Another bit of writing

I didn't get loads of feedback on the last excerpt I posted but the few who had something to say seemed to enjoy what they'd read and wanted to read more. This is promising!

As a result I've started going through all the writing I have saved to my computer. I have short-stories, a few paragraphs of something started but not yet finished, and my novels, both in progress and completed. I discovered amongst them the first story I ever transferred from a journal to the computer.

When I was ten I wrote this story as part of an assignment in class. I suppose I liked it well enough but my mum insisted it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever read. I expect that's part of her job, but still, I saved the story.

Yesterday I found that story. I considered editing it but decided I'd much rather post it as is. A story I wrote at ten, typed up at twelve, and re-discovered at twenty-five. I dedicate this post to my mum.

A Dragon mum with baby I made in High School

~

Dragon Tears

~

My name is Kristen. I live in the kingdom of Gwaldwin. I have lived here all my life.

Tonight I am happy, despite the sorrowful story that happened here so very long ago.

Though it happened long before my brothers or myself were born, I know the tale off by

heart. My father has told it to me a thousand times over on nights when I could not sleep

or whenever I was ill and the night after my mother died. He always began it the same

way…

Once upon a time on a night of great turmoil, your story began.

Many houses had been burned. The knights rode through the streets slaying all who were

not loyal to his majesty, Harold the Wicked, as he is remembered now. My father, a

painter, earned what little he could with his talent. My mother, a servant to a noble

family, was earning even less, being a woman. So they could only live in the smallest of

cottages with the smallest servings of food. They couldn’t afford to disobey the kings

wishes.

My mother was pregnant with me at the time. She was also very ill. She had a fever that

ran high and her body was wracked with violent shivers as she lay bundled beneath what

few blankets they had. my father saw death upon her face. He knew what had to be done

to save his beloved wife but it was terribly dangerous. It would be a long journey with

many perils, but the greatest would come upon reaching his destination. He had to go to

the great mountains, a seven days journey, and he would have to get and bring back the

tears of a dragon.

That night he left the cottage, knowing he would have to move as quickly as possible. He

knew my mother may not be alive upon his return, but if he did not go she would die for

certain. He wrapped her in all the remaining blankets and left what little food he could

manage to collect, along with the freshest water he could find, near her shaking body. He

left her with two farewell kisses, one to her fevered brow and one to her soft sun browned

cheek.

My father traveled quickly. He knew his wife had very little time left on this earth.

Despite the small misfortunes he encountered along the way he did not slow down. He

traveled at night even, so he could perhaps cut the time it would take him in half. So, on

the fifth dawn of the fifth morning since he had left, my father, tired and bedraggled,

arrived at the Emerald Caves, where the mightiest dragon known was said to live.

My father entered the largest cave. He knew that the Queen of the Dragons would be

here. After lighting his lantern he walked slowly down the dark passage of the damp

cave. It got warmer as he went further. He could hear the dragon snoring softly. Soon he

was upon her, a massive looming shape in the shadows. Her sides moved up and down

with each breath. My father came as near to her as he dared and sat, waiting for the

mighty creature to awaken.

My father shook himself awake and looked around. The dragon was gone. His lantern

had burned low while he slept, but there was still enough dim light to see that the

looming shape was no longer present. Slowly he got to his feet and left the cave. He

found the dragon outside, sunbathing on a patch of course mountain grass.

He approached her and said in his loudest voice, “Dragon! Awaken from your slumber!”

The dragon did not move and so my father said, “Dragon! Mighty dragon! Awaken and

grant that I may have some of your tears?”

The dragon slowly lifted her red, scaly head and looked at my father. She yawned and her

foul somewhat sulphurous breath caught my father off guard. Then she blinked her

golden eyes lazily and rested her head back on the ground.

“Dragon, wondrous, mighty, dragon! What must I do to have thee grant my humble

wish?” pleaded my father.

The dragon did not move. She only opened her eyes and gazed at my father most lazily.

My father was in great despair, having not planned for such a predicament. He sat on the

ground and put his face in his hands. suddenly, he had an idea.

My father looked into the dragons glistening eyes and began to tell a tale. It was a sad

tale of stupendous and beautiful dragons fighting in terrible battles. One dragon in

particular was the strongest and fastest of them all. She fought bravely and won every

time. She won the final battle most victoriously, only to die a short time later while

giving birth.

As he finished the story my father looked up to see the massive dragon with her head

bowed. A huge pearly tear had run down her snout and was ready to fall with a great

splash. My father grabbed the jar he had brought and caught the tear as it fell. Then he

sealed the jar and thanked the dragon profusely.

When my father arrived home he found the town in ruins. The small cottage was half

burned but his wife had made it onto the street safely. She lay there, nearly dead. My

father dropped to his knees beside her and opened the tear filled jar. He slowly poured it

down my mothers parched throat and over her pale face. She swallowed weakly and lay

still. My father wrapped his arms around her and they slept, side by side, until the sun

came creeping over the valley.

As the suns first rays danced over my parents faces my mothers eyes fluttered open. She

stretched and my father woke as well. My mother stood very slowly. Her body was as

healthy as the day she was born! My father hugged her happily and they kissed. I was

born a few months later.

My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother when I was eight. That was seven

years ago this very day.

I must go now for it is almost midnight. Every midnight on this sorrowful anniversary of

my mothers passing, I turn into a dragon and my mothers spirit and I fly across the sky,

hand in hand.