Dragons: An Introductory Post

A scene I have tried to describe for ten years

Photo by Holly, 2015

Thanks to

Kay Moulton

for the challenge and to

Scoot

for reminding me of the challenge.

“Life is short, the Art long, opportunity fleeting, experiment treacherous, judgement difficult.” - Hippocrates¹

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She leaned her head and shoulder against the curved wall of the airship, resting as much of her body as she could. Every breath ached and burned. She must keep fear from rising. Panic would choke her. She turned her face toward the small round window.  Her eyes focused on the transfer post as it sank away from the rising ship, and then on the surrounding port city as it spread to form a perfect grid beneath her. The street lines were darkened by the white blankets of snow over the squares. The sun on the western horizon reached out orange flames to the city’s edges.

The airship banked, turning south and then east in its spiral rise. The pain eased with stillness, just catching at the edge of each breath. She had stayed too long, at that outpost across the ocean, fighting those vanguards of Chaos, Death and Disease. To encourage the faltering forces, she had stayed until her body was too exhausted to rest and her brain too awakened to sleep, until her lungs were poisoned with smoke and sickness. She had felt the grasp of icy fingers just before her companions transported her to the coastal refuge. The salt air had eased the iron bands crushing her chest, but not the pain. If only she could survive the journey home.

The airship completed its spiral, flying north. Pinpoints of light from street lamps and tower loopholes marked the fading grid below. Along the shoreline, the charcoal beach blurred into dark clouds that towered like walls of smoke, far above the airship – a night storm silently gliding towards the city. She moved slightly to glimpse the dying fire of the sun again.

She saw the flying forms. There were hundreds, wheeling in tiers over the city. Steel bound wings outstretched, iron claws lowered, their heads gleamed with fiery light. She looked until the walls of cloud closed around the airship and the window was dark with shadows. She leaned her body back into her chair, closing her eyes. She must rest, she must heal. She had to live. She had to fight again.

1. Hippocrates. Aphorisms. W.H.S. Jones. (2019). Athens: Aiora.