Part Three
She who is Flies-in-Storms is dreaming of a sunset that is also a fish that bounces around on the end of a stick. The sun has fallen from the sky and was caught by a tree, and now it flops and thrashes and is very shiny. But then she is hiding among the darkness and thick-heavy heat of the fearful nest that was, and she has forgotten what the bright thing was, only that it has vanished into jaws that gape bigger and bigger to swallow mountains and gulp down oceans.
And still she does not wish to be woken by the squeaking and wailing and crying of small-cousins.
Small-cousins are like that. They are small but they think they are big, and they are too silly to understand that small things are not of interest to big dragons. They push and yowl loud and spread their wings as if they will grow big with trying, and they can only be stepped over because they are not to be stepped on. They are still cousins.
Flies-in-Storms wakes into dreamlike darkness, and her tail bristles with spikes. But she does not snap it out to strike, because in the dream that would be a very bad thing to do, and then the jaws would devour her. And in waking she knows that this is a safe nest, and it is hers because strrrTT shifted aside to share.
It was a very good thing that her strrrTT did, and Flies-in-Storms is grateful.
She was invited here, and the small-cousins were not. They claw at the walls and wail unhappy us scared-angry want-to-fight unhappy us unhappy you c'mon c'mon c'mon angry! Flies-in-Storms hears small paws swatting small noses as they fight among themselves and crowd close, worrying at the ways into the nest that are shut now, held tight against them.
strrrTT likes it not at all when she has closed things but small paws make them open again, and when small-cousins dive in search of new toys and good games and then fly away shrieking.
Go-away, Flies-in-Storms says, growling warning at them so close to her nest and her human. She crouches against the wood of the nest and turns her eye to a small crack. Through it she sees shadows of movement flitting all over outside in the night.
You? a small-cousin whistles a question, doubtful. You you you you?
Flies-in-Storms snorts at him. What?
Another one dives on him and knocks him aside into a cluster of small-cousins crouched on the ground and wailing all together, and they leap away aggrieved and quarreling. Danger! the new one shrieks, waving his wings. C'mon c'mon angry angry angry stranger-intruders don't-like angry us disgust angry! He spits and shakes himself, and beside him one like him squeaks angrily until she must yawn and the sounds mix together.
Not far away in the nest, there is a small grumbling sound and the shuff noise that is not leaves but the movement of sleeping-nest things, and strrrTT makes muffled human noises that mean complaining about small-cousins.
Flies-in-Storms crouches unhappy and her eyes narrow resentment. She is not supposed to wake up her human friend when she is sleeping, unless it is very important, and it is not fair at all that small-cousins should demand that strrrTT wake up and play with them if she cannot.
She will have to make the small-cousins go away.
But they are out there and she is in here, and Flies-in-Storms puzzles, clucking softly. It is not a friendly thing to do, to break the nest open. If she had small clever paws like Shadow she could make the space in the wall be there neatly and gently, but she has only heavy claws.
Curiously, she noses at the opening-thing, trying to lift and flip it. She knows that when the opening-thing is holding tight to the metal piece, like the many small bright claws strrrTT likes to put all over her cave with loud thump thump thump strikings, then the space will not be open.
Flies-in-Storms wonders if she can persuade it to let go, and nudges at it like a stubborn hatchling who flops to the ground in the middle of things and will not move, and shrieks when it sees fangs shown to it because it knows it will not be bitten, and so must be persuaded elsewhere very cleverly.
Opening-things do not follow things to chase or to eat when those things are dangled before them, because they do not have noses. So Flies-in-Storms will have to push it gently.
She bumps her nose many times against the wood instead, whining very quiet.
There is a sound beside her of confusion and sleepiness and a little of laughter, and strrrTT pushes herself between the dragon and the stubborn opening-thing, big soft sleeping-in leaves trailing behind her like wings. She grumbles and paws at her eyes and her noises ask curiosity about what Flies-in-Storms is doing.
But she makes the nest open so that the dragon can stalk out into the night.
It closes again on Flies-in-Storms' tail so quickly it almost bites, and the blue dragon turns back with the smallest whimper. Once she is outside at night, she cannot come back in again. That is the way of things.
She is bristling at being shut out even before small-cousins dive at her head and prance around her paws, screaming outrage and no no no no bad bad bad us upset very-much-so you c'mon danger danger! When she spreads her wings and flies up and around and around to perch on the top of the biggest human nest of all, that towers like a mountain, they follow her.
There are small-cousins all over now, cheeping and whining and yowling at her, but it is good a bit because strrrTT will be glad that the small-cousins will not wake her again.
Listening, Flies-in-Storms invites finally, settling down and watching them carefully, head tipped to track their movements and to think.
They refuse to go back to their nests or play somewhere else. Small-cousins speak with very much silliness, but eventually Flies-in-Storms understands that they cannot go back to their cliffs and their shores and their forests and sleep like they want to, because there are humans stomping all over everything and swatting at them, and it is not fair, humans are not supposed to do that anymore! Humans are for feeding them good things and playing games and petting them now!
They complain very much about humans doing wrong things and chasing them away.
Flies-in-Storms growls, remembering the humans earlier, that did not belong here, that were trespassers, that trapped and howled and threatened. She knows that flock by their scent because she has smelled it many times now. She knows their fidgeting like they know they are doing something they should not, and their sharp things pointed at her and the others who fly with her strrrTT's friends. She knows the shrieking noises of their Alpha who tells them fight fight fight fight always and waves his paws like he is trying to fly.
strrrTT very much does not trust that one, and Flies-in-Storms was happy to chase him today. He has nets.
He catches dragons and pokes sharp things at them and their friends like they are prey to be pinned on claws. He stalks with high steps and staring and with his fangs bared, like a thief who knows he should not be in a place, but who is excited to be caught and to fight. He challenges others to scold him with his movements, impressed with his own daring.
Dragons who move that way like to make trouble. They race towards fights among others and pounce in and bite everyone all the same, and they must be bitten many times until they learn not to do that.
It does not surprise her at all that the Nets Man has not learned he is not wanted here.
Maybe no one will bite the Nets Man because he is an Alpha. To bite an Alpha is a thing very difficult and nervous-making to think of. But there is no roar inside her skull of rage and hate and killing-crushing in punishment for thinking it, and Flies-in-Storms would like to growl at the Nets Man more.
Perhaps strrrTT will not mind so much, although it is not good to growl at humans on this new nest island. She must wait for the sound that means permission before she snarls and snaps and slashes at humans. Humans do not make sense sometimes, so it is good to have a signal that is easy to understand.
Perhaps strrrTT will be happy anyway. Flies-in-Storms would like to make her friend happy.
Her friend is the best human. She is small but she thinks she is big inside, like the small-cousins but better because she is not annoying. She pesters sometimes when she has a new thought, but she looks for signals that mean enough, and then she steps away and her paws pet instead of commanding. She learns things when Flies-in-Storms teaches them to her, even when Flies-in-Storms must teach her many times and be patient.
Flies-in-Storms has no hatchlings of her own, but she has a strrrTT, which is strange and startling but in a good way.
And she is kind. She was kind when there had only been hurting and aloneness for a long time.
She tries.
strrrTT made gentler and happy sounds when she came to learn to play games instead of to fight, and it was a good thing for the dragon who had no sounds and no one to play with and was afraid always. It made her warm inside to hear happy sounds again. There were no other happy sounds to remember before. They are Flies-in-Storms' favorite happy sounds that she knows best now.
strrrTT gave Flies-in-Storms sounds of her own, and she always returns for her even when they are surrounded by terrible humans and frightening-staring fierce dragons, and she stays with her when she is scared, and she shares her nest. strrrTT brings her good things to eat and scratches her nose. They teach each other new games.
She is not like us, Flies-in-Storms knows. She is not one of us, not as Darkness and Shadow are, or as the ones who do not live among human nests are.
But Flies-in-Storms loves her friend very much. Her strrrTT is hers, and not to be bullied.
Flies-in-Storms would not let a dragon who had bullied a friend return to frighten and trap and threaten them again. She will not let that one – she rattles her wings and shifts away from the imagined Nets Man nervously, like trembling, but with disdain in the flick of her wingtips and the twitch of her tail, like strrrTT says with her body and her voice to the Nets Man always – forget his scolding and creep back very pleased with himself.
He should slink away yowling instead.
The small-cousins have bewailed themselves ignored while Flies-in-Storms works through the problem very cleverly all by herself, and stalked away offended looking for someone else to complain to.
That is better. No one will listen curiously if Flies-in-Storms comes to them with small-cousins clamoring for attention at her tail, because to play the senseless games of small-cousins is for silly dragons and for hatchlings who do not know any better.
Where? Endurance, dozing beneath a rolling thing, rumbles when she alights beside him. He raises his head and looks all around. No-threat not-worried, he says.
C'mon, Flies-in-Storms insists, spreading her wings, showing that the danger is elsewhere, that they must fly to find it. Enemy-intruder, she growls, crouching and prowling to show that the danger is sneaky. And she stands very sure and raises her head and insists.
Paws Slip is sleeping on the edge of a cliff with his tail falling away off the stones into the sky, and with Tailchaser sprawled over her friend's back so that he will not shift in his sleep and fall again. Flies-in-Storms nudges them awake and hovers above their resting place as she clicks and growls her warning, and they growl to each other and fly after her when she turns away.
She finds Scar Like Lightning chewing on his claws that grow ragged and long, and whistles invitingly, promising pouncing and chasing games.
Snap-and-Sulk do not like thinking of enemies coming to threaten them. Their favorite humans have a small new hatchling that they will be allowed to play with someday if they are very careful and very good, and already they are quarreling with each other often about which of them will be liked by the small new one most.
And others hear them moving about and wake, or look up from slinking through the human nest and chattering together, quietly so as not to wake up humans and be shouted at. It is not at all fair, to be shouted at, because then humans are louder than dragons, but humans are very silly often and dragons must be patient with them, because it is better to be shouted at a bit than to fight always.
Flies-in-Storms flies beside Friend and Colors Like Mine as dragons growl to each other and their flock gathers in the sky above the human nests and across the top of the biggest nest. Clicking and arguing and worrying, they soar in tight and hovering spirals that scatter when the small-cousins dart upwards to join them and scream with delight at having a whole flock together to complain to.
Bad! Paws Slip warns, pulling his claws back. He does not want to pounce at humans. They – he glances downwards at the small fires still burning, and shrinks in on himself in a cringe – angry!
No, Flies-in-Storms argues. Approval, she says with her body, and they with the same glance, and purrs proud.
She knows that they are not supposed to fight with humans. But those humans are different, and trespassing.
This is a nest for dragons too, now, and dragons do not let strangers trespass in their places that they have claimed.
Curious, Endurance croons, and all around him others take up the sound.
Content with that and glad that they are all going together, Flies-in-Storms follows the others as they turn away to find a wind that takes them across the island. Small-cousins swarm among them and scream excitement and fierce and puff themselves out with bragging as they make small pretend-dives at pretend-enemies, even when bigger dragons snort small you hush silly small at them.
Near the shore there is a bright splotch of light all lit up by small fires, burning in pits dug into the ground, and held up high on branches planted where humans have placed them, or held in human paws. That ground shines like daylight while all the island otherwise and the sea beyond are still night-dark, as if the sun is theirs to bask in and they will not share.
Within it, the Nets Man walks with his head high and his feet striking the ground to hurt it. Firelight glances from an eye stick, flashing like a glare, that he points at the sky. He lunges and pounces with a long blade that shines, and his voice leaps out into the night mocking and taunting and eager, singing to himself of excitement and hunger-to-hurt.
His many flock-followers scuttle around him with their shoulders low, or stand staring and guarding with sharp things ready.
There is a good smell of food there, rich and burning and very tempting, and some of the flock lift their noses and breathe deeply, licking at their jaws.
No no no no stupid-silly you danger-warning, cry Snap-and-Sulk, bumping the hungry dragons with their heads and turning them away from the good smells.
The small-cousins dive away shrieking with fear, reminded of what they had run away from. They forget the big dragons around them and disappear into the forest to hide.
That? Fastest Hunter whistles curiously, from his perch in a tall grasping tree. He untangles himself from the branches and rears up to greet the go-and-see flock that has come to join him. Wondering humans there humans why? worried strange don't-like.
Nose In Air is resting in the branches of another tree, peering through the forest at the light. Careful, she chirrups a warning, and points with her heavy nose at a shadow dark even for the forest at night under the chewed-on moon. When Flies-in-Storms turns her wings into the wind and soars all around it, hunting for scents, she catches the smell of a stranger-intruder human belonging to the Nets Man. He waits to pounce out from the night, smelling all of fear and stink-sweat and old ocean and bright metal and old meat.
Springing up from their trees to join the flock, Fastest Hunter and Nose In Air click anxiety. They do not like that the humans are there – it is strange for humans to be moving around and hiding in the forest after dark. But there are many strangers, and they and all dragons here were told no more fighting, and that command is strong, so they have not leapt to drive the humans away.
Flies-in-Storms looks at the bright patch with fires all over as she sets her wings to glide and hover, and a tremble for real runs through her from her heart-fires to the tips of her wings and out to her tail. A place all lit up in the night is easy to jump at.
She jumped at a place all lit up once, with fires all over. She jumped at it hunting prey-scents with a flock around her.
And she was caught.
Her wing and her flank hurt very much at first, and there was only nothing except the small cave. She hurt, and she healed, but still there was nothing. There was only night always and cave always with no sky, and stale air, and dead food, and boredom worse than any winter, just to crouch and stare at nothing. Sometimes there was a bright open space that was a lie because it was a trap with rattling chains above. Then she would stretch her wings and cry out at the hurting in them and in rage at the humans who bit at her with sharp things until she turned and fled back to her darkness and the nothing. She listened sometimes to the whimpering of despair in other trap-caves until that whimpering became screaming and the sounds of thrashing that was only madness and helplessness to not be mad. She learned that dragons scream when they have nothing left but madness.
And then there would be human fierce sounds, and the smell of blood, and then the mad-from-trapped screaming would stop forever.
Places all lit up are not to be jumped at blindly.
The eyes of her friends turn to look at her as some of them grumble and snarl recognition, because the Nets Man has pounced at their nest before and been chased away. They glide around each other soaring safe in the darkness, like death-hunting birds that were good to follow when the beating of Hungry! inside was strong and there was no good hunting, and the dragon who was not yet Flies-in-Storms knew she must find food or be punished and eaten.
She knew what to do, then. But she does not know what to do now.
She wishes very much that her friends who are here sometimes were here now. They have sounds that they make for each other and that strrrTT tries to make but says wrongly, but Flies-in-Storms thinks of them as a mixture of dark and strange and defiant and fighters and liberators, so together they are the Dauntless Ones.
But also they are one and the other, Darkness like shed scales from the night sky left to gleam in the daylight, and Shadow who is Darkness' Shadow. Shadow does not look quite like Darkness, but Shadow is of him, which is as it should be. Her shadow does not look quite like her mostly. It is a shape a bit different, but it is hers.
Flies-in-Storms does not think she is clever, not like Shadow is, and she does not fly quick and fearless like Darkness. The Dauntless Ones would know what to do, and they would be very brave, and dragons would follow them if they asked.
Sometimes they are here because it is a New Strange Thing, that humans and dragons should live together, and they do not trust it. They are wary, and they watch from hiding as if it were a bear that does not threaten nowbut could do, or as if they were a mother turning her eggs to warm all over beside her.
Perhaps Flies-in-Storms and the flock should go and look for them, she thinks, recoiling from the light of many humans gathered to trespass. Darkness and Shadow are not at ease among the human nests, so they hunt and bask and wander elsewhere on this island, in wild places where they are happier. Dragons can find them there but humans cannot, and then humans walk about calling and scratching at their heads that there are no dragons in their nests.
Then they have all flown away to perch and chatter and groom and listen and purr and curl up together, with the Dauntless Ones nudging at their scales and chirruping curiously to be sure that they are safe among their new friends.
She could go and look for them, and bring this baffling thing to them as she once brought prey to the SHE. Flies-in-Storms is not happy to look for trouble to hunt. She is not as much a fighter.
It has not been in her to look at a thing, and decide that it is a wrong thing, and that it shall not be so, and that she shall make it not be so, and that she will fight to make it not be so.
It is in the Dauntless Ones to do so, to choose and stand and fight, and to change what is. It is in strrrTT to guide with her paws and her voice and to show her when to strike, because Flies-in-Storms trusts her strrrTT, who is an Alpha among her small flock of flyers and pads at the side of the Alpha of all her flock listening to his sounds and learning to hunt from him.
But Flies-in-Storms does not like it when strrrTT is upset, and the Nets Man had made strrrTT very upset. The Nets Man threatened them all, and he does not listen.
She imagines one day when the Dauntless Ones return to perch with them and watch warily and chatter curiously and guard against what might be. She would be very proud to tell them of a time when she was a bit like them.
Flies-in-Storms knows many leaders. Maybe she can lead, too. There is no one to tell her not to.
She rattles her wings and she cries out attention!, callingto her flock, and if she burns inside at their eyes turned to her it is only the heart-fire in her chest flaring to be breathed out.
Ours, she says, spreading her wings over the island below, the island that became their home when they did not know where else to go, and is a good place. She claims it. It is theirs.
It is a place for dragons, and for humans who can learn to play better games with them.
Those, she gestures, snarling don't-like and danger and enemies and rejection, those are not!
And she shrieks high and challenging the warning that means intruders! and that calls on the flock to turn on the invaders and chase them away.
Far below, humans startle and stare up into the night, but Flies-in-Storms is not there. She knows not to leap blindly, and instead she has turned and flown away, remembering a new game.
Her flock follows her as she leads.
Nose In Air grumbles don't-understand confusion don't-like why? why? don't-understand don't-want-to and scratches at her underbelly with her claws, looking away and ignoring the new thing.
Look! Endurance chirrups to her, pushing her with his shoulder until she must put her paw down and stare at him. He beats his wings and hovers with the stone in his claws, and drops it a very short way to crash near her.
Nose In Air leaps and startles, fluttering away, and Endurance laughs in a lolling tongue and quick sharp grunts and deep-inside gurglings like a hungry stomach. He is smaller than she, but he has scared her with the stone.
Approval, Flies-in-Storms purrs to him, and he preens as she hops to pounce on a stone and lift it in her claws.
Fly us, she shows. Fly rocks. And careful careful attack pounce chase us hunt!
Snap-and-Sulk chatter to each other excitement-excitement yes yes yes good laughter-laughter, and wave their wings, jaws gaping. They leap at the piles of stones that Flies-in-Storms and the others who fly with humans on their backs put here in the daylight, catching a stone in their paws like prey, and they bite at the small pieces that are crushed underfoot beneath the many dragons crouching in the clearing. Their cheeks puff out all full of small stones, and their eyes flash laughing at their flock-mates who coil around the wood that strrrTT and her flyers put here and perch in the trees.
Flies-in-Storms cheeps surprise that they have had such a good idea.
Us! a small-cousin shrieks, diving into the clearing. Many more follow and they tumble through the small stones, snatching at the pieces and fluttering around under the feet of the flock. Us fight us fight us fight us fight this-rock here this-rock good mine this-rock! They squabble with each other over the pieces and do not stop until Mud Slider stomps very close to their waving tails, stepping ashamed a bit that the silly small-cousins are more ready to fight than he.
Me, he offers, small wings humming, and he lifts a heavy stone from the ground.
One by one the dragons understand what they are to do, as Flies-in-Storms stalks around and around and pushes them at the stones and shows them many times that they do not have to dive flaming and screaming at intruders. There is fire there already, and shouting. But rocks are quiet.
It was a good thought that strrrTT had, to be so clever, and it is a clever thought that Flies-in-Storms has had, to steal it.
It will frighten the intruders very much, to have rocks fall from the sky.
So Flies-in-Storms beats her wings and calls follow! and carries her stone high above the trees back to the bright place on the shoreline. Her flock flies beside her in her wake, calling to each other in small yelps and aggrieved grumbles and doubtful snorts until they are close to the bright place.
Below, the Nets Man paces and stares and waits, shouting at shadows. All of him says challenge loud and obvious, even though he is small and far below. The not-belonging scents of his flock are sharp on the wind.
She imagines strrrTT on her shoulders making sounds that mean ready-waiting and then the sound that means attack! But strrrTT is not here. She is sleeping knowing her friend will protect her.
So instead Flies-in-Storms cries attack! as dragons do, and swoops down towards the light, and lets the rock go, and at once soars upwards again, diving away. She does not see the rock fall, but she hears a howl of outrage and shock and fear, and then many, many angry human sounds. And close behind there are many thud thud thud sounds as her friends drop their stones too and they crash to the ground among the small thwip thwip thwipthwipthwip noises of small pieces spat out or dropped from tiny paws.
If they do not flame brightly, humans cannot see them, and then humans cannot put them in nets!
Paws Slip flutters up beside her, and Scar Like Lightning spins excitedly, and Nose In Air looks still-doubtfully at her empty claws. The small-cousins turn themselves into tangled-up streaks of racing color barely to be seen in the light from below that wavers and flaps about as humans run into burning sticks and wave them and make all the shadows dance.
Down below there is angry screaming, but up in the night sky there are chirrups and whistles and croons and yelping as dragons laugh, to see the stranger-intruders run confused.
Tailchaser whistles like good game this game yes like ready ready! and darts off to catch more stones. Mud Slider and Endurance and This-Splotch-and-That-Splotch follow her.
Nose In Air snorts silliness and flutters away towards the forest too, and Flies-in-Storms hovers watching as the flock scatters to find new ways to chase intruders away.
The Nets Man runs after his followers who have run away and pulls them by their ears and their noses back to the light. He pushes sharp things into their paws and waves his blade at the sky yelling very loud and angry. But the dragons hiding in the night will not answer his invitation to come out and fight – that is what his sounds say – and when no shriek answers his, instead he crouches as if hunting, ready to pounce.
Tailchaser and her friends come back with more rocks and broken branches and paws full of mud scooped from the banks of streams. Rocks fall like hailstones, and they dive away as sharp arrows fly and miss. Flies-in-Storms and Colors Like Mine flick their tails around and scatter spikes at them in reply. Small-cousins dart everywhere, shrieking in high piercing voices at the great new game that they have learned. One stops and hovers near Flies-in-Storms' nose, tail waving as it grins happily. Good good good fun fun, it chatters, and flits away.
Movement far below is Nose In Air, soaring low with something writhing in her claws. But all the eyes of the intruders are turned upwards, some holding eye sticks and some holding arrow throwers. So she is not seen as she veers close to the light and tosses her catch into the sand.
It skids and sprawls and makes a great plume of sand like sea spray, and when it stops Flies-in-Storms sees that it is a stranger-intruder who was hiding, waiting to pounce with leaves and sticks all caught in his skins to make him look like forest.
Again again, Nose In Air suggests, circling up to the soaring flock. They greet her with chattering and purring and whistles, and she spreads her wings proudly. She cries a sound that means good hunting, that invites others to fly with her and feed on many prey.
But they do not hunt prey-beasts tonight – humans are not for eating. They hunt a good game of finding and catching as if they are chasing after hatchlings too silly not to run off edges, and Friend and Bared Teeth and many others fly away with her to creep careful and sneaking through the forest looking for hiding intruders, to pounce on and snatch up and carry away most firmly.
Some of them are dropped in the water instead.
They make good splashes.
But still the Nets Man does not go away. He only shouts louder and louder and gets very angry until he is spitting and screaming at his followers and pacing in his own pawprints around and around. His blade bites at sand and at stones and all his sounds tangle together. Flies-in-Storms cannot understand why he does not understand to go away.
There are nastier things that could be dropped on him, but it is not a tidy thing to do.
Some of the dragons who have been carrying heavy stones have landed to rest on the plains on the edge of the forest, licking at their claws and stretching their wings. They whine and chirp and call softly to each other, curious and concerned, and click with thinking about new games.
In a quiet moment while dragons hover and humans huddle, one of their cries rings out clearly.
The Nets Man leaps into the air like a spike has bitten his paws, and he lands with his blade hunting for the sound. He gathers his followers all around him and shouts at them. He stomps his feet and he points out into the night.
Some of his followers stay in the firelight staring around very fearfully, but the Nets Man crouches with hunting and prowls towards the sounds. Some of them go with him, stepping all over each other's paws and clumping together before they disappear in the dark.
The dragons above howl disappointed angry confused angry worry disappointed outraged that their good trick has not worked, and Flies-in-Storms ruffles her spines in embarrassment.
She did not want to dive at the intruders and threaten them and bite and flame. But this is her place and her flock will not let trespassers stay here to hunt their flock-mates.
Follow! she cries, even though some of her friends look at her with doubt in their signals, and she flies quickly.
Soaring, Flies-in-Storms dives over the scent of the humans and spins, landing between her resting friends and the stranger-intruders. Danger! she whistles to her flock-mates, calling here here here me help danger fight defend mine mine in a rattling snarl.
And it is good good happy safe happy sure warm-inside safe good when all of her flock-mates follow her, landing with rustling wings and bubbling snarls and flashing teeth, to stand in the way of the trespassers.
The resting dragons climb to their paws and race to join them, pushing their shoulders and scraping their sides together, protecting each other. They growl low and ready, small flames flickering in their jaws and their eyes bright.
It is not even silly when the small-cousins turn up again and land on all their shoulders and perch on their heads, puffing out their small chests and spreading their wings like they are very tall just because they are on top of tall dragons like Snap-and-Sulk.
The shadows that are the Nets Man and his followers stop at the sound of growls and the fluttering of wings and the scraping of claws against stones. The Nets Man says a sound, and a scratch-scratch noise makes a flame.
A fire branch lights up, and another, and others, until there is fire-light again. It shines from the scales of many dragons guarding their island, shoulders braced, wings spread, horns lowered, fangs bared, hindquarters tensed to leap, all gathered in a wide scoop that leaves the trespassers nowhere to run but back to the sea.
In the light, the Nets Man stares with disbelief in his eyes and in his voice when he raises it to shout at them. He yells sounds that mean go away! He waves his blade and a fire stick that he snatches from one of his followers.
They do not go away, and Flies-in-Storms growls low and threatening, and the voices of her friends echo her.
There are many, many dragons here, and this is their place!
The Nets Man takes a very small step backwards, and Flies-in-Storms leaps a very little way forwards, and again the flock follows her.
She does not understand any of the sounds that the Nets Man makes, only that he is not happy to see them – that is fine – and that he is not sure he wants to fight with them all. There is uncertainty in his movements.
He looks from side to side and waves his fire stick, as if he is searching for something he cannot find, and stares up at the sky again. He throws the stick to the ground, and it sputters in the grass. He stomps on it, jumping up and down very angry, and waves his paws at the night. He bares his fangs with what looks like disgust.
And at last, he spits many sounds that mean no and don't-want. He turns his back on them and stalks away, yelling.
Flies-in-Storms recognizes the sound strrrTT and maybe even the sounds that mean Darkness and Shadow, which is very strange and probably not so. She does not know all the sounds that humans make, only some.
But she knows the sounds and the signals in humans that mean giving up, and the Nets Man is saying giving up very loudly, and she shrieks triumph as his followers turn and run after him. Their fires go up and down and up and down with their stumbling until they run into the ocean and fall over when the water pulls at their paws and drowns their fire sticks.
All around her, her flock howls exultantly. Fires bright and colorful burn into the night and up at the stars, licking out towards the retreating intruders who must know now not to come here. Her friends leap into the air and fly all around and prance with paws waving and tails wagging. Tailchaser pounces on everyone else's tails. They even purr at the small-cousins who strut around saying pride pride pride us best us biggest us strongest yes yes yes!
Scar Like Lightning and Friend and Fastest Hunter fly after the intruders to make sure that they go away for real and far away this time in their big ship and its small hatchlings. Endurance butts his head against her side in excitement while Paws Slip pounces at imaginary enemies and rolls batting at the air. Mud Slider swats at him and they wrestle and tumble into Nose In Air, who steps away quorking resigned. Colors Like Mine tries to shriek louder than Snap-and-Sulk although Snap-and-Sulk is two throats so they can be very loud.
Flies-in-Storms squints her eyes closed and purrs and imagines strrrTT being very proud of her for protecting their home.
Now she has a nest to share, and a friend like a hatchling to care for, and a flock that belongs here, and a story all her own to tell in the perching-together when Darkness and Shadow return.
She is part of things, and she is home, and she is the happiest dragon of all.
-end-
thanks for reading – Le'letha