Dragon Kind

I undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit, of course :)

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Kayleen White

Dragon kind

She always found it mystifying, why humans thought her kind’s skin was leathery. She thought they’d probably never bothered to really check - but then, her sister-friend thought they were actually feeling their kind’s age, power and strength and, as they associated age with things like wrinkly, old skin, they created an association of leathery, tough skin.

Whatever the explanation, she didn’t have to have much to do with humans, and she was relieved.
She was resting, just now … enjoying the warmth of an unexpectedly sunny day in winter, gazing across the quiet valley, watching the flow of energy - Qi, some humans called it - much as humans watched water playing on a beach or dancing down a river. Much as otters or dolphins played in the water, she could see other entities that humans generally didn’t, fairies, playing in the flowing energy.

Their blindness amazed her - she could remember back to the day, as a youngling, when she first came across a human. The creature had been bending over something, swinging its arm, and she had closed, eager to make friends. But when she had got closer, and found that it was hacking a still feebly living animal, she had backed up in horror.

She’d sent a blast of energy at the creature, which had swung round in alarm, but then returned to its grisly task.

Her mother and an uncle had come to her side and, using the rich but silent imagery of their telepathic species, explained that this was how humans kept themselves alive - by eating other beings, both plant and animal, and that humans lacked their own sophisticated awareness and ability to communicate.
Humans had changed since then: they now no longer wore crudely fashioned animal skins, and almost every part of the planet had been touched by them - most catastrophically. Some had shown themselves to be exemplary - like the legendary George, who some humans had made into a saint for supposedly killing one of her kind, when all that they had been doing was having a farewell game.

She was glad she had so little to do with them, though: most had an unformed mind and vague emotions that were like a sticky, repulsive bog to experience - and their almost universal lack of awareness made them clumsy and rude without them ever knowing it.

She returned her awareness to the valley. The sun was moving further, and the patterns were changing their flow. Creatures, both physical and those beyond, responded to the change. It was now late afternoon, with a dusk approaching and the clear night to enjoy.

Ah, but here was a calling. She repositioned those marvellously expressive, flexible antennae that humans called wings and “listened”. She could feel her sisters, and a couple of brothers, calling for some patching of the world’s web, the flowing pattern of energy. She was closest, so it was her task.
She didn’t need to fly: she just thought herself - or rather, “felt” herself, as she worked with the energy that humans called “emotions” - to where she needed to be. Humans called it teleporting, and then went on clumping slowly round the world.

And she could see it - one of the human’s mechanical beasts was tearing across a small stream of energy. She could see the energy being damned up, like a pool of lava trying to find a way out: the longer it built up, the more explosive it would be when it found a way out. She had been “told” that many humans didn’t think such energy existed, but she could see this pool leading to arguments between the humans milling about the machine - the trapped energy always found a way to vent, and this particular outlet she had seen before in these circumstances.

She looked carefully: yes, there were two other pathways that the energy could take, but one would need help to form the channel. A quick query to the spirits of the land, and they were crying back for her help, to fix the flows that had been so rudely interrupted: they, fairies, pixies, elves and gnomes, would be content for her to try. Hmm … she could do with some help, though. Ah, but that human’s aura looked more alive than the others … was that one perhaps aware? Hmm. Maybe so - she could perceive some sadness, a wordless sense of regret - an apology, without even knowing the feeling was sorrow, that they hadn’t asked the Mother before opening her.

She changed her wings’ position, and sent a query to her sisters and brothers: could she use this human? Moments later, she felt the reply come back - yes, she could, and she was given some guidance on how to approach the task. A mother explained how to use the human to focus energy, much as the humans themselves did in a very crude way with crystals and trinkets. She was wise, and old, that mother - she had known George, and transferred some of the knowledge of humans she had learned from George … including their strange restrictions on who they could call mother, or sister or brother, although some groups applied to titles to roles, as with her own kind.

Sated with knowledge, she moved herself behind the human, and wrapped her wing round the creature. Gently, she applied some pressure, and the human strolled, without really knowing why, away from the others, to a place facing a nearby hill.

Content with the position, and the angle, she slowly unwound her wing, and positioned both wings carefully. She could feel the others tying-in to her, connecting her to every other part of the planet, connecting her to the forces flowing through the universe, in all it’s myriad forms coloured by the multitudes of forms of life … and she could feel the shared power building in her, thrumming, throbbing, building to a crescendo just as she released it down her snout.

It blasted its way through the pooled energy, through the human, now startled by the unexpected image of a “fire breathing dragon”, and carved an unseen pathway to the hill, and then back to where it should be. She would have to do more work here in future weeks and months and seasons: maybe the old ways could be re-established, once the humans had taken their machines away: if not, then the new ways would have to be healed and nurtured, and she would get to see and watch the many layers of life respond to change: some would die away, others would grow and flourish where they had new energy - and her unwitting human helper would return again and again to the hill, puzzled by the growing fascination with glittery things, and power - wondering about the world of nature, and what true power could be.

At least this one had not reacted with fear - the unfamiliar and strange had not conjured twisted tales of “terrors unimaginable”. Perhaps this one she could work with, and get to know, and nurture some growth in, like their little fosterling … maybe she could even find one like old George, who had enough power to appreciate the scale of their work, and to share a part of it. She and her kind had enjoyed working with old George, and had been perplexed that his kind had twisted their closeness and called him a slayer of their kind. Were they really so afraid of her kind?

She settled in front of the human, thought of the flow of energy and power binding and innate to the Mother, and watched the dreams of riding dragons form in her charge’s mind - there was no sign of fear here. She smiled: her kind treasured the light and glow of energy, and in those few humans they touched in some way, the mother she had communed with said she had often seen that show as a desire for glittery trinkets.
One day they would come to understand - at least this one’s mind had tendrils of the questing energy, seeking to be more open. She would help this one now.

© Kayleen White, 2007