Written: 7/9/2024
Word Count: 1,207

The afternoon found me reading more out-of-order snippets of DeLeann's journey across a homeland that was eerily similar to the Femur. After a while, I realized the story changed from DeLeann being beaten up by every folk she ran across. At some point, even the layout of the pages changed. The images were drawn in ink, rather than runny watercolor. They detailed anatomical drawings, lines poking out of each feature, labeling the pieces.

I had found the veterinarian notes at last. They had only been hidden beneath forty pages of DeLeann's misadventures.

Resinee cooked something with a yellow scent, warm lemon slices making my nose twitch and my stomach growl in anticipation. Of all things, the Dark Elves imported lemons. Too bad they were all mine now, if they wanted any chance of keeping their prisoner happily chained up.

Aunt Rosetta had used a code. DeLeann's misadventures took a dramatic turn, for when she started in on the adventures with the "beasties," it went from "DeLeann got pummeled with a grandfather clock that the Wood Elf had manipulated with the last bits of magic in his blood," to, "And then the Cliff-Dwelling Hollowfang broke the sixth phalange on the right wing, so a 20mL injection of rimadyn must be followed with an anti-inflammatory topical ointment."

Eventually, DeLeann's name appeared less and less on each page. The top would be labeled something like "DeLeann's Catch 27," "DeLeann's Catch 14," but instead of a ridiculous story, the diagrams of beasties took up the entire page. In the margins, in distinctly worse hand-writing than the small, curvy script I was used to, were notes that appeared to be added after the initial sketch. Aunt Rosetta couldn't draw a stick figure to save her life, but she could detail tiny tarsus bones distinctly beside the larger fibulas.

So many dragon names. Most of them looked lizard-like. Some looked like snakes and some like eels from the sea. But most had the fire and brimstone vibe that I was used to seeing decorated on kitchen towels and clocks. Dragons were just like any other magical creature, but there were a lot more variations than I'd thought. There were only three distinct breeds of unicorns, but based on all of Aunt Rosetta's notes, there were hundreds of species expanding dragons, wyverns, and wyrms. Each one easily had a hundred different variations.

The papers' organization system had been destroyed, so I separated them into colors and sizes. Already, I had ten precariously-placed piles along the footrest and floor. I was going to run out of room. There were just too many variations to make sense of.

Resinee set down a bowl of quinoa and herbs, three warm slices of lemon slathered on top like strange eyes. Immediately, I picked one up, its soft, heated edges running juice down my fingers and arm and sneaking into the stupid printed dress I wore. I put the whole thing in my mouth, ignoring the shiver of disgust from the elva who stood before me.

I did not thank her for the food. At this point, even I knew it was petty, but it fueled my indignant flames just enough so that I could keep working on this mess. I used her to focus my annoyance and anger. Thanks, Resinee.

After consuming the three lemon slices, peels and all, I edged the bowl of quinoa to my side. A white snoot appeared over my shoulder, dripping trails of saliva down my bare arms. The dragon's black nose quivered as it smelled the dish set before it.

Then, it scarfed the whole thing, a void, a vacuum. I couldn't help this strange urge to monetize the way it consumed everything in its path. Could I lend it out to the 3rd Ring? This little guy was a full-blown excavator, not missing a single grain of quinoa in its path. Those born with talent should utilize it, no?

"That's all you're eating?" Resinee asked, not bothering to hide the exasperated pitch in her pretty voice. "You've hardly eaten anything since you came here. Your body won't heal if you don't give it proper food and rest! Food is just as important."

"And whose fault is that?" I muttered, as unkindly as I could manage. Based on the flinch that rocked her frame back a half-step, I think I reached new heights of unglorified brattiness. Licking off the lemon juice from my fingers, I then wiped them all over her pretty dress. Reaching back to my pile of dragon logs, I happened upon a sketch that looked eerily blank.

And somehow eerily familiar.

Just as the baby dragon hurtled over my head and out the door—unnecessarily fast, if you ask me—I found the undetailed diagram of a small dragon. Before I put it in the "non-reptilian/outlier" pile, I noticed three marks on its blank chest. The shape of the claw marks resonated in my head. One beat, two.

It was the baby dragon's file.

"Hey." My knee-jerk reaction was to celebrate, even if I was a petty elvaniac. I would have preferred the brat, but Resinee would have to do. "I found it."

"What'd you find?" she asked, but I was busy poring over the information card on my little roommate.

What stuck out to me was the lack of detail, but I could easily explain that away. Aunt Rosetta could have been murdered before she'd been able to finish this entry. There was the typical outline, though without the wings. I didn't know what that was about—didn't it already have wings when she brought it here?

The dragon species wasn't named. DeLeann's name wasn't anywhere on the top of the page, or the sides. These differences gave off the vibe that this little dragon wasn't like the others.

Aunt Rosetta's messy script took on a desperate edge. Her letters were written so slanted and so on top of one another that deciphering them gave me a headache. "Hatched in the south," was circled three times. I hadn't a clue why that mattered. "Sustained injury while on the run. Stitching needles lost." Wait. Had Aunt Rosetta rescued this kit herself? She'd run away with it? From what?

Or whom?

"Hunbun on his way. Will look odd if he comes before the Season, so I readied a mattress in the cellar."

Only a few of the dragons had dietary and medication dosage sections. This one had both, but nothing was filled in under their labels.

"RF raffled name. Will now be categorized as Lizyk. Assume properties of dragons and properties of foxes coexist together. No manifestations of power yet. Can stay hidden??? For how long?? Where is end point? What location is safe?"

I didn't think I could have even more questions than I did before, but...I looked up slowly to see Resinee chewing on her lip, waiting for me to divulge what, exactly, I had found that made me react in excitement.

A tingle developed at my scalp, and I really wished that damn brat was here. I should be used to feeling unsafe, so what part of feeling unsafe with Resinee—a flowery, kind elva who cooked me food and smiled as often as she breathed—made that feeling worse?