Night Fury
Entry 5

I have taught a man how to dance.

He's gone now.

It was still light when I woke up. The softest part of the day. The fish had stopped upsetting me. I was hungry again. I'm still hungry now.

I saw the man sitting on a rock near the water. He had a stick in his paw, and he scratched against the dirt with it. It looked like he was sharpening a new claw for himself.

I dropped down from the tree. I was going to tell him to stop, but when I came close, I saw he wasn't scratching hard enough to sharpen anything.

He was only making scratch-marks.

But I looked at his marks in the dirt, and they were so... different. He moved his stick in strange directions and with such delicate strokes; there seemed to be no purpose. But the marks he made ran together, and touched each other. They grew into one big mark of different colors in the ground that made me think of the colors I see when I look at my shadow in the water.

I didn't know scratch-marks could ever look like that! Only man-claws must be able to do it.

I wanted to do it, too. I got my own stick from the tree, to be my man-claw. I held it in my teeth and scratched against the dirt! I scratched everywhere, and made long marks, bigger than I am! I scratched until my marks surrounded the man on his rock. That made it complete, I think. That was perfect.

The man stood and saw my marks. I felt excited again, that I could make him look and turn and move. He looked around, and around again. My marks were much bigger than his. I think he was amazed out of his head. I would have been.

But when he moved he stepped on one of my marks. I growled, "Don't do that."

He didn't understand me, and stepped on it again. He was ruining my scratch-marks! I had to hiss it for him to finally understand.

I made him know he was upsetting me.

I talked to a man.

Then he stepped in a better place, away from my marks, and looked at me. I purred that that was good, and he made his happy face.

And then I watched him dance.

He held his tiny forelegs out like wings, with claws splayed out, and he moved through my scratch-marks. He stepped close among them, but he never touched them. He turned and stepped backwards and forwards and backwards again; he spun with half-closed eyes always watching the ground.

The mans I have always seen have been stout, and heavy, and tromping like hooved things. But my tiny man danced and turned and turned and danced like a bird walking on wind. He was not sick or insane; he was graceful.

He stayed lost in his dance until he came so close to me that my breath ruffled his fur. He felt it, and he turned and looked at me. He was very close.

He moved his paw toward my face again.

I just said, "Don't," and bared some teeth. He remembered, or he understood, and he pulled his paw back. But he didn't move away.

He cringed and made himself small, and looked down and away, and put out his paw again. It was close enough to smell. It was close enough to bite.

And I thought of my own most dangerous part. It's my muzzle of course. I have teeth and sparks and flames. But it's also where I smell things. It's where I touch and meet and learn.

And I wondered if he only wanted to smell. Dragons' snouts are dangerous. But it's also where we say hello.

Was it the same for mans?

His paw was very close to my face. But, I had said if he ever touched me again I would kill him.

Then, I didn't let him touch me.

I touched him instead.

His paw was warm. It trembled.

I smelled embers, sweat, stone, wood, dust, fish, dirt, and some tangy, oily things I didn't recognize.

When I had smelled all there was, I pulled my head back and looked at the man, and he looked at me. My nose itched. His scent was bizarre.

I told him he stunk, and moved away.

I touched a man.

It was frightening and strange. But I think this man is kind. I don't think he means to hurt me.

When the light was almost gone, I watched him climb out and leave through the hole in the rocks. I watched where he stepped. His claws are short and blunt, but they look good for climbing.

When he was gone I tried to follow in the places he had stepped. But I still can't make it over the bald spot. There's nothing to hold on to. My claws can't grip like his.

And my tail still can't grab the air.

I'm still hungry.

I found the scale the man had shed. It's wedged between two rocks. I put the man's stick by it. Maybe he'll find it again, if he comes back.

I hope he comes back.