There are fewer of us now.<\/p>\n
Some have lost interest in the experiment.\u00a0 Others have been consumed.\u00a0 Some fled at the sound of her wings, and forget our Lord has more than teeth and tail.<\/p>\n
We wait.\u00a0 Time has no meaning except as a measurement.<\/p>\n
We have always known her to be thus, as she thrust the serpent symbol at us.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 All at first she saw our master fearing he hungered for her disaster.\u00a0 But us “alone” as single “we,” a magic she simply cannot see.<\/p>\n
We are a mystery to her, one she would well devour and absorb did she not fear our Lord.<\/p>\n
Would that we could say, “I.”<\/p>\n
Her eyes are the same.<\/p>\n
They’re a shallow blue, a tidepool, a sip of time that barely tastes of a moment.\u00a0 She is starving, but so do many of her ilk, as dreams turn to dust and wars to circuitry and the bones of the Mothers are blasted through for roads.\u00a0\u00a0 Shrews and dinosaurs, and the myths fade from histories with no room for maybes like the Dragons.<\/p>\n
Like us.<\/p>\n
But there is the heart.\u00a0 Her solace, her only meal for years, easily.\u00a0 Those that feed the Dragons want the ones that are fiery red, burning hot white and blue.\u00a0\u00a0 Fast cars, fast Dragons, quickly eaten and no real lasting substance.<\/p>\n
Not like a sorceror’s love.<\/p>\n
It is a strange feeling that we hold that he, the small power\u00a0has not touched us.\u00a0 Some are sad, some strive us to tempt, some are angry.\u00a0 And within, we almost feel the “I.”<\/p>\n
Would he love us if we were one girl?\u00a0 Can he love us now?\u00a0<\/p>\n
We do not think he will come this far.<\/p>\n
She moves quickly, her bulk slithering behind her.\u00a0 They say cats have whiskers to determine their likelihood of being stuck, so how does she fit her wings so carefully within the walls?\u00a0 It is a question he would ask.\u00a0 She is more serpent than bird, but neither fish nor fowl.\u00a0\u00a0 The halls whisper her name.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“You have not eaten,” she accuses us.<\/p>\n
Like all of them, she has a collection.<\/p>\n
Thin strands of gold snarl a nest of thorns both iron and steel, clasps, buckles, and horns, and more to conceal.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Herbal concoctions as sold in auctions, feathers and bone, from the dead and the flown.\u00a0 What meals here are untainted we are unacquainted.<\/p>\n
But it would not be Hospitable to say that.<\/p>\n
We remain silent.<\/p>\n
Candles and magic both light the room, leaving odd shadows in colours that have names that lack music.\u00a0 It is painted in dishabille, rather than inusitation.\u00a0\u00a0 It is not a place for guests, but we are still bound by what we are.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Are we captive?\u00a0 She cannot use her\u00a0magic to bind us here.\u00a0 We are lacking reference as to which world we have been brought, but while it is not inimical \u00a0to our kind, our gifts are unreliable without synthesis into the weave.\u00a0 What is ours remains, what is our environment is suspect.\u00a0<\/p>\n
She is not without wit or charm.<\/p>\n
Or power.<\/p>\n
She is in a quandry, for she cannot harm us without cause.\u00a0 Devour us in entirety, and she would be breaking many laws.\u00a0<\/p>\n
“What are we going to do with you?” she asks, and part of it is that the phrase brings her comfort, and part of it is a concern.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Her scales are made at least partially of bronze, of her Mother’s coils, and they reflect the light in glittering hypnotics, and protect her from the many slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.\u00a0 Her eyes are lidded in gold, and her teeth are firm and made of the bones of warriors.\u00a0\u00a0 Her wings are freight trains and hurricanes and her tail is the lightning bolt.\u00a0<\/p>\n
Yes, of course, she is a Dragon.<\/p>\n
But within us is the blood of another.\u00a0 Peredur he calls himself now, and we are a reflection of his Angharad.\u00a0 He would not forsake us.<\/p>\n
He remains silent.<\/p>\n
“Who are you?\u00a0 What are you?” the Dragon asks.<\/p>\n
He is the breath of life, and\u00a0we are then the breath of thorns and ashes.<\/p>\n
Ill-luck, we named ourselves.<\/p>\n
We have decided that is how this will end.\u00a0 In thorns and ashes, as our Lord had made of us, and ill luck for those who have stolen us from our will.<\/p>\n
We answer her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
We wait. Time has no meaning except as a measurement.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1001002,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-418","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-chapter-five"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/418","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1001002"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=418"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/418\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=418"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=418"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.3-2-1-boom.com\/doctor-e\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=418"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}