Chapter 6
Six
The Council had issued new orders that morning. Stricter rations, earlier curfews, more contraband searches. They said it was for safety. But to Elowen, it was nothing more than a noose around her neck.
Worried that they would restrict her permission to go into the forest, Elowen slipped away from the town even earlier than normal, looking for something, anything useful in the forest that would make the Council feel that her trips were still valuable to the village.
She slipped through the trees before the sun had risen, her satchel empty, her steps quick.
She followed the familiar trail that led to the lake, the morning light shimmering off the surface when she finally arrived.
Dragonflies flew erratically like hot embers across the water as she knelt to fill her waterskin with the crisp drink.
That’s when she saw it: something shimmering, half buried in the reeds, just at the edge of the muddy shore.
Her hands reached for it before she had time to think, fingers brushing the dirt and grit away from the object, and lifting it from the soil.
Not a stone. Too heavy. Too smooth in some places and too jagged in others. Triangular. Thick at the base and tapering to a fine edge like an arrowhead. It was black as coal, but when the sun hit it just right, it glowed with a rich gold.
And more than that, it felt warm, like fire burned under the surface. Alive, almost.
Elowen turned it in her hands, examining it from every angle, smelling it—biting it even, frowning when she could not recognize the strange object.
What are you?
What creature could have left such a thing behind? She knew of no such animal.
This was…something else. Something unknown. The Council had drilled into her people long ago that the unknown was dangerous, and so she should have felt afraid.
Instead, she felt like she’d found something she wasn’t meant to see, but was somehow meant to keep. A secret. Something all her own. A memory no one could steal from her.
Knowing she could not take it home with her, Elowen dug a small hole back into the edge of the lake where the mud would keep it safe.
She covered it with dirt and marked it with a flat, pale stone. Not a grave to be forgotten, but a treasure to be found again.
From the cover of trees, the dragon froze. His eyes were fixed on the shape in her hands, and his body was coiled tight in frustration.
Fool, he thought.
He had not noticed he lost a scale, for it happens so rarely. They typically only shed when he was wounded or strained, but he was an old creature, and his scales had hardened with age, shedding occasionally to grow anew.
He usually crushed them, or buried them, or even swallowed them to keep them out of the ever-greedy palms of the humans.
He must have lost it the last time he was here, distracted by the very same woman who now holds a piece of him in her hands, curiously examining it like it were a fine gem.
The last dragon watched as the woman stood and looked around, gaze drifting through the trees. Her fingers slightly tightened around the scale, but she made no move to run. She did not scream. She did not call out for help.
He waited for that moment though, his body tight and ready to pounce the second she bolted for the village. Yet, just when he thought she might move, she sat instead, setting the scale in her lap as she dug in the mud for roots and bugs.
When she was done for the day, she reburied the scale and marked it with a stone before returning to her village.
He did not leave the shadows until long after she was gone and the night was deep. When he finally approached the marked spot, he didn’t immediately uncover it.
He stood over it. Stared. Felt something unfamiliar stir in his chest.
Not rage. Not suspicion.
Something far more dangerous: curiosity for the strange woman with gentle hands. For her obvious attempt to keep his scale a secret from others.
The dragon considered her for a long time before sticking his nose into the dirt and unburying the scale. He wrapped his tongue around it and swallowed it like he’d done many times before.
As soon as it slithered down his throat, something else in him stirred. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if she would be saddened to return to her secret to find it gone.
And with that thought he put a name to that feeling: guilt.