I Am My Own

The air of Tsotska d’la Mer was colder than Marshasp was  used to. Sure, he had seen his share of cold weather in the  Chronoscape, but he skirted around such places as best he could. There  was no escape from it in this place, although the fluffy snowflakes  falling were a small delight to see. The silence among the pines was the  loudest he had heard--nothing but the shuffling of his legs through two  feet of snow rang out. Well, that and one other critter.

      

      “I’m  bored,” hissed a small dragon that had taken residence on his head.  “And hungry.” The small one was warming up his body to prevent at least  one more complaint, though perhaps it would add ‘tired’ to its list of  woes soon. Apparently, such magic was the hallmark of a fire element  dragon. It was nothing Marshasp could utilize for himself, though the  dragon served as a nice cap. The wool clothes and cape he wore felt  chilly with such a warm creature standing by, even though they covered  him completely.

      

      “We’ll  get there soon.” Marshasp fumbled around on the pack at his side,  grabbing a plastic bag and unveiling its contents carefully. A small rat  rolled out, cold to the touch, but still intact as far as he was  concerned. He held it out to the dragon.

      

      It  bumped it with its snout tentatively, flicked its tongue out, and then  butted it out of his hand. “Small. Cold. Bland. I’m hungrier than that.”  

      

      Marshasp  picked up the rat and returned it to the bag. Given enough time, the  little dragon would eat it. Maybe there was a way to warm it up in the  Hatchery ahead. It loomed in sight now, and it couldn’t come too soon.  His feathers were starting to lose their pallor from the cold.

      

      “I’m  not going to eat it heated, either,” it grumbled, but its voice  betrayed a tinge of excitement. Marshasp wasn’t comfortable  communicating telepathically yet--that was something he reserved for  Prospero--but he could feel a bit of emotion leak through every now and  then. He wasn’t the only one excited to get someplace warm.

      

      “You  want to learn more about dragons, then? Go to Tsotska d’la Mer. They’re  the masters. Almost all of them ride--those that don’t bond have their  own feral dragons. It would do you both good to see.”

      

      The  old woman’s words hung with him as he swung the heavy wooden door to  the Hatchery on its hinges. The smell of hay hit him first, followed by  the unmistakable scent of livestock. Marshasp curled up his nose and  even his dragon gave a grumble. There were at least three dozen eggs;  some with dragons curled contentedly around them, others lined up  carefully like goods on display. A few volunteers scurried through the  Hatchery, carefully logging the condition of the eggs and fawning over  the brooding dragons. Each one contained an egg, born for someone, but  lost before the bond. Unwanted. For goods so precious, they were awfully  nonchalant exchanging them and presenting them to others.

      

      Feeling  nothing from the eggs, he walked through to the stables. This area was  larger, with dragons roosting in every nook and cranny. Most of them  looked like his own--reptilian at every point, with simple markings,  leather wings, and slitted eyes that were excellent for glowering. A few  were less conventional--bats, armored creatures, long machines that  barely looked alive...those were certainly elemental dragons. The  distinction between the elemental dragons and so-called feral dragons  was their bond; So, what force held the wild dragons here?

      

      The  little one jumped off his head with a flutter. His wings weren’t quite  ready for flight, so he made a crude landing on the ground and skittered  forward. Balance wasn’t his forté either, and it zigzagged towards the  stable exit. Underneath a wide archway, a Tsotska woman was flaying a  horned beast of some kind. Its heart had stopped, but its blood still  poured out; several dragons were flicking their tongues toward it and  staring with wide eyes.

      

      Whether  or not the meal was meant for a dragon, it suddenly belonged to his  dragon. It slunk up beside the beast, opposite the butcher, and took a  huge chomp onto a flank. Its teeth weren’t enough to pierce the hide, so  it wiggled its head and tried to tear it off. What stealth it had was  lost as the carcass jiggled about.

      

      The  woman leaned forward and gave a dragon-like hiss--not that Marshasp was  one to talk--but the little one only hissed back through a mouthful of  flank. One of the dragons nearby stepped towards it and lowered its  crown. This was one of the stranger ones--a cloven-hoofed, tuft-tailed,  horse-like dragon that bared its fangs like any other. The woman dropped  her anger and waved off the dragon. “It’s just a little one, Minnow.  Treat it gently.”

      

      The  kirin snorted, picked it up by the nape, and lifted it off. The dragon  managed to rip off a chunk of meat as he was pulled away and hissed with  glee. He struggled in the jaws of his captor until Marshasp came close  enough to claim him.

      

      The  Tsotska looked at him with disdain. “Is this hatchling yours? Fresh out  the egg, and you can’t even control it. It will be a problem if an  Earth like this becomes too rambunctious later.”

      

      “I am my own!” hissed the little one, swallowing his meal in a single gulp. “And I’m this hungry. Marshasp, I want to eat this.”

      

      The  Tsotska looked like she was going to thwack the little one, but the  dragon scurried behind Marshasp before she could make good on the  threat. Marshasp looked at the carcass, then to the animal beside  it--both were hoofed, with a crown of horns, and even the same velvet of  fur running down their hide. Marshasp asked quietly, “What animal are  you cleaning?”

      

      The  lizard sighed and took up her carving knife again. “A deer, for the  folks out there.” She motioned outside, where a group of Riders huddled  around a firepit in the cold. Their words were too faint to make out,  but their boisterous laughs and wild arm movements told a story all  their own. “They’re on duty for the next twelve hours, so they need  someone else to hunt and cook for them. I landed the job today, and…”  she glared at the hiding hatchling, “Every ounce of this meat is going  to them.”

      

      The  kirin dropped the hatchling and craned his head upwards, towering above  them all. He glanced haughtily at the two intruders, then begrudgingly  introduced himself. “I’m Minnoetius, and this is my Rider, Iapetus.  Since we’ve never seen you before, you must be a new Rider...and a very  poor one.”

      

      “Now,  now,” Iapetus calmed him as Marshasp’s feathers ruffled up. “Everyone  starts off that way--” she glanced at Marshasp “--and even a rookie  would know better than to steal a kill.”

      

      Marshasp nodded, “Of course. Your kill, your food.” Beside him, the little dragon whined. “I’m Marshasp.”

      

      As the hatchling started keening, Iapetus adopted a look of distaste and asked him, “And who might this be?”

      

      Before  Marshasp could answer, the dragon replied, “I am who I am! I haven’t  decided my name yet.” It lifted its head, as if proud of its indecision.

      

      Iapetus chuckled, “Ahh, sure. Alright, little hatchling.”

      

      Iapetus  pointed out towards a mountain, “Fly past that, thirty minutes across  the sea, and you should be able to find a hunting ground. Do you have a  means to fly?”

      

      Marshasp nodded, unfurling his wings a bit to get them out of the cape.

      

      “Oh,  a T’terre! Your kind don’t stop by here. Unless…” she looked Marshasp  up and down, and he knew exactly what she was looking for. At long last,  she shook her head. “No, you couldn’t be. How old is that dragon of  yours?”

      

      “I’m a week old!” Snapped the dragon.

      

      “Ohh, and still hungry, I see,” the Tsotska humored it with an enthusiastic tone. “You have a lot of growing left to do, then!”

      

      “Of course,” agreed the hatchling, “I’m going to get even bigger than Marshasp, and then I’ll carry him everywhere.”

      

      Marshasp  shifted his weight from leg to leg, suddenly becoming agitated. That a  dragon would manipulate its entire metabolism around a Rider still  concerned him. It couldn’t be healthy for something to grow that large,  and that quickly--and how exactly would he feed it? It didn’t sit well  in his gut.

      

      [I want to be bigger,] the dragon whispered to him alone.

      

      Marshasp plucked the dragon up in his arms and growled, “I told you not to do that.”

      

      Iapetus  cocked her eyebrows, but said nothing further. She cut off a slab of  meat roughly the size of the hatchling and offered it up. Despite her  earlier protests, it seemed she was quite alright sharing a bit of meat.  The hatchling quickly snatched it, gobbling it up whole. Without  another word, her and her dragon resumed cleaning the deer carcass.

      

      Still  unsatisfied, the dragon scrambled outside past the riders and towards a  steep hill. It flapped its wings and leapt off, entering into an  unstable glide. [I’ll start flying today,] it said matter-of-factly, its  movements suggesting quite the opposite. Marshasp sighed and flew  behind it, ready to snatch it up the moment it fell.