Vengeance

Her tail was honed, the ore worked into a piercing point. Her teeth were clean, shining, sharp. Her claws had been whet on a stone for hours before she trudged out into the rain. Prawn was on a mission.

She will pay for that poor man she raised. 

Prawn was not supposed to leave the caves. She hadn’t been given permission. She had covered the orange spots on her mostly green scales with dark mud, camouflaging herself against the night as she snuck away, but it had all washed out with the downpour by now. She had been walking for nearly half an hour, straight into the woods, hoping her memory served her well.

Ha. I did remember the way to that old hag’s house.

There, ahead, was a glint of orange light, the glint of fire and candles and warmth. Now that she had found the house in the woods, Prawn walked with renewed vigor, renewed purpose. SpearWings were not supposed to live outside the caves. It was a punishment, a fearful place to be. Prawn already felt exposed. Her four wings made her big, clunky, as thin as she was becoming from the strain of carrying the egg. 

His egg. His egg he left in the night.

The rage began to consume Prawn’s thoughts again. She dug her claws into the dirt, digging divots with every step as she approached the little hut with thatched roof and messy stone walls, hidden amongst the trees that towered over Prawn’s form. She would get her revenge on the dragon who had raised such a dishonest, selfish man. She would never see him again, she knew, but at least she had been shown where he had grown up, and where to find someone to blame.

“Glide!” Prawn roared, slamming open the door to the hut. Inside was a dragon of deep violet and plum, spattered with green freckles. Her lavender ore glinted in flickering candlelight. She stood tall, quite a ways over Prawn, and in her surprise at the incursion had reared up on her hind legs, making the height disparity quite apparent. The SpearWing seemed to fill the relatively small room, and Prawn began to feel quite small in her presence. Prawn shifted herself and snarled. I won’t let her scare me. She’s old and tired. I can take her.

“Oh. Hello, Prawn.” Glide settled back on her haunches, placing her front talons gently on the ground before her. “What brings you to see me? Would you, um,” she started, glancing down at the puddle of water pooling under Prawn’s feet, “would you perhaps like a towel?”

Prawn simply shook herself with vitriol, her plate scales making a gentle clinking sound as they rattled off each other. Glide winced as water spattered her face and her walls, but said nothing. 

“Prawn, I wish I could offer you a cup of tea, but it seems like that’s not what you’re here for,” Glide sighed. 

“Of course it’s not,” Prawn growled, digging her claws deeper into the packed dirt floor, “it’s about–”

“To be quite frank, if this is about my son, I don’t want to hear it.” Glide stood up swiftly and turned away, aiming for some crates behind her. 

Prawn roared in frustration, pressing her ears back. “Of course it’s about Epistole! How dare you not face me!” Her tail thrashed in the dirt behind her, kicking up a small arc of loose dust. 

Her lip twitching, Glide looked back at Prawn. Her orange eyes with their bright green sclera were piercing, distracting. Prawn felt herself falter. She could see Epistole’s deep anger, so often directed at her, in those eyes. 

“I am sorry for the hurt caused by my son’s actions, but he’s been on his own for years. It’s not my fault. I am not his keeper. You made your bed with him.”

“You knew he couldn’t commit!” Prawn hissed. “You could’ve warned me! He used me until it got serious, and now he’s gone, he’s disappeared, and he’s not coming back! He’s left me alone!”

Glide snorted in mirthless humor. “The fact you know that he’s left on his own and he’s not coming back is proof enough you were already aware of his tendencies. If you thought he was a good dragon, you’d be looking for him, thinking he’d been kidnapped or hurt. No, you knew he was risky. Don’t blame the rose-tinted gemstones on me.”

Prawn felt the blood rush to her face in shame and anger, and her body tensed in readiness. “How dare you blame me for the poor mannerisms of the son you raised!”

Glide rolled her eyes, and Prawn snapped. She released the tension in her muscles and leapt at Glide with a snarl. Glide took a few steps to the side and Prawn missed completely, crashing into the pile of crates and sending up a plume of dust. 

Glide snorted. “Prawn, let’s not get physical over this. You can use your words. I understand you’re upset, but you’re looking awfully thin of limb and thick of stomach at the moment, and I’d hate for you to cause some damage to the two of you.”

Snarling, Prawn picked herself up from the wreckage of the crates. She shook her head, rolling her sore shoulders. Four wings was a lot of weight to work with. “My egg or lack thereof is none of your concern.”

“It’s my grandchild, I think it is a matter of my concern.”

“Who says I was loyal to your rotten son?”

Glide smiled, her eyes weary. “I suppose he would have deserved that, if that’s the case. I simply doubt you’d be so angry over just a broken heart. He left as soon as he knew, didn’t he?”

Prawn curled her lip halfheartedly, already feeling a black eye beginning to surface. “Yes he did, the cursed lizard.”

“I am genuinely sorry, Prawn. When I met you, and saw how hopeful you were for him, I thought that he had to have changed,” Glide said, drifting around Prawn to shut the hut door and keep out the pouring rain. She worked her way over to a small stovetop and breathed out a lick of fire to light the wood below. As it flickered to life, she hung a pot on an elegant, hand-wrought stand, leaving the water inside to boil. Glide turned back toward Prawn, laying down and settling herself in.

That’s an awfully vulnerable position to be in, Prawn thought, though she allowed herself to cautiously lower her haunches into a sit as well. A temporary truce, so we can talk. She’s still on thin ice. 

“Listen, Prawn,” Glide started, casting her eyes downward, “I know this has to be hard for you. I’ve had multiple partners. They haven’t always treated me well. There’s a reason I’m known as the old drake that lives alone in the woods.

“You didn’t deserve Epistole leaving you. He’s always been flighty, always been unable to sign up for anything that could possibly be long-term. And maybe that’s my fault–I couldn’t keep a dragon as my partner for very long. But I sure did try with that dragonet. I made some mistakes, sure, and I did better the second time. Wight loves to sign up for things, be part of a group. He’s in the military. But Epistole never took to that life. 

“I don’t want you to be driven away, just because you think that I’m the incarnation of all of Epistole’s bad qualities. If you don’t want to see me, I understand. Don’t come by anymore. And, well, if you don’t want the egg–”

“I am keeping my hatchling,” Prawn growled, dangerously. She hadn’t been committed until Glide had said anything, but now she was certain. She wanted her dragonet to grow strong, and thoughtful, and resilient, in spite of their father.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your tail in a twist. I was just going to offer to keep them here, if worst comes to worst.”

“Why? Your son isn’t even involved anymore.”

“Just because Epistole left you alone doesn’t mean I’m going to, Prawn. You’re still a part of my family–even without the egg involved. You’re a good dragon.” Glide’s voice was soothing, smooth. 

Trying to keep her composure, Prawn frowned and looked down at her talons. She hadn’t been expecting Glide to want anything to do with her or the egg. The one time before that she had been introduced to Glide, the matriarch had come off as intimidating, guarded. Without Epistole there, Glide was more sweet, less strict.

The fire hissed, and Glide glanced over at the pot, which was currently bubbling over. “Ah, there’s the tea.” She got up and took the pot off the fire, throwing in a pouch of spices. She moved deftly, almost as if she were floating, like a true witch of the night.

Watching Glide work, Prawn shifted uncomfortably. Blasted egg. Can’t sit with it, can’t lay on my stomach with it, can’t run or fight or work or fly. I can’t wait until it’s laid.

“The last week is the worst of it,” Glide smiled, knowingly, handing Prawn a hollowed-out wooden mug filled with fresh herbal tea. “You should try and eat a little more. I didn’t eat enough before I laid Epistole’s egg, he came out quite small.”

Prawn exhaled deeply through her nose. I don’t want her advice. She stared at Glide, whose eyes had softened. They no longer held danger, they expressed love, and understanding, and patience. Prawn wished her mother had looked at her with eyes like those. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be mad at Glide for her son. I don’t know what she’d be able to do to fix it, anyway.

“I’m sure the egg will be just fine,” Prawn said, though she noted what Glide had said, just in case.

“Oh, I’m very sure it will be,” Glide said with a laugh. “You’re a strong dragon, Prawn. I’m sure your dragonet will be just as feisty. Do you know what you’re planning to name them?”

Prawn opened her mouth to respond that it was none of Glide’s business, instinctually lashing out again, but at that moment the storm rumbled and lightning struck the forest outside the hut. Both dragons watched as a tree fell, gently smoking, with a large thump. It had been split cleanly in half, long stripes of dark wood inside belying its age. It might be older than me, Prawn thought, counting the layers. The forest is a strange place.

“Hah, timberrr!” Glide called out, as more branches fell from the shell of the giant tree. 

Timber, Prawn smiled to herself, feeling the slightest bit of peace and closure for the first time since Epistole had left her. What a fun word.