Two Week Writing Challenge - Day 7
7. Dragon: Envision a dragon. Do you battle him? Or is the dragon friendly? Use descriptive language.
The Dragon Doctor
Emma raced down the village street market, swerving past the various cart sellers. The air was filled with the potent scent of spices underscored by sweet melon and peaches baking in the summer heat. Sweat poured down her face and pooled at the base of her neck. The only relief was the slight breeze that hit her face as she ran.
Dust kicked up from her brown leather sandals as she maneuvered her way passed an assembly of mules tied to a waiting post. Their long necks sunk up and down as they pulled weeds out from the earth to chew on.
A few of the villagers called her name in greeting as she passed, but Emma didn’t have time to slow down and talk.
She gripped her burlap satchel tight in her hand and turned the corner, leaving the market behind. She continued on the curved dirt path, where the village’s cobblestone houses dropped away and the countryside began.
After a mile or so, Emma slowed to a brisk walk, relieved to have finally arrived at Earl Byron’s estate. Even so, Earl Byron owned much land and there was a mile of drive left to travel until reaching her destination.
Once she approached the Byron manor, an elegantly clad man walked toward her. Emma recognized him as Mrs. Anson’s boy, though it seemed that he wasn’t much of a boy any longer, and even so, his status as butler put him in a higher position and therefore unlikely to greet Emma familiarly.
Emma assumed correctly. The butler sniffed delicately and gave a pointed look at her dusty attire and sweaty face, but when Emma didn’t offer any excuse he simply raised his right eyebrow and gestured her toward the stables.
Taking his gesture as a dismissal, Emma dipped her head in a shallow bow and hurried off in the pointed direction.
The manor was beautiful, made entirely of white marble so it glistened in the afternoon heat. If Emma had the time, she would love to explore the surrounding grounds and buildings in order to take in all the splendor and elegance. But the stables took precedence.
As she neared the wooden structure, she heard the shouts of multiple men and the roar of what could only be a dragon.
With the noise urging her on, Emma burst through the stable door and skidded to a stop.
The stables were in complete disorder. Barrels of red meat and water were overturned, wooden barriers to block off sections of the stable where broken into pieces and there was a fire in the corner where two harried looking serving boys stood with pails of water, trying their best to extinguish it.
Four stable hands, all male and entirely incompetent if the current situation was any indication, were surrounding a large dragon in heavy chains, their hands raised in a “do not pass” gesture. The smell of charred flesh and smoke filled the humid, hot space and the enraged roar of the dragon drowned out the exclamations from the stable hands.
Lying unconscious at the dragon’s feet was the high society doctor, Dr. Paterson. His brown coat was splattered in blood and he clutched a large dissecting knife.
Emma felt anger crawl up her chest to heat her face. There was no reason for the dragon to be in chains. And the beautiful beast wouldn’t have caused the fire in the first place if the stable hands and the “astounding” Dr. Paterson hadn’t been so utterly stupid.
“Stand back,” Emma shouted, pushing her way through the stable hands to take a closer look at the magnificent creature before her.
She was a moon dragon, approximately thirty feet long, which was on the smaller side for a fully grown female dragon. Her scales where midnight blue near the center of her belly, before fading out into a bright periwinkle near her tail. Her claws had recently been cut, much too short, which must have already put her in a bad mood. The top of her head reached the stable’s ceiling, so she would most likely have to keep her long neck curved at an awkward angle when standing on her feet. Her wings were breathtaking: the thin membrane between the bones glistened an iridescent rainbow and the edges tipped out in elegant arches.
She was possibly the most beautiful dragon Emma had ever laid eyes on. And the idiot Dr. Paterson had brutalized her. Her birthing canal opening - a pouch located at the bottom of her belly - had been ripped open with a dissecting knife. Laying in a pool of blood near the ripped flesh was a baby dragon, on his back and breathing heavily. The cracked remnants of his egg shell lay in shattered pieces around him. It was clear that he did not break his way out on his own, rather his shell had been forcibly opened.
Emma did not have much time if she wanted to help both mother and baby. Ignoring the shouts from the stable hands, demanding she get away, Emma reached into her satchel and pulled out a vial of a calming potion. She popped off the cork and crept closer to the dragon. Instantly, lavender and ozone - the scent of magic - filled the space.
The mother dragon had been thrashing her head, trying her best to warn away the stable hands. But once Emma opened the vial, the dragon stopped her thrashing and swiveled her head to look directly at her.
Emma froze, clutching the vial in her sweaty palm. The mother dragon blinked huge violet eyes at her. Her eyes burned with violence, but behind the sheen of anger lay intelligence and decades of wisdom.
Suddenly, the anger seemed to drain away from the dragon and she blinked her eyes languidly. She blew out a gust of warm breath and dipped her head, skating it across the dirt floor near her newly born baby. She watched Emma carefully, though the mother dragon no longer seemed ready to burn the place to the ground.
Taking the dragon’s relaxed muscles and expression as permission, Emma stepped closer until she could feel the heat radiating from dragon’s body and was close enough to reach out and touch her scales. The mother dragon remained calm, watching Emma in intrigue. Emma bent down to place the vial of calming potion on the dry earth and reached back into her satchel to take out a pouch of Goss Berries. She reached in to grab a handful and opened her palm toward the mother.
Watching the dragon’s eyes light up with excitement, Emma couldn’t suppress a fond chuckle. Eagerly, the dragon’s long tongue reached out to lick up the berries. Goss Berries were a very rare berry, found near volcanic landscapes. There was a sweet, molten lava at its center. Dragons loved them.
Emma placed the pouch of the remaining Goss Berries in the dragon’s reach. Once the dragon was completely distracted with feeding, Emma turned her attention toward the mother’s birthing canal opening and her young.
Crouching down on her hands and knees, Emma crawled toward the wounded sight. She could see all the areas where the mother had been ripped apart with the doctor’s crude instrument. The metallic tang of blood burned her nostrils and eyes, and Emma tried her best to control her rage over the injustice done.
Reaching back into her satchel, Emma grabbed her sewing kit as well as a vial of an incredibly strong cleanser and infection preventive. She poured a heavy amount over her hands and then wrapped them in a clean pair of gloves. She traced her fingertips gently over the area that needed to be sewed shut and got to work.
After threading her needle with a thread that wouldn’t be toxic to the dragon’s thick skin and would dissolve in a few weeks all on its own, Emma began sewing the ripped flesh back together.
Dragons had a very high tolerance for pain. The calming potion and Goss Berries were enough to keep the mother distracted from the sting of Emma’s needle.
As Emma worked, she kept a close eye on the baby dragon. The little creature was rolled in a ball, thrashing his feet this way and that. Though he would need some help to get on his feet and a feeding, he was in a much less dire position than his mother.
Once Emma was half way through stitching up the mother, she heard movement and shouting behind her.
“Earl Byron!”
“My lord, we tried our best to stop her!”
Emma ignored whoever the newcomer was and the stable hands shouting and focused on her work. Soon, the mother was fully stitched up.
Emma released an exhausted breath and ripped off her bloody gloves. Discarding them on the floor of the stable, she reached out to skim a reverent hand across the mother’s side.
Then, Emma felt heat near her face and looked up to find the dragon’s head near her own. The mother’s expression was inscrutable but after a breathless moment of staring, the dragon’s head reached down to nuzzle against Emma’s face in thanks. The smooth surface of scales brushed against Emma in a wave of heat, and she couldn’t help but shiver in awe. She had never received such blatant gratitude from any creature before.
After petting the mother one last time, Emma turned quickly to the baby. He was about the size of a fully grown pug. Unlike his mother, the little dragon’s scales were fiery red and bronze in color. Astoundingly, he was a very rare fire dragon. Emma believed he got his typing from his father. Though his wings were identical to his mother’s, at a much smaller scale. At the moment, they were folded close to his body. His mother would need to assist him in opening them for the first time. The baby dragon continued to roll on his back and release little roars and puffs of smoke, in obvious annoyance at his current predicament.
Emma smiled down at the beautiful creature, and gently reached out to help him to his feet. She brushed her hands against his smooth, hot scales and gasped in delight when he managed to roll over with only a little push from her hands.
For a second, he wobbled, looking as if he was to tumble back to ground, but then he righted himself and stood proudly on all four legs. He began to take cautious steps forward and when Emma smiled brightly at the little dragon, he directed his gaze at her. With his mother’s violet eyes, he peered curiously at her.
Emma turned to where she had dropped the pouch of Goss Berries and reached in to collect the last few remaining berries. She reached her open palm out to the baby dragon, and his nostrils flared before he cooed in delight. Emma laughed when his tongue reached out to scoop up the berries, tickling her palm.
She was never so grateful to have arrived just in time to help both mother and son.
“That is quiet enough Miss. If you would please get to your feet and step away from my property.”
Emma stilled. After a second of hesitation, she turned her head to look behind her in the direction of the man who had spoken.
It could be none other than Earl Byron, the lord of the Byron estate.
The man had the power to end her life, yet as Emma stood up and turned to face him, she held her head up high.
She had no regrets.
