The Loyal

Cunnuth the Wise

Sirath adored The firelight festival more than any other celebration the dragon's had. It brought kind memories of her dragoness, who, like Sirath spent most of her time search for fragments of the moon which fell from the sky.

No dragon had ever been able to explain the magic during the night. Small, pebble sized stones fell from the sky, they weren't harmful because of their extreme light weight. Over the years Sirath had collected a respectable pile, and kept them with her dragoness's mountain. But for the past two years Sirath hadn't even thought of catching one of the stones, she dare not enter her dragoness's cave.

But this year Sirath felt different, several times she'd found herself curled up outside the entrance of the cave asleep. And even once, she'd peeked through the ivy than screened off the cavern, seeing nothing, Sirath had gladly retreated, wondering what had possessed her to look.

This morning, Sirath crept from her bed and into the long, stone hall. Directly across from Sirath's den was the bathing spring, which was attached to her wyvern's room. On the same wall as Sirath's room was the storage and at the end was a cavern.

Nearly every dragon home had one of these caverns. The sides were ringed with braziers and the floor was made of polished gems of precious stones. But what Sirath had always found fascinating was the arched ceiling. Illustrated across it's surface were curious scenes of dragons fighting together. Unlike the chiselled artworks on the pillars by the landing ledge, these creations were freshly drawn a cared for.

When she was little, Sirath enjoyed laying on her back, gazing up at the illustrations, imagining who they were. As she'd gotten older, her wyvern had begun practice battles with her in the cavern and she'd realised how dreadful fighting in a real war would be.

But today their would be no battle, Camroth had already departed to help with the preparations for the festival and Sirath crept through the hall, enjoying the warmth on her scales.

The vine covered doorway lay at the end. It was decorated with winding dragon tails and stars. The ivy grew so thick Sirath could only make out a faint flicker of light from the brazier inside. She lay back on her legs, simply staring at the entrance, imaging her dragoness bursting out, laughing.

Gathering her thoughts and courage, Sirath hesitantly stretched her elegant snout through the vines, ignoring the faint tickling sensation. She kept her eyes closed until her whole body was through and finally, standing in the entrance of her dragoness's cave, Sirath opened her eyes.

Curled up in the centre of the small room, her dragoness remained just as beautiful as she was on her death day. Miath had held the most beautiful purple scale colour, which slowly changed midnight blue on he tail and wings, which lay folded over her body. Her silver eyes were tightly shut and her leaf-shaped ears were drooped.

Sirath felt a lump form in her throat, realising that the dragon she'd painted in her head was not the same a Miath. Over the course of two years, Sirath had forgotten what her dragoness had actually looked like. The walls and ceiling were all covering in peeling dyes and the illustration long destroyed.

She curled up against her mother's cold scales, simply talked about how life had changed. A small troop of ants marched over her tail as she cried. Sirath wished more than anything that her dragoness was alive. While Miath was absent, Sirath had been able to build a wall over her scarred heart by keeping busy. Now, beside her dragoness, trying aimlessly to heart a heart beat, that wall had been torn down.

Several minutes went by before Sirath climbed back to her feet. "Goodbye mamma," she whispered, trying hard not to look back at the shut eyelids. As she turned, Sirath suddenly noticed a stone clasped in Miath's claws. Leaning in closer, she discovered it was a carved moon stone in the shape of a egg.