve no idea what’s wrong with being curious.”

“I suppose not.” The dragon lifted his crests, spreading them till the black splotches on the green membranes were visible. “I thought you might find this place interesting, to be honest.”

“Oh, infinitely so!” Kirra smiled at the dragon, then spotted one of the green lizards the dragon often saw. It was climbing up a section of wall, heading to a hideaway for the night. “Oh, look at this lovely lizard! So green. Looks like he’s covered in tiny little emeralds.”

“What?” The dragon hissed through his teeth, flattening his spiny frills right back down. “And I’m not?”

“You’re a different sort of green.” Kirra turned back towards Alvaranox, trying to soothe the dragon’s easily bruised ego. “You look like the forest. As though your whole body is covered with thousands of leaves, each a different shade of green.”

Alvaranox smiled again. He liked the sound of that.

Kirra smirked at him. “Though with all those black spots, I’m afraid you may have leaf mold.”

“Leaf mold?” The dragon growled, stomping a paw. “If that’s the way you’re going to talk to me, don’t expect me to bring you back here.”

Kirra only giggled. “Speaking of leaf mold.” She nudged a thistle stalk laying on its side, wilting. “What’s happened here?”

“I’ve been doing some gardening,” the dragon said, tossing his head with a derisive snort. “Thistles. I hate the damn things.”

“But it had such a pretty red flower on top.” Kirra nudged it again, then spotted another thistle with a puffy, purple flower that the dragon had scythed down. “And this one had a beautiful purple flower.”

“They are weeds,” the dragon hissed through his teeth. “And they prick me.”

Kirra put her hands on her hips a moment. “You big scaly baby. I’m going to cut those flowers off and put them in some water. You do have water here, don’t you? Or do I need to go down to the lake?”

“I’ve water,” the dragon muttered, wondering why she was bothering.

Kirra slung her pack to the ground, then crouched down and dug through it until she’d retrieved a small knife and a pair of gardening gloves. She pulled the gloves on then carefully gathered a few of the shredded thistle stalks and began to cut the spiny flowers from the top. After setting two of them aside, she poked her finger on the third. She yelped, pulled off her glove, and spent a moment sucking on the injured digit.

“You see?” Alvaranox flared his neck spines in distaste. “Now they’ve gotten you as well. They are bristly nettles with troublesome spines, and should be chopped down at the earliest possible moment. It is little wonder no one likes them.”

“I like them,” Kirra said, wiping her finger off on her pants. She cut the third flower from the stalk with a little more care. “I think they’re beautiful. And weed is such an ugly term for a plant. It did not choose to be a thistle any more than you chose to be a dragon. It should not be chopped down simply for being what it is. You’re bristly too, you know, and you’re covered with spines. People call you a monster, but I don’t think you’re a monster at all. I don’t think thistles are a weed, either. I think they’re beautiful.” Kirra let her words hang in the air a moment as she gathered up a few more of the flowers. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”

Alvaranox stared at her in stunned silence and awe. Somehow she’d just made up for every single time she stumbled over her own words, shoved her foot into her mouth till she was choking on her own knee. Her words cut the dragon to his beating heart, and laid bare his wounded soul. For all the years he longed for someone to see him as more than a monster, Kirra thought he was beautiful.

Without a word, Alvaranox began to pad around the courtyard, helping Kirra collect all the thistles he’d scythed with his tail. When he was done, he brought them over to her. Kirra smiled and rubbed his nose, but if she knew how deeply her words had touched the green dragon she did not let it show. When she had all the flowers cut and ready to be put in water, she smiled up at Alvaranox.

“So. Where can I find some water and something to put these in?”

“This way,” Alvaranox said, padding towards the chambers he had long since made his own. He cast one last glance around the courtyard.

He would never cut down those thistles again.

Alvaranox fetched a large wooden bowl he used for drinking and slipped back outside. Around the corner of the courtyard he kept a wooden barrel to collect rainwater to drink. Thanks to the recent rains it was full. He dunked the bowl and then passed it to Kirra. She set it down near the entrance to the dragon’s chambers and carefully arranged all the thistle flowers so that they were sticking out of the bowl at just about every possible angle. She smiled, and stood back up.

“There. Beautiful don’t you think?”

Alvaranox peered at the bowl full of red, purple and blue thistle blooms. “Yes.” He smiled at Kirra a moment. “Beautiful.”

“I don‘t want the thistle stalks to spoil,” Kirra said as she padded out across the courtyard. She began to carefully retrieve the downed plants, and sent the dragon for a second bowl of water. When he returned, she put the ends of the stalks in the water and leaned them up against the wall. “I can make use of them.”

“What sort of use?” Alvaranox tilted his head, wincing when Kirra pricked her finger.

Kirra stuck her finger in her mouth and spoke around it. “All sorts. They make excellent medicine for a variety of ailments, they‘re excellent at helping to remove toxins from the body for example. They make lovely tea.” She pulled her finger from her mouth and patted the dragon on the cheek. “Just think, if there had been poison on those arrows that stuck you we could have made you a big vat of thistle tea.”

“Tea.” The dragon tossed his head, scoffing. “Nothing like ruining perfectly good water with a bunch of moldy old leaves. Or thistles.”

“It’s delicious,” Kirra said, giggling to herself. She drew her knife, and fetched one of the thistle stalks. With a few deft swipes of her blade, she’d cut away some of the spiny leaves and was soon stripping the heart of the thistle stalk bare. “You can eat thistles, too. it’s a lot of work to get the barbs off the leaves, so I’ll just demonstrate with the stalk. When they’re young they’re pretty good raw.”

Alvaranox scrunched his muzzle. “You’re not going to eat that.”

“I am,” Kirra said, grinning at him. After she removed the leaves and barbs with her knife, she began to strip the outer skin away from the stalk. Kirra held up a bit of the fibrous thistle skin. “You can use this outer husk for making rope, if you want. It’s quite sturdy.” Once the stalk was peeled, Kirra took a big bite out of it, still smiling at the dragon as she chewed it up. “It’s good! Still tender while its fairly young. Almost a little sweet.”

The dragon gave a growl of dismay. “I shall take your word for it.”

“The seeds in the bulbs are excellent for your liver, too,” Kirra said, laughing as the dragon’s pebbly scaled face continued to distort. “But as most of these have already flowered, I’ll have to show you that another time.”

“You know a lot about thistles,” the dragon said, flicking his tail against the stone block wall.

“I know a lot about plants in general,” Kirra said, finishing off the thistle stalk, then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Though to be fair, I learned a lot of it from Nylah.”

Alvaranox grinned at Kirra. She continued to surprise him. He turned and made his way into his sleeping chamber. “I should start calling you Thistle. Now, come along, Thistle. Have a drink with the big scaly baby.”

“Drink?” Kirra scowled at him a moment. She turned to fetch her pack, calling back to the dragon as she crossed the courtyard. “Are you hiding booze out here?”

“Certainly not.” Alvaranox lifted his spines. “I keep it out in the open.”

“No wonder you couldn’t wait to get back out here.” Kirra shouldered her pack, and followed the dragon towards the old keep.

“I keep booze in my home in Asterryl too,” Alvaranox said, flicking his tail against the stony doorframe. Little chips of rock fell to the ground. “You just wouldn’t let me drink it while I was recovering.”

Kirra paused at the entryway. No doubt it once held a set of immense double doors, secured with bars and sturdy locks. It would have been an impressive gateway to an equally impressive fortress. The doors were long gone now, but the fact they’d built it so large made it an excellent lair for a dragon. If it were all normal sized doors Alvaranox never could have fit inside the place.

“Are you sure this place is safe?” Kirra took a few more steps, then stared up at the ceiling. In the gathering darkness she could still see a few cracks in the vaulted stone arches above her.

Alvaranox merely snorted, padding deeper inside. “No. I’m not sure. But it hasn’t fallen on me yet, and hopefully we can keep that tradition alive.”

“Always so comforting,” Kirra said as she followed the dragon.

In what may have once been the main hall of the fortress, the dragon made his home. In many ways it was not all that different from his home in Asterryl, starting with the immense pile of soft things that took up much of the floor. Shelves lined some of the walls, crates other areas. Through a large doorway Kirra saw barrels and casks. Kirra set her pack down near the entryway, looking around the place.

“You weren’t kidding about having plenty of blankets.” She smirked at Alvaranox. “I half expected your lair to be filled with treasure! But it looks like all you hoard is blankets and booze.”

“It is not a hoard,” the dragon said, kneading at one of the blankets with his forepaws before spreading out a bit. “It is a collection. Hoard makes me sound as though I have some kind of disorder.” He sneered, pinning his ears back against his head. “Besides, it is a myth that dragons hoard treasure.” He tossed his head, grinning. “The collar wouldn’t let me spend my days searching it out, anyway. And Asterryl would be angry if I stole their treasure.”

“That doesn’t seem to have stopped you from stealing plenty of other things from town.”

“And my enemies,” the dragon said, gesturing towards a dented iron cuirass leaning against the wall. “I steal from them, too.”

“So I see,” Kirra said, snickering. Then she spotted something else of interest. “Oh! Is that a spear?”

“Yes,” Alvaranox replied, settling onto his haunches upon the blanket he’d spread out. “A va’chaak spear. From one of the times the collar sent me to deal with them. Luckily for them, I didn’t have to do any killing. I scared them off from some travelers they were chasing. When I blasted fire over their heads, one of them dropped his spear in his haste to escape. Thought I might as well add it to my collection.”

“Silly lizard,” Kirra said, grinning. “Can I pick it up?”

“As long as you don’t plan to jab me with it, yes.”

“What if I plan to whack you in the stones with the blunt end?” Kirra giggled at the scrunched up grimace that crossed the dragon’s muzzle.

“Ordinarily I should threaten to drop you in the lake,” Alvaranox said, grinning. “But given that my first day back to flying has left me quite worn out, I think I shall just take pre-emptive defensive measures.” The dragon fetched a paddled purple cushion with a gold ruffle around the outer edge, and rested it between his hind legs. “There. Problem solved.”

Kirra picked up the spear. It was as long as she was tall, and heavier than she expected. Long and sturdy, cut from a single piece of wood. The surface of it was smoothed down. The spear’s point was not forged of iron like she’d expected, but rather carved from stone. She inspected the end of it a moment, it looked awfully sharp despite its primitive nature. The sharpened stone point at the end was lashed to the shaft of the spear with what looked like fibrous vines braided into sturdy rope. Several gray claws from some large predator hung from near the top of the spear as well, as did a single black feather.

“Quite ingenious, really.” Kirra set the spear back down. “I suspect when they trade with us they like to pick up metal spearheads.”

Kirra leaned the spear back up against the wall, and browsed through a few more of the dragon’s trophies. The cuirass he indicated earlier was heavily dented. Kirra cringed at the sight of dried blood still coating the thing. “You took this off someone you killed, didn’t you?”

“Some bandit, I think.” Alvaranox scratched his neck with a single unsheathed black claw. “Little bastard tried to stab me in the throat.”

“Seems like good armor for a bandit.” Kirra flicked the cuirass with her nail, listening to the light clang.

“I’m sure whoever he stole it from thought the same thing.”

“Have you got any good weapons?” Kirra turned towards the dragon, her hands upon her hips. “Other than that spear. After what happened a few weeks ago, I think I should learn to fight. Seems fitting if I learned with a sword that nearly shed your blood.”

Alvaranox swallowed, rubbing at the ugly pink scar upon his belly. “With any luck, you can have the sword that nearly took my life.”

“Oh!” Kirra’s eyes widened, heat rushing to her ears. “I didn’t mean…”

Alvaranox waved his paw. “Nonsense. I was going to look for that sword anyway. I’ll add it to my collection, but you may borrow if you wish. Now.” The dragon pushed himself to his feet, turning away. As his dark green tail swung towards Kirra she instinctively ducked, though he was careful not to clip her with it. “You continue enjoying my collection, and I’ll get us some booze.”

“Watch your tail,” Kirra muttered to herself as the dragon squeezed his way through the doorway into the chamber that held his collection of drink.

Alvaranox peered around the room. It was a large antechamber that may have once served as waiting room, but now served as booze storage for a dragon. Casks of wine, ale and spirits were stacked high against the stone walls. Some of the casks had been there as long as Alvaranox had been coming here. Gray shelf fungus with red speckles grew on one old cask. Mushrooms with bluish caps upon tiny stalks sprouted around another. A trail of wet green slime ran down the corner of the room where a leak let in mysterious water. Alvaranox licked his nose. Perhaps he should stop bringing more drink here until he finished what he had. But what sort of collection would that be?

The dragon chose a barrel of red wine he’d lifted from one of his favorite taverns in Asterryl. He carefully eased it over onto its side, and rolled the iron-banded barrel back into his sleeping chamber. “Here we are,” Alvaranox said, easing the barrel upright again. “You do like red wine, don’t you Kirra?”

“I drank it with you last time, didn’t I?” Kirra chuckled, then peered at the barrel, quirking her brow. “I hope you don’t expect me to just cup my hands in there.”

“No,” the dragon said. “I expect you to dunk your muzzle in it like I do.”

“First,” Kirra said, wagging her finger at the dragon. “I haven’t got a muzzle. Second, I’m not dunking my head into a barrel of wine. Third, I don’t want to drink wine that’s tainted with dragon slobber.”

“Oh, very well.” The dragon rose back to his paws and padded around his home, poking through some crates. “I’m sure I’ve got some mugs around here somewhere.”

“Is there anything you haven’t stolen from Asterryl?” Kirra snickered to herself, putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve brought my own mug, you know.”

“An inferior vessel, no doubt.” The green dragon smirked at her, copper eyes gleaming. “Besides, not all of this is from Asterryl. Some of it I’ve stolen from travelers in the moors.”

Kirra gaped at Alvaranox. “You steal from travelers?”

“Not lately,” the dragon said, flaring his spines a little. “Consider it a tribute to me. travelers from other towns don’t always know I’m not allowed to hurt innocent people. I tell them I keep the road safe and that I expect them to give me first pick of their wares, or their goods. At least I used too. I haven’t bothered in ages.”

“That’s terrible, Alv,” Kirra said, though laughter soon overtook her. “You’re such a brat.”

“Makes me feel more like a dragon when I instill a little fear in someone.” The dragon growled as if in demonstration.

“And here I thought you didn’t like being treated like a monster.”

Alvaranox snapped his jaws, pushing aside a crate that held plenty of plates and silverware, but no drinking vessels. Why he’d taken such a crate he could not recall. “I’m complicated.”

“You certainly are,” Kirra said. She looked over some of his shelves, spotting what looked like old scales. She held one up to the fading light seeping in through the entryway. In the twilight gloom it held a purple sheen that might have once been blue. “Are these what I think they are?”

Alvaranox glanced over, a wistful smile spread over his muzzle. “Yes. From my last mate. Dragon lovers often take a few scales from each other as a keepsake.”

Kirra smiled. Sounded like what humans sometimes did with locks of hair. “So she has some of your scales too?”

“She does,” Alvaranox said. The dragon turned his eyes towards the exit, watching the last daylight fade. “I used to call her Rain.”

“Rain?” Kirra rubbed her thumb against the blue scale. It held a coarseness from years spent drying out on the dragon’s shelf. “That’s a pretty name for any female, dragon or otherwise.”

“It was only a nickname, but it fit.” Alvaranox sighed, turning his attention to finding that drinking vessel for Kirra. He did not want to talk about Rain right now. He pulled another crate forward, tossed away an old dress that lay across it, and then grinned. Mugs and glasses filled the wooden box. “Pewter, or wood?”

“Oh, pewter, certainly. Mine’s only wood.” Kirra said as she set the scale back down with the others. “Pewter will make me feel fancy.”

“Pewter it is.” Alvaranox was thankful Kirra didn’t pry further. He pulled a large pewter goblet from the crate. “Catch.”

The dragon tossed Kirra the vessel and she caught it with both hands. It was heavier than she expected, and ornate. Three silvery dragons held aloft the bowl-shaped goblet, their tails all twining together to form the handle. Kirra looked inside, and laughed to herself. “Gods, Alv, I think this would almost hold an entire bottle of wine.”

“You say that as though it’s a bad thing.” The dragon padded over to where he’d left the barrel of wine. He unsheathed his claws, sunk them into the top of the barrel, and then pried it loose. He tossed the broken piece aside. “Come get your wine.”

“I don’t think that’s how that’s supposed to work,” Kirra said, giggling to herself. She used her shirt to wipe dust from her goblet, then filled it from the wine barrel.

The dragon gave her a blank look, lifting a single frilled ear in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a plugged hole on the side, and you stick a spigot there.” Kirra pointed with her free hand. “See? That’s the bung.”

A smirk twisted at the side of the dragon’s muzzle. “Is it then.”

Kirra sipped the wine. It was rich and earthy, with hints of dark fruits running through it. Not as sweet as she’d expected. She liked it. “Yes, it is. That’s what they call that. What are you smirking at?”

“I have heard that word used by your people before, but they were not talking about barrels.”

Kirra rolled her eyes, giggling to herself. “You shouldn’t be listening to what foul-mouthed children say.” Then she amended herself. “Actually, children shouldn’t be listening to foul-mouthed dragons.”

“They were foul-mouthed adults, actually,” Alvaranox said. He lowered his head, flaring his green nostrils as he savored the aromas of the wine. “And they were drunk as all hell.”

“All the more reason not to listen to them.” Kirra sipped her wine again. She smiled at the dragon, and then went back to look at a few more of his treasures. She ran her fingers over the well worn covers of a few old leather-bound books. As she examined some of his collection, she called back to him. “I hope you’re not going to drink that whole barrel.”

“Of course not,” Alvaranox said, grinning. He thumped his spined tail against his bedding. “You’ve already got a goblet full, so I couldn’t drink the whole barrel.”

“Very funny, Dragon.” Kirra picked up some kind of animal horn. Looked like the central horn from one of those mountain goats with three horns. Whatever it was, it looked very old. Perhaps a trophy the dragon took from one of his very first hunts as a youth. She ran her thumb over the dark brown ridges and then set it back down. “I mean it though, don’t drink that whole thing.”

“I won’t,” the dragon said. He dropped his head down, lapped at the rich red wine for long moments, then pulled his snout up. Red droplets clung to the dragon’s pebbly green scales. He licked them away. “I don’t want to be hung over when I go trophy hunting tomorrow morning.”

“And I don’t want you waking me up all night every time you have to go take a piss.” Kirra smirked at the dragon, and took another drink of her own wine. Already she could feel the heat rising in her face, warmth blossoming in her belly. “So go easy on that stuff.”

“Why would I wake you up?” The dragon tossed his head, rustling his black-mottled wings. “I told you weeks ago I’m not about to let you supervise my pissing.”

“Alv, I’ve seen you when you wake up.” Kirra waved her goblet in the air, wine sloshing inside it. “You groan, you mutter, you stumble about and bump into things. Even if you were trying to be quiet, you’d be so fixated on your silence you’d step on me.”

“Crushed by a dragon,” Alvaranox said, as if speaking Kirra’s obituary. “There could be worse ways to go.”

Kirra smiled, shaking her head. She set her goblet down on the shelf and untied her forest green cloak from around her shoulders. Then she walked over to the dragon, and held it up against his side for a moment. The colors nearly matched. Alv gave her an odd look, but went back to drinking his wine as she compared the color of the material to that of the dragon’s scales.

“Your scales match my cloak,” Kirra said, smiling. “They must match my eyes too, then.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked your eyes,” the dragon said, glancing back at her, his wedge-shaped head hovering over the barrel.

“You like my eyes?” Kirra’s pulse quickened. That was always a compliment that made her heart flutter when she got it from a man she fancied. She’d never expected to hear it from the dragon, though. Or for it to have the same effect.

“I do,” Alv said softly. Then he smirked at her and went back to his wine. “They match my own green magnificence.”

Kirra snickered. She swatted the dragon’s black-speckled haunch. “Brat.”

Kirra folded her cloak a few times, and then deposited it near her pack. She crouched down next to her bag, digging through it again. Soon she pulled out her lantern. It was heavily mirrored to help increase the glow of the flame within. She set the iron-framed lantern down, and dug through her pack a little more. Then she scowled, leaning back onto her heels.

“Oh, damn.”

Alvaranox gave an exaggerated sigh. He pinned his spines back against his head and neck in mock frustration. “What did you forget?”

“My fire starting kit. I don’t even have a way to light my lantern.”

The dragon rumbled in amusement. He stretched one of his wings and then furled it a little to point at himself with a wingtip talon. “I think I can handle the fire starting.”

“I don’t want my lantern melted,” Kirra said, snickering. “Can you see in the dark?”

“Better than you.”

“You needn’t brag,” Kirra said, walking over to gently rub the golden blotch at the end of his nose. “Alright Mister Night Sight, want to do me a favor?”

“Not particularly.” Alvaranox folded his wing back against his side.

“Just go and fetch me a very thin, narrow stick? Then you can just light the end of it for me, and I can use that to light my lantern for the night.”

Alvaranox took a deep breath, and let out the heaviest sigh he could. “Oh, very well. Don’t drink all my wine while I’m away.”

Kirra patted his scales in thanks, and settled herself onto his blanket while the dragon slunk out of his sleeping chamber into the darkening world beyond. Just as she was about to warn him not to knock over the bowl full of water and thistle flowers near the entrance, she heard a clatter, a splash, and a cursing dragon.

“Balls of the Earth Dragon!” Alvaranox yelled.

“Try not to knock over the thistle bowl,” Kirra called after him, grinning in the darkness.

“I just did…Oh, very funny,” Alvaranox said, growling when he realized Kirra heard the whole thing.

“So much for that night sight you were just bragging about.”

“I wasn’t looking at the damn ground.”

“No, it sounded like you were looking at some other dragon’s balls,” Kirra said, bursting into giggles. She leaned back onto her hands, grinning to herself. “Get some more water and put those thistles back in, will you?”

“Of course, Slave Master.” The dragon snarled from the entryway. A little while later the dragon returned, a very thin, dry stick clutched in his jaws. Just as Kirra reached up to take it from him, he spat the slobbery thing out onto her lap. “Here’s your damn stick.”

Kirra scrunched her face, wiping the stick off on the dragon’s blankets. “Thank you, Alv. Did you put the…”

“Yes, I put the thistles back in water,” Alvaranox said, dunking his muzzle into the wine barrel to get the taste of stick out of his mouth.

Kirra waited until he’d quenched his thirst before she offered him the stick. “Light this, will you?”

“You know, I come out here to get away from being told what to do all the time.” Alvaranox glared at her a moment. His copper eyes shone in the darkness, picking up every hint of light.

“If that’s the way you feel, you should have stayed here by yourself tonight.” Kirra held the stick out for him.

Alvaranox licked his nose. “I suppose sometimes being bossed around is slightly preferable to unexpected loneliness.” Then before Kirra had a chance to reply, Alvaranox blew the tiniest stream of fire he could. He squeezed his fire glands in a short, sharp burst. The line of flames that erupted from his muzzle were still enough to engulf half the stick in orange fire. “There,” the dragon said, laughing as Kirra squealed in alarm. “Now light your damn lantern before you burn your fingers off.”

“I said light the end of the stick! Not the whole damn thing!” With heat rolling over her hand, Kirra knelt down next to her lantern, frantically opening the access hatch. She shoved the burning stick inside for only a second, just enough to light the wick. She didn’t want all the lamp oil to ignite at once. Somehow having a burning lantern explode in her face didn’t sound like a very good end to the night. She yanked the stick back out and tossed it away, giving a sigh of relief. “That was close.”

“Dragons don’t do small flame-HEY!” Alvaranox yelped in alarm when the stick Kirra had haphazardly tossed away landed on the edge of one of his older quilts, woven of coarse, thick strands of blue and red yarn. As soon as the stick landed upon it, the quilt itself began to smolder, and soon flames were creeping across it. Alvaranox snatched up the other end of it in his teeth, dragging it away from the rest of his soft things. “Are you drunk already? You’re going to burn my house down!”

“I’m sorry!” Kirra clapped her hands to her mouth. It seemed both horrifying and hilarious. “I wasn’t even paying attention.”

“Obviously,” the dragon said, gesturing at the fire. “Now stomp this out before I have to upend the wine barrel.”

“Of course,” Kirra said, leaping to her feet. It didn’t really occur to her or the dragon that she might light her pants on fire if she wasn’t careful. Thankfully for her, she didn’t. The flames were still fairly contained, and a few good stomps quelled them under her boot. Then for good measure she fetched another of the dragon’s mugs, filled it with water from his barrel outside, and poured it over the smoldering ruins of his quilt. “There. That should take care of it.”

“And you wondered why I didn’t have any light fixtures in here.”

Kirra grinned sheepishly at the dragon. “I’m sorry about that.” Then her expression fell a little as she nudged at the burnt rug with the toe of her boot.

Alvaranox glared at her a moment, but as Kirra’s face contorted with guilt, the dragon’s own pebbly scales visage softened. “Oh, it’s alright.” He reached out and wrapped a foreleg around her, pulling her up against his chest plates in a hug. “I didn’t really like that quilt anyway. Besides, this gives me something to tell Nylah about.”

Kirra was quick to return the dragon’s hug. “I’d never hear the end of it!”

“Well, you keep your mouth shut about the Bluestrand’s more embarrassingly arousing side effects, and I shall keep my mouth shut about your attempted arson of my collection.”

“Deal,” Kirra said, giggling. She leaned her head against the dragon’s chest for a moment, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Your heart is so steady lately.” She pulled her head back and smiled up at the dragon, rubbing his plates. “Let’s try and keep it that way.”

“I certainly plan to.” Alvaranox smiled back down at her.

“Good,” Kirra said. She patted his cheek, then went to fetch her lantern. She closed up the hatch, and picked it up by the handle to carry it over to the dragon’s trophy shelves. As innocently as she could, she asked, “So who’s the earth dragon and why are you talking about his balls?”

Alvaranox blinked, snorting. “Shouldn’t have said that in the human language. But I’m so used to speaking it, it’s almost all that ever slips from my tongue anymore. And the earth dragon is…” Alv worked his tongue over his muzzle, trying to find the right words. “Well, he isn’t real. He’s…”

“Some sort of dragon God?” Kirra looked over her shoulder, red curls swishing.

“Not exactly,” Alvaranox said, swiveling his ears back and forth as he sought the proper explanation. It was like trying to explain a dream. It made perfect sense in the dragon’s mind, but the more he thought about it the more ephemeral the concept became. “A deity, in a way. Like a nature spirit. Very old dragon beliefs hold that each of the four major elements was embodied in powerful semi deity-like dragon. Two male, two female. The earth dragon is the embodiment of earth, and a male. Supposedly he and the fire dragon, the other male, plowed the water dragon and wind dragon, both female, and the resulting eggs were first the creation of our world, and then, the first dragon hatchlings.”

Kirra couldn’t help giggling to herself at the way the dragon put things. “Plowed them, hmm? You have such an eloquent way of re-telling your people’s legends.”

Alvaranox snorted, flexing his wings in a shrug. “It’s all a load of balls, anyway.”

“Your mouth gets dirtier, and dirtier.”

Alvaranox chuckled to himself, rising his central spines. “No it doesn’t. You just hear me talk more often. Anyway. Don’t ask why because I don’t know, but the phrase Balls of the Earth Dragon has always been an old angry exclamation. Seemed appropriate when I stepped on one of those thistle flowers.”

“You didn’t hurt your paw, did you?” Kirra looked down at the dragon’s paws, glancing back and forth between them.

“They’re fine, but thank you for asking.” Alvaranox licked his nose, and went back to drinking from his barrel of wine.

Kirra fetched her own goblet. She took a long drink, and then with the lantern shedding orange light across the rows of shelves and stolen book cases, she perused more of the dragon’s collection. She spotted coins from some far away land, minted with images of kings and castles she’d never seen. She knew of no inhabited castles, only ruins. The coins must be quite old or from somewhere very far away.

Then Kirra spotted another little pile of dragon scales. She reached out and picked one up. In the lamplight it held a fiery orange shade with flickering copper markings. She turned herself, shielding the scale from the lamp. Free of direct light the scale was actually a green color, not quite as dark as Alv. Hints of gold flickered along its edges. For a moment she thought perhaps it was another of Alvaranox’s lovers.

Then she realized why the colors seemed so familiar. She slowly turned towards the dragon, and held the scale up. “Alv, is this…”

Alvaranox watched her, quiet. “Yes. We don’t take scales only from mates and lovers. We also take them from those we loved. Those are from my mother.”

“They’re beautiful,” Kirra said, her voice reverent. She felt as though she were treading the edge of very sacred ground for the dragon, and she did not wish to overstep her bounds. “Have you had them a long time?”

“Yes, Kirra,” Alvaranox said, a bittersweet chuckle slipping between sharp teeth. He knit his eye ridges together. In the lamplight his eyes shone orange and wet, haunted by pain and loss the dragon could not address. “A very long time.”

“You lost her, didn’t you.” Kirra’s voice was barely a whisper yet it hung in the air like the tolling of a bell.

“I don’t remember,” the dragon said. He sighed, and slowly lowered himself down onto his blankets. “Sometimes I think the collar won’t let me.”

Kirra set the scales down, and walked to the dragon’s side. As Kirra settled down alongside his neck, Alvaranox closed his eyes. He pictured his mother in his mind. Green, like him, darkest along her back and paler along her belly. Golden stripes on her limbs, golden blotches on her haunches and wings. He remembered her clearly from his days as a hatchling. But when he tried to picture her later in life, the image grew fuzzy, as though he were watching her in the distance through bleary eyes.

“My memories of my mother are a meadow in fog,” Alvaranox said, not opening his eyes. “I can still picture her, but only from my earliest days.” Anger began to tint the dragon’s voice. “The older I get, the more my memories of her are shrouded in fog. The harder I try to remember her, the thicker that mist gets. She wanders from me by the day. Till she is little more than a green silhouette in the murk. Sometimes I fear if this continues I will no longer remember my mother, but the mother of some other dragon.”

Kirra grit her jaw, her chest tightening. Her heart ached in sympathy for the dragon. “Could you remember her more clearly before you were injured? Before I…” She licked her lips, worried she has somehow changed the equation without ever even knowing the numbers. “Before I made the collar save you?”

Alvaranox’s voice was like a lost sailor, drifting further from shore on dark waters. “I don’t remember.”

Kirra leaned over the dragon’s neck to wrap her arms around him best she could. She hugged the dragon tightly, pressing her face to the broad scales that protected his neck. She gently stroked him, whispering. “It’s alright, Alv. I’ll get you through this. I won’t let you forget her.”

Alvaranox smiled to himself. It was nice to know she cared, even if he feared she could not back up her pledge. “Thank you, Kirra.”

“I mean it, Alv,” Kirra’s voice rose, strong and hot. The fire in her heart could have forged steel. “One way or another, I will make this right.”