The Princess and the Dragon

Chapter 3: A Friendship Begins

©Avalon Lee, 2014. All Rights Reserved.

My turn!

Hey! Don't interrupt.

Says the one who interrupted me during my part of the story.

We are getting nowhere by arguing at the beginning of every chapter.

Obviously. You are so stubborn—

So are you. Now, stop talking and listen. I propose a compromise. We'll take turns telling our story—without arguing. I tell it for a while, then you tell a part, and so on.

. . . Okay. Wipe that smirk off your face! Just because I agreed with you once—

And I am right all the time . . .

I am going to tell the story now so I won't strangle you.

Ha! That would be a sight to see, Magpie.

Rokevir!

Didn't you say you were going to tell the story?

I did, and I will!

~~~

I had run away from home. My parents were likely worried sick, and sending the whole kingdom to search for me. Lionel, the sorry excuse for a squire, had publicly humiliated and hurt me. I was now lost in a strange forest, farther from home than I had ever been.

Yet the only thing that I was concerned about was the creature in front of me. He—for his mental voice was deep and unmistakably male—had spoken to me. And it was not language as I had known it at the castle; the language that I couldn't hear, nor understand. He had not spoken with words, but with feelings. And I understood. He was right—dragons did speak from the heart.

Dragons—the magnificent creature called himself a dragon. When I had first set eyes on him, I couldn't help but stare. He was unlike anything else I had ever seen. He was serpentine in appearance, and covered with shimmering blue scales. His eyes were the same sapphire blue, and drilled into me relentlessly. Sharp talons gripped the ground, and a thick, muscular tail flicked back and forth nervously, like a cat's. His proud head was adorned with two twisting horns, in between which were a line of spikes protruding from his spine and down his tail. Lastly, were his wings. Two bat-like wings extended from his shoulders, with small claws for wingtips. The material looked like thin parchment. I could tell they had to be massive, even if they were currently folded against his sides.

Despite his impressive appearance, I wasn't threatened at all. He didn't emit an aura of danger like Lionel did. He looked just as curious as I was. I had no idea why he called himself, and his fellow dragons monsters. That had angered me. Why would my people hate these creatures—dragons? And I told him what years of living with true monsters had taught me—he was not one.

He said I was not like the others. What contact with other humans—or two-legs, as he called them—could he have had? Now, he asked, "Who are you?"

I hesitated, then simply replied, "I am Rowan."

He blinked at my answer, and repeated it. "Rowan . . ." He surprised me by chuckling mentally, and at feeling the air vibrate, I knew he was growling out loud.

I cocked my head again. The movement puzzled him—I sensed the emotion in his mind. "What?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing. Your name is just similar to my own."

"What is your name?"

The dragon held his head up proudly. "Rokevir."

"Rokevir," I repeated, playing with the sound in my mind. "So much more interesting than the names of those I know . . ."