Talos and Cyrus

Chapter 7 - Onwards

And so, man, dragon, and elkorse set off at once. They followed a wide, unnamed river on Cyrus' map, stopping every so often to quench their thirst. They took care to stay out of sight of the dirt path for they feared they would meet fellow travellers and gain unwanted attention. Rumwings, large brown birds with a long white feathers coming from the tops of their heads, often swooped down and tried to rip open the packs on Flossie's back. The pesky birds earned their infamous names after they developed a liking towards strong ale and were often caught flying through windows and stealing a bottle or two along the way. All it took was one tremendous roar from Talos to send the birds winging away. It nearly terrified Flossie to a certain death,

"Cyrus," Talos said when the sun was at its highest point in the sky. "Have you ever heard of the stories about the ugly duck?"

Cyrus smiled to himself.

"My mother used to tell it to me before bed when I was young. How do you know of the story?"

Talos let out a quiet sort of hum.

"Dragons and men have a lot more in common than most think. I too have been told countless times the ugly duck story. Though I was reminded of it because the ugly duck's siblings always had cotton white feathers and whenever I see that tuft of hair atop your head, I picture a little duck. I might just start referring to you as a little duck."

Cyrus smirked at the dragon and shook his head.

"I've been called worse." he replied jokingly.

Talos snorted.

"I like it."

Cyrs rolled his eyes and tugged on the rope tied to Flossie's snout; the elkorse had stopped to chew on some grass.

"You can't be serious. You're not calling me that ridiculous name. 'Cyrus' will do just fine."

The yellow dragon let out an odd sort of wheeze, almost like a chuckle, but it didn't sound nearly as human.

"Whatever you say, little duck." he grunted, his tree sap eyes twinkling.

The two walked on for a while longer, content with only the other's company. The sun soon began her slow journey to the ground, inching closer to the blue peaks of the far off mountains.

"How old are you Talos?" Cyrus asked after they had stopping once more for a drink. Beside him, the dragon's pale nose sparkled as droplets of water ran from it.

"Have you a guess?" he rumbled before dipping his snout into the river again. Cyrus thought for a moment.

"Well," he began. "I know dragons can live for an impossible amount of time; I read that in the history books. Minos is very old and most likely very elderly," Talos gave a tiny hum. "My guess is he would be around what, six hundred or seven hundred years old? And you don't seem very old, not at all. " Talos nodded his great head in agreement. "But, you don't come off as young, either. You are without a doubt wise but something about you is still quite youthful. My guess would be you're at least one hundred years old."

At that, Talos, whose nose was still submerged, sprayed a fountain of water halfway across the river. Cyrus cried out and covered his face as the flying water came raining down on him. His hair felt drenched. The dragon backed away from the bank, coughing all the while. When he did regain his breath, Talos sat on the wet grass, his sides heaving as he did the strange wheezing chuckle again.

"Ninety?" Cyrus called in between wheezes. He feared the dragon was angry with him.

"Ninety?" Talos breathed, his voice hoarse. "At ninety, a dragon is barely a juvenile. At one hundred, they haven't even stretched their wings for the first time yet. No Cyrus, I am not one hundred nor am I ninety. No," the dragon paused to chuckle once more. "I am six hundred and twenty-three, born during the last months of green."