Dragon speak

A city, flayed by the rays of an indifferent sun that hangs high in a deep blue sky, filled with sweaty bodies that throng through its dusty streets. Feet kicking dust into a swirling haze; feet on their way to destinations of their own design. Young girls walk proud in their festive gold and silver, their rose and white dresses; old women hawkeyed over their precious young. Young boys wide eyed, catching glimpses of beauty; old men laughing at the young.

A man, neither young nor old, pushes his way hurriedly through the crowd. This man’s face wears a frown like a head might wear a thorny crown. In his left hand twigs of duskcap, in his right hand a book of law, in his belt a shining blade - curved and long. Down Ulev Street towards the Archive he rushes.

Out of nowhere a shadow. A rush of air, flapping wings that crack like angry whips. Panic and chaos, people scurry into buildings. Screaming, shouting.

The man freezes in his tracks. He drops the law and draws his blade into his right hand. His frown has turned to scowl. The two lock gazes.

A slender body the size of a small building hangs over the man. Green shimmering scales with menacing spikes cover it from head to toe. Wings flapping furiously to hold its hover. In its deep shadow a man stands, blade in hand, waiting.

The swoop never comes; in its stead a rumbling voice drops into the empty street. “This Ingathering belongs to me! I shall take what souls I require. I shall take what flesh I desire!” When the booming voice grew still the man shouted up into the silhouette over him. “We will not yield. Our souls stay here. Our flesh lives on!” A bone shaking thunderous boom ascending into a high pitched screech answered him. Flames sprang from the creature’s nostrils, but never made it to the ground, as it turned into open skies and sped towards the mountains. “You will be mine!” sounded through the distant echo.

… to be continued!

Morron