The Loyal

Sirath

Flying low over the alpines, Sirath had enough room to stretch her beautiful wings out without fear of bothering other dragons. She steadily glided over the woods, snapping leaves into her jaws.

It was a beautiful day in which to fly on. The skies were as blue as Sirath and no longer held the threat of rain as they had done yesterday. The spring flowers had already released pollen and the small bees flew bravely among the magnificent dragons, resting in the bright flowers.

Usually, on an excellent day like today, the dragons would be teaching their young ones how to hunt or fly among other important skills. But not today. The dragons would all be spending the day preparing for tomorrow, the firelight moon festival.

Sirath had just escaped helping old Malirth with water-diving for fish and intended on spending the day doing just as she liked. Absently, Sirath flexed her tail through the lukewarm air and immediately wished she hadn't. Such an action was a bitter reminder that she had no tail claw like all the others of her kind.

Tail claws were a very important feature for a dragon as they aided in hunting, water-diving and almost every sport. Sirath had hatched without one, which caused the other dragons of her age title her as an oddity. Sirath's Dragoness Miath, had curled her daughter against her flank and told her that she didn't need a tail claw and was much more beautiful without it.

But since Miath had died, the memory had become bitter and taunting. Sirath shook it from her mind, just enjoy the day, she ordered. Two dragons hastily glided past her, arguing ferociously.

"- I don't care what he told you!" The first speaker was chancellor Keleth, the first leader in the order. "I'm telling you, now, to go find him!"

The second dragon was unknown to Sirath, but this wasn't strange, as most dragons tried to avoid Sirath and her father. "Good morning, Chancellor, good morning Ress," Ress was the title given to any female dragon if their name was unknown.

Keleth flicked his ears in a smile at Sirath but the Ress merely tilted her wings higher. Sirath could tell the Ress was trying to show of as she displayed her elegant, night-purple wings at the young dragon, as if to say; "I'm much more beautiful than you, do not waste my time, please."

Sirath dived down and began weaving among the trees. This was an exercise much enjoyed by the enthusiastic flier. She spun among the beautiful trees that reached out for the sun. Small red flowers and long grasses grew at the base of the trees, sheltering several mammals and even more bugs.

Keeping her wings tightly wrapped around her body, Sirath plummeted down past the high growing tree. In a small clearing settled a large lake. Sirath watched her image enlarge until, three meters from the water, she pushed out her incredible, sky blue wings and caught the air.

The silence around her was calming and peaceful, a flock of albatross glided over the grove but no dragons came near. Sirath landed gently in the water, stretching out her neck to avoid getting the water in her eyes. Nearby, a small stream tricked into the crystal clear lake, causing Sirath to feel drowsy.

She clambered ashore and shook the water droplets from her triangular scales. By now the sun was hanging lazily just above the horizon, steadily falling lower. On the opposite side of the dome, the nearly-full moon quietly rose with it's army of stars. Sirath was shocked at how much time had already past and launched herself back into the cooling air.

In a few minutes, the alpine forest had vanished and the scene morphed into the ragged cliffs of the dragon civilisation. Clumps of moss and small, brave bushes grew in the stone, but there were no trees or lakes.

Sirath steered towards the fierce ocean and the cliff-homes which were burrowed into the mountain face. She fell vertically, passing cave-mouths without stopping. Finally, Sirath fell exhausted onto the landing ledge at her home. Two braziers blazed through the night, ignoring the sea spray which broke up at the ledge. Around the entrance door were carvings done by a tail claw, by now, worn and forgotten.

Sirath strode inside the long hall and turned the first right into her bedroom. On the left wall was shelves of shells and stones all ordered in neat rows. On the other wall, a blazing fire was kept in a large alcove. In the middle of the room was an enormous pile of grey feathers, leaves and grasses, all contained by four slabs of stone.

Sirath stumbled into her bed, ignoring the growls in her stomach and stretched her wings over the edges. Every so often she would turn over to warm a different part of her body.

Sirath lay there, gazing up at the selves with longing eyes. Her dragoness and her used to collect and compare the stones they found and sorted the shells into strange but significant orders. Sirath's collection was tiny compared to her mother's which had been growing since she was a drakess. But Sirath had never brought herself to enter her dragoness's room since she died two years ago. The pain of seeing her broken body on the floor haunted Sirath's dreams. It was a custom to leave a dead dragon in it's room to let it stone. Which is to say, to let the body over time turn to stone.

Sirath squeezed her eyes and tried to think about playing Wingthief, the most popular sport, by every so often, she would fall on memories of her dragoness. At moon-high, Sirath's wyvern, Chancellor Camroth landed heavily on the ledge. His silhouette appeared at her entrance.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes wyvern,"

"Well, try to get some sleep. Remember it's the firelight moon festival tomorrow."

"I will,"

"Goodnight,"

"Night wyvern,"

But that night, Sirath wasn't the only one yearning for her mother.

-Sorry about all the new words.