I'm glad the sky is painted blue, and the earth is painted green;
With such a lot of nice fresh air, all sandwiched in between.
The dragon lets her eyesight slide. Over to him. The dragon that waltzes around uncaring and nods to her when they pass. She wishes he would stop doing that, it always nearly makes her plunge out of the atmosphere. His scales are so offensively black they leave you gaping and muscles that quiver so strongly they give you goose bumps. Well… least he has that effect on her, her friends, not so much, but her?
Oh, damn yeah.
He turns back her way and she diverts her attention elsewhere. He has never caught her looking at him and he never will if she had her way. She is the fastest, the quickest and the unbeaten in all the great South Lands. They would have made a great match, his strength and her speed. Too sad it will never happen. Because nobody here knows she is the best where she comes from. She's going to keep it that way this time, even if it means throwing out the window her only, however slim, possibility of catching his interest.
She is looking away; he takes the opportunity to rest his eyes on her and truly live for a few seconds. To hips so swung and tantalising, a face so cheekily crafted. A way of walking that makes you want to run up and tackle her to the ground? Dive your snout into the crook of her neck and see what she smells like up-close, what's reserved for that special dragon? What those caring eyes would look like when they are right in front of you and staring back. Wouldn't that be the dream?
Oh, damn yeah.
She turns back his way and he nods to her coolly as their eyes meet. He has never caught her looking at him, in any way, not even recognising his presence outside when he demands her greeting in the times like this. Small, stiff and across the cliff top. She flicks her ear uncaringly. It hurts, he, the unbeaten in all the great Northern Lands, has been struck down. Of course, he doesn't not say this. No one knows he is the great North Dragon. He prefers to keep it that way, even if it means throwing out the window his only, however slim, possibility of catching her interest.
Months later he cracks; he's been posted to a far off base near Berk and won't be back for years. He approaches her; she is shocked and lets her instincts take the wheel. She responds without hesitation as she did every day back home, as if he's just one of those thousands of brave suitors hoping for the most magnificent flyer in the East Artic to be their girl.
"Catch me, hot stuff." And she pouches to the sky, leaving him behind. She says this because they can never catch her, and they give up straight away.
He chases her, fuelled by the challenge but also the complement. Hot stuff, he chaffs through his snout. They twist and twirl and make the air scream because they're flying so savagely- but it's a pointless game.
Because, in the end, she never flies all out, because she doesn't want him to lose her in the clouds. She slows down so he can catch her, she doesn't mind being beaten one, tarnishing her tile of the unbeaten South. This fine enough for her; she just wants to be with him.
He wants it to last as long as possible, this moment where she recognises him with more than a distracted ear flick. He is here and he does not need to be anywhere else but flying. Her glistening body leads him on the most dangerous path through the rippling air patches of the sky. He follows with all his heart. He makes sure to only fly half as well as he can, because he's enjoying this twirl and dive hunt. He doesn't care about his unbeaten pride, this is fine enough for him; he can go without it. He just wants to be with her.
I'm glad the sky is painted blue, and the earth is painted green;
With such a lot of nice fresh air, all sandwiched in between.
By an unknown author, largely unresearched and new, this rhyme's purpose is to encourage respect of different and celebrate nature.