“Pyrans and dragons have long been companions—they evolved together as far back as historically recorded. That is, they were until their scales and horns became luxury novelties. People started killing my kind’s beloved dragons with the promise of excessive wealth. For the protection of this species so intertwined with our culture, my ancestors decided not to keep them anymore. Now, they thrive in unknown wild territories like this one, believed extinct, spare the rumored sighting here or there.” I reached my own hand out and stroked its snout to demonstrate my confidence in its docility. “The instinct of fellowship will always be there; we can read each other. You’re safe.”
“Mykie said they would eat her,” she grumbled, although her hand lifted hesitantly.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course, Mykie had thrown that into the mix. Gods forbid she hold her tongue for once. “That’s only her species.” I wrapped my hand around herwrist once more and placed her palm where mine had been on its snout. “I promise I won’t let you get hurt.”
I let go, and watched as her thumb stroked the smooth plated scales. “Hi,” she squeaked, her eyes shining and mouth open in awe. It wasn’t long before her other arm raised and cupped its maw, holding its face while she stroked it endearingly. The dragon blinked at her a few times before bending down to sniff her hair. Did it notice that she smelled like its home? It huffed steamed breaths that blew a few strands out of her face. How fascinating that it was more interested in her than me, given my biological connection with the species.
Faeryn rose up on her tiptoes to continue exploring its face with her fingertips. I looked down at her soft, freshly healed feet and was reminded of our long walk ahead. She likely wouldn’t let me carry her. I looked back up at the dragon. Perhaps the solution stood in front of us, although it had been some time since I tested the power of my heritage.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“For what?”
“To give those feet of yours a break and get to our destination.”
“Huh?”
I pressed my palm against the dragon’s neck and stroked across the dense muscles of its shoulder as I walked to its side. Once there, I firmly grasped a large spike at the base of its neck and gave a hard tug to make sure the creature wasn’t bothered by my suggested partnership. When there was no indication of distress, I kicked a leg up and hoisted myself onto the smooth plateau behind its withers. It always felt right to be seated there, as if the scales had softened with evolution to allow a rider to comfortably mount it. I often reflected thathundreds of thousands of years ago, I would have spent almost every day in this same position. Dragon riders had been vital in building civilization, transporting supplies between villages, and providing defense during times of war. Presently, it was nothing more than a cherished hobby of mine—one I hadn’t explored in years. After all, I hadn’t been here in years. I was too busy wallowing in rage and despair to make time for anything else.
“My dear?” I reached a hand down to where Faeryn stood, her eyes wide in surprise. She stepped forward bravely, following the hand movement I had done from neck to back. This was entirely unnecessary now that the creature was aware of my intentions, but it was lovely to see her mimic my customs. We locked forearms and I lifted her up to straddle the beast’s neck in front of me.
“Quite the climb, isn’t it?” I said with a laugh, noticing her eyes fixed on the ground as the dragon rose to its full height.
“How does it know which direction to go?” She stroked its neck soothingly, its thick skin twitching in response.
I made a loud kissing noise, and it began walking. “Dragons have answered to the same commands for millennia. They instinctively know what to do at certain noises and tones.” It had taken me years to get the pronunciation from my readings right, but with practice I had become well-versed in this ancient language.
The dragon’s body swayed as it walked, shifting our hips back and forth with each step. I moved an inch back to avoid being pressed against her during the motion.I should have insisted she wear the pants today. Her dress had risen up her thighs to allow the spread of her knees, and the fullness of her ass was pushed up high. That moment in the carriage had revealed I had less control than I thought over my own groin; Iwould need to tread carefully to avoid a response she could see—or feel.
Branches brushed across the dragon’s invulnerable scales as we walked. I offered the occasional direction, the bellow coming from deep within my chest where every Pyran intrinsically knew their source of fire was located. Faeryn choked out a giggle at one of the sounds, and I decided not to remind her it was rude to find humor in a lost language stolen from my kind. She could be amused at my expense all she wanted. After all, it was a silly noise.
“How do you feel about quickening our pace? I don’t want to waste our daylight.” The rhythmic swaying in paradise was rocking me tired, and I needed to stay sharp.
“Will it fly?”
I was surprised she was asking.Little adrenaline junky.
“Let’s save that treat for another day,” I replied. If my female wanted to fly, fly we would.
Considering it a step less intimidating than flight, I commanded the dragon to break into a run with a “Hiiiupppppbbbb”.
The dragon broke into a gallop, sending the surrounding trees into a colorful blur. I was steady in my seat from experience, but Faeryn threw her arms around its neck to avoid falling off. I averted my gaze from her bent over before me, instantly second-guessing my decisions. The regret only lasted a moment before I heard her howling with glee against the wind.
I hoped her vision was adjusting to the speed so she didn’t miss a thing. Images flashed by. The glistening silver waters of the island’s large lake. The neighboring mountain, a cave under its shielding arch. New trees appeared with lilac flowers rather than pink, signaling the depth we had reached in the woods.These trees were ten times the size of those behind us, blocking out significant sections of daytime starlight.
“Graysen, look!” Faeryn called and pointed as we passed another dragon, this one red with a long body. Tiny vestigial wings sprouted from its shoulder blades. It had four stubby legs that it waddled around on in a slithering motion.
“That’s a Redtail.” I decided to give her the common names. She would struggle to pronounce the formal ones without an inferno organ in her chest. “We’re currently on a Blue Horn.” The names gifted by the non-Pyrans who wrote about dragons seriously lacked creativity.
“There are different species of dragon too?” She had braved loosening her death grip on the creature’s neck to sit up and look for more.
“There used to be hundreds.” I pointed in the direction of another dragon that stood on its hind legs and picked at berries on a bush. “Each one with very intricate native names. I’ll tell you all of them over lunch.” I wasn’t sure she would be able to hear how pretty they sounded over the rushing wind in our ears.
“That one is so small for a dragon,” she remarked at the two-legged beast.
“They range from the size of your palm to nearly the size of one of those purple-leaved trees.” I pointed to a passing tree, her eyes widened.
“What do the big dragons look like?!”
