Lissa's Collection of Poetry and Short Stories

Pen and Ink

*Story written for Fury design created by ImDerpyShayla of the old SoD Forum*

Pen grew up with stories about dragons. Fierce, wild beasts that once ruled the skies- or so the elders said. She could listen for hours to them talk; long after all the other children ran off to play. Still she sat, a pen in her hand and parchment on her lap.

"So they had four legs as well as wings?"

"Not all of them. The monstrous nightmare for one, he didn't."

"And long tails?"

"Not all of them. The Gronckle's was short- but he could pack a punch with it!"

She drew and she drew, and once she was satisfied with a sketch that an elder approved, she would move on to another to see what they had to say. It was funny how few times they all agreed; but then, they were themselves just small children at the time of dragons.

The Chief's grandfather was the one she delighted in talking to the most. A twinkle would come to those dull eyes and he would chuckle.

"I forget many things wee lass, but not the day I met a dragon. Black, sleek, terrifying but beautiful. I covered my face as my father took my hand, and placed it on the creature's head. So scaly and warm. So gentle. And oh! Those hazel green eyes. I will never forget them."

At night she would hold her candle up to the wall, admiring not her handiwork but the creatures themselves. How she longed to meet one. On inky black nights without a moon, she would take the drawings, form them into pointy arrow-shaped birds, and toss them out her second story window. Pen would watch as they lazily flew through the air, sometimes catching on the wind and disappearing up in the night sky. If they did that, she would wish on the north star that they hadn't really disappeared but come to life and flown away.

*

Ink's wings ached. He had seen through the great waterfall, up to the heavens above and they made his world feel very small. The clouds, the moon, the sun. But it was the stars that left him in awe. They matched the patterns on his wings... if that wasn't a sign those wings were meant to be among them what was?

Day and night were no different down here, but as they passed the dragon found less interest in the cold, bio-luminescent world he was born to and more in the sky. But an ancient code; the Alpha's ruling, kept everyone below. Most dragons didn't dare come near the edge of the haven for that vague and distant memory. To abandon the Alpha's rule is to become an outcast.

Time went on. His longing grew stronger than his fear. On a moonless night Ink crawled through one of the few remaining crevasses (for the dragons of old had built up a wall to keep their kind in, and the others out) into the watery cavern. He looked up and opened his wings.

*

Pen stared down in sour disappointment at her pictures. So lifeless. Meaningless... just as others said.

Get your head out of the clouds!

Put that talent to real use, lass!

Yes. Build statues. Of people. That already exist. That everybody knows about. What fun. She longed for the things that were just outside of everyone else's imagination, the things that make you feel young and full of life.

But their words were not untrue. There's no place in the real world, the one she was fast growing up and into, for dreaming.

In the dark of night, on a rash moment of hurt and anger she scooped all her work up and tossed it in her satchel, sneaking out the window.