“Look man, dragons are dangerous. They need to die as soon as we know about them. Think of the damages more than one could do. Its your responsibility to your lord to root them out.”
The young men seemed angry at Graith’s lack of fervor, while the older just shook his head. He obviously didn’t think that was true, but he was here to hunt down the dragon, which was more than Graith was doing.
Graith snorted. “My only responsibilities to Lord Arish are to harvest my crops and pay my taxes. He asks nothing more of me.”
“Bah! We’re good men of our lord, and we’ll hunt this dragon in his name,” the older of the two boys said, dismissing Graith with a wave.
That seemed to signal the end of their conversation. The recruited soldiers went back to their meal and seemed content to ignore Graith. Graith on the other hand, got up and roamed about the tables while sipping his ale. As he walked, whispers and rumors about the dragon floated through the air.
“It’s said to be as big as a castle!”
“Fire breather, as hot as any blacksmiths forge!”
“Scales harder than the hardest plate steel, but twice as thick!”
Shouts and boast joined them from those souls who thought that they would be the one to bring down the mighty beast.
“I’ll land my lance right through its eye! Straight into the brain!”
“I’ll cut off its tail and then its head!”
“I’ll land an arrow in the back of its maw as it tries to breathe fire!”
To these boasts Graith just shook his head and continued onward. Had he been a younger man, maybe joining a mercenary group might have interested him, but he thought not. He’d never wanted to go on adventures or explore before settling down. No, he had grown up on his farm, and harvested wheat his whole life. When his father had passed, the farm had become his.
He was rather proud of the fact that the only change he’d made was to go over his finances and found that he had the means to annex two more acres of land and purchase a new horse.
He was content with his lifestyle. He worked, he cooked, he slept, and he lived his own simple life. That suited him just fine.
That night, Graith sat down at his hearth in his favorite leather chair. It was a commodity he’d lavished himself with a decade ago, when he’d had an especially abundant year. As he faced the small fire, he thought about what he’d heard at the pub.
The last time a dragon had been seen on these lands, he’d been a small boy. He could still remember the feast that had been held by Lord Arish’s father, Lord Derk. It had lasted three days, and his own father had even taken him into Dunlaith for the celebration. While the feast had been a fantastic affair, Graith couldn’t help but think about the poor beast who’d died for it to happen.
Graith sighed as he stood, preparing for bed. He’d always wanted to see a dragon, but none had ever flown over his farm.
***
Several weeks later, long after the men had left town, Graith went to the pub again. It was empty now, except for the serving girl and the owner. He drank an ale and listened to the fire in the hearth crackle and found himself wondering if the hunt had been successful. Though he thought not, as he was sure there would have been news if it had been.
When Graith went to sleep that night, he found himself dreaming of a dragon.
The dragon was indeed massive, but not as large as some had claimed. It was a dark navy, not black like he had expected. Its wings shimmered in moonlight and Graith couldn’t help but want to touch the fine gossamer webbing. Its head was nearly as tall as his whole body, and he was not a short man. It had wicked white fangs, that looked more than capable of rending a sheep, cow, or even a man, apart in seconds. Tiny pebble scales formed around its nostrils and eyes, gradually getting larger, until by the neck, they were as large as his hand. The scales on its back were as large as the spade of his largest shovel.
It had a crest of horns wreathing its face, a bright white in contrast to the dark scales. All along its back following its spine were long spikes, which created a crested effect for its whole body. The spikes continued down to its tail, which was curled around its body, not unlike a cat.
But more than anything, it was the dragon’s eyes that captivated Graith. Large and iridescent, they were an icy blue, with slits from top to bottom, once again reminding Graith of his barn cat. They held an intelligence that surprised Graith - and a deep sadness.
He reached out wanting to comfort the beast, but even as his fingers went to brush the tiny scales of the nearest nostril, he awoke.
He laid in bed for several long minutes, thinking about his dream. Graith was not known for dreaming. In fact, it had been many years since his last one, a fact that didn’t bother him. It left him feeling rested in the morning, unhindered by what might have been, or unrealistic fantasies others seemed to dream of.
But why would he be dreaming of a dragon? A sad dragon? Why did he care that it was sad? Not being able to answer these questions, left Graith lying in bed far longer than normal. When he finally sat up, he scrubbed at his face.
It didn’t matter, he told himself.
He bathed and dressed for the day and went to his kitchen to make breakfast. After eating, he sat and tried to figure out what he had to do today.
He was having a slow morning and just couldn’t seem to keep his mind from wandering back to his dream. He paced around the small
