Teighlor Made Artrocities

Dragon Maiden (revised)

Flying through the trees, wings clipping branches and leaves, a dragon soared to escape the blades, and flying arrows of the hunters below. Her icy breath, so cold it burned, had proven useless to spurn this relentless chase. Despite being ancient and wise she had been outsmarted by these reckless, tactless vagabonds who now only wished for her hide. Would that be their prize? Would all her years of running come to an end at the hands of a man? A man whose weak flesh and clumsy hands were made clumsier by their newly armored skin? She had seen times of peace where that, which was mythical, existed alongside mankind. There was once a time when humans understood the dragons, whose language was lost to them now. They danced with satyrs, made love to nymphs, and looked to those who could harness elemental power with reverence. Now witches, like dragons, were hunted.

The Ancient One’s tongue hanged from her maw, breathing heavily, a sight few see. She had run until she could run no longer. Her large body landed on an outcropping of rocks, knocking hard blocks of snow to the loose powder below. There she stood and waited, like a vanguard without an army.

The smell of horse sweat filled her nostrils as the poor snorting beasts came into view, terrified and exhausted like her. Yet, in the reflection of the human eyes she could see only a monster, and within them a monster. No mercy would be given to the dragon. Her crime had been nothing. No sheep, or maiden had she stole. She had no gold to horde over, or secrets to whisper. How she wished she could whisper her secrets to them. To tell them that she was not their enemy. They would not understand though, for men never understood what they hated. Or what they feared.

She swooped. The whooshing of her wings sending the horses rearing and bucking, their screams echoing through the glade, throwing their riders to the icy earth below. The men stood slowly, though their hearts raced. Their armor had knocked the breath from them. She should have killed them then. The mercy in her old heart was her mortal sin. Once they had their feet they surrounded her. She was trapped. The trees kept the dragon from taking flight, a young dragon’s mistake brought on by fatigue. Their heavy, blunt swords struck her diamond-like scales to no avail, and she lashed with tail and teeth and ice. She wasn’t as large as myth, but on her back feet her horns could touch the highest branches of a tree. She roared, shaking the earth, and with vicious fangs rendered the armor of one hunter. Her teeth shrieked against the metal and she ripped and pulled his entrails from his chest, blinded by an animal rage. Her blood-soaked muzzle struck fear in the hearts of these men, their blue eyes shown it as the blood of their companion flecked their faces. Slinging the corpse into the air she charged the men once more. The last of her strength gone to this assault, she pummeled into them, knocking them back down, rolling like iron turtles in the snow. But when she raised her claws to land her final blow, a lone archer caught her unaware. An arrow tore through the age-worn cracks of her shell, and lodged within her core. The heart that had beat since man could first speak beat its last. Her massive body fell, and the whole earth shook with grief around her.

The Creator looked on this ancient beast with sorrow and tears, and granted her one last favor. Her scales, right before her murderers, melted away and her body, both bone and sinew, faded. Astonished were the men when they witnessed this. Some fled in fear, but those who remained beheld a wonder to which none could compare, for within the print of where the dragon fell, a maiden lay sleeping. An arrow held in her pale hand

“This is sorcery!” One said and readied his blade.

“No!” Another cried, enamored immediately by the woman’s beauty thanks to the lesser gods and their arrows of lust. “This is no witch, don’t you see? This maiden was obviously eaten by the dragon, and now is free.”

And so the story goes, a maiden born from a dragon’s soul lived and became known as Ophaea, “the serpant bearer”.

Computer troubles…

Ok folks, 

My computers, both the laptop and the desk top have more issues than time magazine (heard my friend Rachel say that today and I finally got to use it). I’ve become pretty weaned from the net for the most part, but I have come to entertain myself with adding things to my wedding registry and planning that shindig, so I am sad. 

That is all really, just wanted to complain lol.

Sincerely,

Teighlor