Written: 9/9/24-9/29/24
Word Count: 3,777

Baby, I'm the one who put you up there. I don't know why (I don't know why).

"Ina, dear, could you hand me the scalpel that looks like Lady Bearmouth's watermelon candies?"

I held out my hand, waiting for the familiar weight of the tool. A fist smaller than my own appeared out of the corner of my eye, and the object was placed in my open palm. Sharp side flat, angled in the opposite direction away from my skin. I couldn't help my little smile at the sound of knees and feet quickly retreating across the gravel. Package delivered.

"Are you...smiling?"

I adjusted the grip of the Wedger, flipping its weighty form around to cut with. Glancing in front of me, I met the disbelieving gaze of a Dryad. The nymph looked young, unburdened by age lines at the corners of his eyes, but I suspected he was actually older than me.

Ah, well. I gave a helpless little shrug. Stupidity and foolishness had no age limits.

"I hope I haven't made you ill at ease, Mr. Nymph," I said, turning back to my task. "I'm very proud of my assistant and how far she's come in performing her tasks. I'm afraid I've grown spoiled," I laughed, placing one of my deerskin gloves against a feathery purple hide.

At the Dryad's words, a beast that was coiled into a tight ball around him vibrated in a growl, one that sent my little helper scampering even further away. My grin faded, and I tsked, giving the beastie a chastising two-fingered tap.

"Enough of that, now," I warned.

Its purple had already begun to lose its color, the dead peel sloughing off at every sound, every twitch of its serpentine body.

A feathered beast, sure, but this dragon was more snake than bird.

"It's alright," I cooed, cutting the dead skin and propelling shriveled feathers to flutter all about. The Dryad gave a great sneeze, which caused the coils to tighten further. A choked gasp came from the nymph stuck within the dragon's maw, one fanged tooth wedged in the side pocket of the lucky fool's cargo pants. "Shedding feathers and skin at the same time is an exhausting ordeal. I don't blame you for getting tired halfway through. We all need a little help sometimes."

A pointy head peeked out from underneath the thickest coil as wide around as three columnar trees tied together. The Dryad's eyebrows were sharp, just like little twigs glued to his forehead. They gave him an expression of constant confusion.

This expression was made even more severe as he stared up at me, eyes so wide they could be mistaken as implants from a fish. "Are you seriously cutting off this monster's dead skin?"

I hummed in response, tearing through more of the old dermis. Once I started the split with the heavy-duty scalpel, it was much easier to guide the rest to cascade away, leaving behind slightly-moist purple scales and a strip of the downiest fluff roving down the center of the beastie's back.

I hummed again, happily patting the creature until a deep sigh reverberated throughout its body. New feathers were already starting to grow.

This dragon was quite healthy, despite its difficulty in shedding old skin. That was a common enough ailment for beasties with double-hide characteristics; nothing to worry about. The feathers made it difficult for shedding, but it was only with their addition that it could glide across the sky. Ergo, it was important to shed the old skin successfully, even if it had to rely on an Elf.

No one could make it through this life alone. Not even feathered serpent dragons.

"Are you kidding!" The Dryad gave a mighty scoff, nearly upending his throat from his body. "Now what are you doing?"

I glanced up at the treasure hunter. Blinking in confusion, I reached out for the sketchbook proffered in Resinee's hands. "Thanks, Ina." Flipping a page, I chose my pastel weapon from the unspooled case at my feet. "I'm drawing. What did you think I was doing?"

The Dryad sputtered on his rage, a spectacle as he tried not to kick the creature who had his leg half-tucked inside its maw, a massive tooth leaking venom all down his pants. The fool had been lucky not to lose much blood—the tooth had snagged on an object, not the nymph's bone.

"Release me from this beast!" he choked out at last.

I clicked my tongue. "Sure. Yeah. I will."

The Dryad watched me for a few terse seconds before exploding, kicking his other foot in a downright tantrum against the serpent's purple coils. "Now!"

Rather than the happy little purr from when I'd patted the beastie's side, this sudden kick caused the dragon to growl. It sounded like a broken cat—three giant, overworked chuffs. I paused in my drawing, purple staining my fingers from the chalk. Tilting my head, I wondered aloud, "Could this dragon be much older than I first thought?"

The coils wrapped tighter around its target. A muffled, "Meep!" came from a pointy head now covered from sight. Somewhere behind me, Resinee gave a little sigh.

"That could explain why it doesn't seem to notice a living creature hanging out of its mouth," I pondered, changing the sketch just slightly.

"Mistress," Resinee began, timid and quiet. It was easy to dismiss her little voice for the passing wind whispering through a branch, or the titter of a bird communicating with its brethren.

I glanced at where Resinee hid behind the front line of rose bushes. Her own mother had planted those there a decade earlier. The first of many delicate blooms to find their way to this oasis.

Resinee sighed again. This time, her interruption was a little louder. "Lady Rosetta."

"Yes?" I blinked, refocusing on the young elva hiding behind bulbous green buds, their soft pink petals a visible outline deep within the bushes' thorny embrace. "Are you hungry, kiddo?"

Resinee opened her mouth, but it was only after a long pause that she answered, "No."

"Then what can I help you with?" I readjusted my stool, spinning back to the beastie.

After coiling tight around the disturbance stuck in its mouth, it had gentled off into a light slumber. I was now more sure than ever that this dragon was geriatric. I mused, pondering whether or not I could somehow entice it into my basement, where it could live out the remainder of its life in relative peace and comfort.

I smiled, some small, bitter thing that burned at the corners of my lips. No dragon wanted to be locked up in a basement. If there was one thing that bound most dragon types together, it was this: dragons wanted to die under full view of the stars. To take the sky away, you might as well rip off their wings and plunge a sword through their hearts.

It brought the same pain.

Resinee cleared her throat. "Shouldn't you...help him?"

I raised a brow. "Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"...are you?"

I turned my chin, flashing a bright smile at the twelve-year-old with the serious face. "Of course."

Muffled sounds of protest—squeaky and petulant—rose up from deep within the dragon's scaly tower. I laughed.

"Don't worry, I'll get you out of there right quick. You're lucky the dragons like these flowers, so they land here. Otherwise, who knows if it would have accidentally released you while flying over the volcano or somewhere else dangerous?"

The muffled noises turned deeper; complaints that turned defensive and hostile.

I laughed again. "Right quick, I promise," I repeated while my fingers arced the tip of a slithery tail on my sketchbook's gossamer film. Purple chalk stuck to my wrist, staining my jacket.

"Could you just...hurry?" the Dryad squeaked. A strain appeared in his voice as the coils settled, sprung together nice and tight.

I hummed, digging into the unrolled toolbelt splayed at my feet. Bugs crescendoed in late-afternoon buzzes, the sound as familiar as the hair chopped at my chin and the white veterinarian coat spread across my shoulders. The sun began burning, golden in its descent. At this height, one could almost trick themselves into hearing it. The slide through the air, the heavy hiss emitted by such a large object.

"Ina, you should hurry and head home." I glimpsed back to where the elva had found a seat surrounded by roses and butterflies. Who knew butterflies could live so high up on a mountain? Maybe the roses and other flowers were just that enticing and worth the risk of being whisked away by the wind. Brave creatures. "Your momma might need help with the twins. I imagine they're a handful during dinner."

"Is it safe?" The Dark Elf found a stick, poking the gravel into half moons and squiggly lines. She kept her eyes on her task, the faintest purple blushing her cheeks as she worked through her words. "You're...safe to be by yourself?"

My brows rose in surprise, but I only smiled. Still, Resinee hesitated.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

The little elva stepped out from behind the rose bushes. Her dress was a brighter hue than any of the currently-blooming flowers, and its pattern drove the attention of more than one bee. She'd been gently swatting the things away all afternoon, and she wasn't even wearing any perfume.

My eyes narrowed on her small, dainty form. Elvas were typically prided on their wraithlike appearance, but this one just looked too skinny. Too delicate, especially for all the work she did. There were no pampered, spoiled tots on this mountain. You worked, and you worked, and then you worked some more. The work never ended.

This little one was so small, but she always stood straight. Even now, when her gaze was on the gravel and not my face, her back was an unbending pillar. There was a gentleness to her frame that most travelers mistook as her waifish physique. But no, that wasn't it.

That inherent timidity was a product of this child's soul. It had always been there, and it was the foremost thing that made her mother and step-father scared to death.

"You're...gonna help him, right?" Resinee asked.

I gave a reassuring laugh, but it grated down my throat, a wave of warning tingling on the back of my tongue. What could I do? Tell her to stop caring? Tell her to stay quiet? What should I do? How do I try to stop something so...pure?

"Of course," I said, as seriously as I could manage.

Unconvinced, Resinee furrowed her brow, the expression overall something like a disgruntled kitten. "But you're holding toenail clippers."

Deep within the snake's coiling recesses, a squeak of indignant protest spoke in a distinct, "Mm! Mmh mmhm mmh mm mhm! Mmm!"

I glanced down at the giant clippers in my hands, shrugging. "It won't take long. Beastie hasn't been as active in its elder state, so its claws aren't being sharpened on prey or rubbing up against objects when walking. If they grow too long, they'll start to curl, which will hurt when it tries to walk."

"Mm! Mm mmh mhhmm!"

"So don't worry," I said, waving the elva along. "Go eat your dinner. You can always come help me out again tomorrow once you've finished with your chores. I've gotten so used to having you around, I'm not sure what I'd do without your assistance!"

Resinee smiled so widely her bright eyes disappeared beneath her cheeks. Then she took off, sprinting up the hill as light as a bird.

The muffled protests of the Dryad could no longer be contained with his voice alone. The beastie's side began to quiver, something rocking it front to back, side to side. One slit-pupiled eye opened, and a distinctly grumpy hiss quivered against the dragon's upper lip. Rapid blinks took over, as if it was finally aware of its stuck tooth, and how it couldn't close its mouth.

Before panic could take over, I slid one hand flat against its snout. Here, the feathers were just a fuzzy moss. Almost like the fur of a dog, or a cow, or something smooth like that.

"It's alright," I whispered to it, meeting that giant eye. The iris was an opaque white tinged nearly yellow—an extraordinary hue not often found in dragons. Also, a sign of age. This beastie has outlived most of its kind—a piece of history in its own right. "What an absolute beauty. Yes, you are."

The dragon's four legs were so small compared to the rest of its serpentine body. It took some finagling, one hand patting away at its snout while I gently freed each dainty, reptilian foot from the coils. Already, the nails had begun to curve inward, more signs of the beastie's lack of movement.

The Dryad must have done something that not even a lethargic hermit could overlook.

"Do you need a clipping, too, Mr. Nymph?" I held the hefty shears up in the air like the Dryad could see. "They're a bit large, but I promise I'll be careful."

"Mmmm! Mm! Mm!"

I tucked my ear closer to the dragon's hide. "'Sure, I'm ready?'"

"Mmmmm! MMMMM!"

The dragon's form began to quiver as new, panicked kicks bounced at its scales. Emitting a croaked warning, the serpentine beauty looked up at me, those off-white eyes beseeching and earnest. My heart chipped free from its bindings, floating unencumbered in my chest.

Too cute.

So cute.

"Just one more, baby," I cooed, drifting off into a lazy lullaby.

Its nails were ridged, wavy lines across their beak-like projections. Perhaps the beastie wasn't consuming enough protein. Wherever its cave was, were there no bugs nearby? Or had it eaten most of them, and the survivors dared not come back?

"Oo-Ah went the little serpent beastie one day," I sang, adjusting my pitch to fit that of the rumbling growl of the dragon. "Oo-Ah went the little serpent beastie."

Reaching into my bag, I flicked my chalky fingers through the bowl of water I kept at my feet, producing a salve container with one hand as I stashed the clippers behind me with the other. "Oo-Ah went the little serpent beastie one day, and they all went Oo-Oo-Ahhhh."

"Buuuut," I flipped my tone, cadence vaulting higher and mischievous, "we know serpents go: Slippy-Dippy-Doh, Slippy-Dippy-Doh, Slippy-Dippy-Doh. We know serpents go: Slippy-Dippy-Doh."

I tickled the dragon's feet until those little claws opened wide. Moving with deft fingers, I massaged soothing cream into the fleshy part of its paws, taking careful pauses to avoid being caught by the sharp points.

The geriatric serpent shuddered something like a sigh, relaxing its coils just slightly. Now, it appeared to have melted on one side. Even with its mouth still stuck open where a stray piece of trash hung, it relaxed. The shudder moved through the line of feathers down its back, ruffling them free. Moist and fresh and unveiled before the world for the very first time.

A fine debut.

Gentling my voice, I finished the rhyme: "They don't go Oo-Oo-Ahhhh."

I rubbed my hands together, sandy particles from between the dragon's pads grinding between my fingers. "Should I sing it again, baby?"

With the loosened coils, the nymph was able to poke his head out from between two cylinders of flesh. The poor sod had scaled imprints texturizing his face. It made the greenish tint of his skin look like wallpaper.

A hostel? A botanical garden? Where would he fit in best?

"Please," he said. "I know who you are. You're supposed to protect folk like me from beasts like this. Don't think you can get away with treating me so foolishly."

"A dentist's office," I concluded.

The nymph blinked those vacuous external organs up at me. His branchy eyebrows twitched. I wondered if small birds often mistook them for trees.

"What?" he asked, helplessly. Were those tears? Actual tears? I snorted. "What is it now? Why does everything that comes out of your mouth make my head hurt?"

"Dentists usually have wallpaper depicting soothing naturescapes, like leaf imprints. They help create a shadowed effect, which reduces anxiety. Nowadays, we may use our magic in modern technology to power electrical circuits and store government documents, but our roots can't be so easily stamped out. You can find remnants of our ancestors in the smallest of places."

"I—I suppose so." The Dryad leaked more tears, wetting his lashes until they clumped into little star points.

I braced my hands on my thighs, leveling the treasure hunter with a stare. "Do you have something you cherish, Mr. Nymph?"

One blink. Two. Three. Four. After five blinks, the Dryad had made a decision: just go with it.

"Of course," he said, snottily and sniffily. "I'm a treasure hunter."

"So you hunt treasure that matters to you very much?"

The nymph paused. "Well—not so much that. I sell priceless treasures to brokers who polish and detail them into something sellable. After that, they get sold again. From there, the treasure I find has the chance of becoming—cherishable, to use your word—to someone else."

I stared at the Dryad until his tears mixed with sweat. Before my very eyes, he became a well-lubricated scrap of garbage.

But a scrap of garbage, nonetheless.

"Alright," I asserted, rising to my feet. With one hand, I reached into the coils and grabbed the fabric of the pocket wrapped around the beastie's front fang. "Time to go."

I slid the nymph's leg out of the creature's maw. Before releasing the treasure hunter with a plop and a puddle, I retrieved the object from within his destroyed pocket. It was misshapen; nothing to write home about. A sedimentary rock, pressed into a doughy cudgel. If one squinted, it almost resembled a display podium for a ring or other small object.

But what kind of folk would want to present a shiny piece of jewelry on such a plain-looking backdrop?

The Dryad fell out from the dragon's coils, disappearing somewhere under the center of the scaly tower. With an audible snap, the serpent's mouth closed at last. Those extraordinary eyes blinked in surprise. It realigned its position, crushing the nymph beneath it with a muffled squeak and a firm thud.

"It's alright now." I smiled, offering the rock.

It gave a great sniff, nosing slowly toward my hand. The hesitation before it enveloped the rock within its mouth, settling it softly on its giant tongue, shook me. Filled me with a rage that felt like fire, like a gas stove that skyrocketed out of control, licking the bottom of everything and grabbing even the merest scraps of all who neared.

That was no mere cautious hesitation.

I shoved this burst of emotion down, letting it congregate at the edges of my vision. All I could see were the beautiful eyes directly before me. Nothing else mattered.

"Safe travels, baby." I slid my thumb across that mossy nose, cold to the touch.

The dragon flinched its nose away, then pushed forward until my thumb turned back on itself. I weathered the slight twinge of pain, watching those soft yellow eyes turn half-mast. It rumbled three soft chuffs, departing with a purr. Much better than when it had descended into my home with a growling hiss.

At last, the serpent rose, unwinding its coils more and more. Its feathery wings flapped, gaining momentum, before dipping unsteadily into the sky. It headed West, great body slanted and bobbing every which way.

It headed home.

"What did you do?"

I turned back to the gravel circle, where the imprinted nymph scrabbled through his ripped pants, searching in vain for a rock that was no longer there.

He looked up at me. "Do you know all I went through to get that thing in the first place? How could you just give it away? I earned it! I earned it!"

"A nymph who cherishes nothing does not earn the right to take away what others do."

He stared at me, frazzled, wet, and bloody. Wearing pants that had liquidized under a constant dribble of venom. Face filled with a desperation that pushed each of his features to their fullest, nearly bursting them from his skull like bulbous grapes.

"You—"

"Get out."

The Dryad's head reeled back, really showcasing the structure of the desert succulent he took his form from. "You—you—yo—"

I pointed up the slope. "Get out."

"How dare you!" he seethed, spittle flying free. He stayed there, suspended on all fours. Limbs trembling like he forgot how they worked.

I left him, calmly gathering all of my supplies, stuffing them within my rucksack.

He tried scuttling toward me, this paragon of bestial rage.

I stepped past him, crunching several of his fingers beneath my boots as I did. He screamed, this pitiful thing that scattered all the nesting birds into flight. My oasis became a mass of little bodies flittering in formations; first to one side, then the other.

"Get back here, Elvaaaaaaa!!!!" the Dryad roared, voice breaking into a guttural cry that was unearthed straight from his stomach. More came up with it, leaving behind the uncomfortable sounds and putrefying smells of retching.

Twisting my mouth in disgust, I ascended my wooden porch steps, shutting the door behind me. Before even dropping my bag, I closed up all the curtains.

"Time for dinner," I announced to the empty hallway.

The day had weathered my mind more than I had anticipated. My peripheral vision had yet to return, and a weight that wasn't there an hour ago pulled down at my shoulders, adding to the weight that had been placed there yesterday after an incident with three consumed miners and a bloodthirsty wyrm.

How much weight could these shoulders hold? I was built no stronger or weaker than any other folk. Surely, I had a limit.

What would happen once I found it? Would I be able to recede from everything, entrusting all we had built to the next generation of dragonitarian workers?

This idea filled me with shame. How could I even entertain such a thought?

It was my responsibility to shoulder my share. Not to dump it off on some future little one's shoulders as soon as I grew a little tired. A little disgusted.

Hand braced against the wall, I thought I saw the silhouette of two little ones—one with a long braid and the other with wild curls—racing across the floorboards. But then I blinked, and I remembered.

They weren't here. They had never been here.

The shadows weren't real. The sounds of little feet running past weren't, either.

"Maybe a drink first." I kicked off my boots, letting my bag spill to the floor. "Then dinner."