Dragons of Skylark: The Four Heirs

The Son

Mattúr proved to be homier than I expected. Then again, I jumped in swathed in bias, so my expectation had been low. It was better when a thick layer of moss clumped around the entranceway, cultivated under May's wings. It was better when Seth obtained permission to mold his star charts into the floor so I could see them. It was better when Ronan wanted to play wrestle again.  It was better when we left a mark. 

Mum hung up her tapestries the day it felt like things might be alright.

The sound of laughing echoed dimly down the tunnel, held and amplified by the rock. Wind brushed my scales as I stepped into the sun-soaked ledge, beyond it there was only air, and my siblings. The air cracked and whipped against May's wings as she hovered, giggling.

"Come on! It's fun."

I hesitated, knowing where the entrance to Mattúr was behind me, now knowing what obstacles lay beyond the ledge. A step, another, then the wind nipped at my muzzle and memories of the day atop the mountain came back. There was no mud swamp below. I stepped back.

"Maybe later," I said, slithering back into the den.

It smelled of dewy moisture and slugs hiding under leaves in Mattúr. Mentioned leaves lined the walls, sewed together by May, after Ronan brought piles and piles of them inside to nest with, quickly abandoning the thought after a spider crawled over him in the middle of the night. Mum and Pop were talking in the front room.

"That's a wonderful idea darling, I'm sure they'll love it." Pop praised.

"Perhaps you could have Seth put it together, to help him practice responsibili—oh good morning Longtayle."

"Good morning, mum." I flicked my tail. "What's Seth doing?"

"We're going to put together another festival of sorts, a celebration, to have every fall. To honor Kiri, to celebrate family and life as winter moves in."

My heart skipped a beat, it had been almost a whole year. The pain was still present but it was a dull one. An annual celebration, centered on life and family, I savored the thought like a drop of honey.  Fire-like warmth bloomed in my chest. 

I swallowed, "I would like that, very much."

"I'm going to speak with Gamall Irho now," Pop explained, his tongue flick gently against my forehead. "Tell Seth I'm going to need him when I return."

I nodded and stared looking for my brother. He wasn't in Mattúr, I quickly discovered, no matter. His smell in the exit tunnel among hundreds of older smells was just fresh enough for me to pick up without a headache. It trailed in a straight, determined line, eventually I picked up something else. For a moment the scales on my back stiffened, thinking it was blood. It wasn't, it was too cold, only metal and cave water minerals. There was a stream up ahead. Seth crossed it. I was close.

"Seth?" I called. "Pop's looking to talk to you!"

Shuffling, I followed the sound. I picked up smoke and wildflowers, a campfire. Around the corner was my brother lying in front of a dying fire, startled into a sitting position by my sudden appearance.

"Watch ya doing?" I smirked.

"NOTHING," he coughed. "A dragon is allowed to relax around here, isn't he?"

I tilted my head, "alone?"

"Why not?" The tip of his tail flicked back and forth.

"Seth, I know you're not alone." I snorted, putting my nose to ground around him and taking a deep breath, "or at least you weren't. Let me guess, Tallin?"