Dragon Rising

By L.S. Engler

First appeared in Bowlful of Bunnies, June 2012

Possum, Rabbit, and Prairie Dog had all gone to the river to do the washing, and I had followed to watch them. The sun was bright in the cornflower sky, and hot, so after they had dunked the clothes in the gentle rushing stream, after they had scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, they laid them out on the big flat rocks that had been soaking up the sun’s heat. There, the clothes would dry, basking like salamanders, and the girls would splash around in the water themselves, laughing and playing, tossing handfuls at each other until they were drenched and cooled. Then they, too, settled down in the long grass, turned their browned faces toward the sun and soaked it up.

Quiet and still, I crouched next to a boulder too tall and round to be used for drying, underneath a fern for shelter. I curled my tail in, which was the only way I could prevent it from twitching happily at the serenity of the scene. They had no idea I was watching; the three of them were such pleasure seekers that they had none of the carefulness and caution of their friends, who would have surely caught me. Rabbit was perhaps the most skittish of them, and her bright brown eyes flicked my way on occasion, her pert little nose wrinkling as it tried to pick up the scents carried on the wind. Mostly, though, it was just the sweet grass and the soap still floating by on the river, the fresh linen and the lavender flowers from up the hill.

She looked at me at least three times, straight at me, without even seeing me. My ears pressed back with the pleasure of my successful camouflage. The others wouldn’t even believe me when I told them that I was peering into the intimate, quiet respite of these three bright-eyed girls, knowledge so valuable that I would instantly be skyrocketed up in their ranks. If only Deer and Fox had laundry duties today! They, out of all the girls in the village, were easily the most eagerly sought after. Next time, perhaps I should try my stealth in the kitchens or the temples to see what other wonderful things girls did when they were alone, but I couldn’t imagine anything as splendid as their splashing and laughing, their hair catching in the sun as they tossed it freely around.

And then they began to talk.

“Have you heard?” Possum started, leaning forward to stretch for her toes. Her hair, pale and nearly white in the sun, fell like a curtain, hiding her gentle grey eyes. “There’re whispers of a newcomer.”

“There are?” Prairie Dog straightened, paying more attention to everything around her, a sharp yet fluid motion that had become a habit of hers; it was a though her spine were made of steel, snapping into place. She drew her hands in close to her chest, another habit. She had cut her hair short that year, a thick sandy bob that brushed against her ears. “Who? Is it the boy with the dark hair? The really big one? Oh, the moment I saw him, I knew he had to be a Bear.”

Rabbit smiled, not the shy smile I was used to seeing, but a big one that showed off her two large front teeth without embarrassment. “We haven’t had a Squirrel in a while; maybe it’s one of those.”

But Possum shook her head. “I hear it’s a Dragon.”

Silence settled over the trio, and my breath caught as well. I was leaning forward, threatening to lose my cover, as my ears pulled forward to hear more.

“There hasn’t been a Dragon in ages,” said Rabbit, her voice in quiet awe, but I could see she was trembling slightly in fear, too.

“Who is it?” asked Prairie Dog.

Possum shook her head again, before her chin settled on her knees. “Don’t know,” she admitted. “I didn’t hear that part, but Old Wise Eagle and Owl were talking about it the other day. I don’t think they saw me, and, if they did, they probably thought I was asleep.”

Rabbit snorted. “If they saw you, they would think no such thing, Possum. They would have thought you were playing dead, as you always do, and told you to get up and go do something useful.”

“That’s the whole reason I’m here in the first place!” Possum sunk with a groan. “What a rotten trick. Everyone knows about it, so it never works anymore. I tried it on Coyote, and she laughed so much.”

I felt it before they did; in their current forms, their senses were dulled, while mine were sharpened by my animal instincts. I tensed, not knowing what it was at first, but knowing that something was coming, and then I turned my head to see Wolf tearing through the brush and barreling toward the girls. All three of them, each of them natural prey, jumped and shrieked and huddled together in the face of a charging predator; even I had the urge to slink away behind the rock and cower until he was gone. But he began to shift as he ran, his four legs moving smoothly into two legs and two arms, and, only slightly breathless, he stood before the girls with his eyes wild, his long dark hair covering part of his sleek, sharp face.

 “Wolf,” Rabbit’s voice was higher than before, tremulous, as if pleading for the young man not to eat them, though none of us would ever prey on each other. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Wolf huffed. He reached for one of the girls, Possum, who let out a shriek of surprise. She went limp, forcing him to throw his arms around her to keep her from falling as the other two scattered for the cover of a rock littered with skirts. “Come on! We have to–”

“Let her go!” I cried out, pushing forward through one skin, into the other, shaking a little with the transformation as I now stood. Every inch of me was electrified, every hair standing up on its end as it would be if I were still in my animal for.

“Cat!” one of the girls, I think it was Prarie Dog, cried out, and, as soon as he saw me, Wolf growled, deep and guttural in the back of his throat.

He chuffed, shaking his head, and he let go of Possum, though a little roughly. “This is not the the time to get territorial, Cat,” he murmured. “We have to get out of here. We all do. It’s dangerous. They sent me here to get the girls; we should return immediately, because odds are someone is in a frenzy trying to find out where you’ve disappeared to, as well.”

“What’s going on?” Prairie Dog’s hands hovered by her mouth, as if that could her anxiety in.

“How long have you been there?” Rabbit seemed undisturbed by Wolf’s news, her question directed toward me like an arrow, her eyes steady and accusing. I had the decency to blush, but I lifted my chin against her gaze, feeling as though she could look straight through me.

“There’s no time!” Wolf barked, and I felt almost grateful for his urgency. “Everyone is gathered at the gates to try to keep the menace under control. We have to go.”

“What menace?” asked Prairie Dog, her voice rising in pitch as she moved to cling desperately to Rabbit, whose nose was twitching. I could see that, despite her steady gaze, her limbs were trembling a little again.

“Dragon!” Possum realized with a gasp, and no sooner than the word had passed through her lips, we all heard a terrible sound. I cannot speak for my friends, but I know that it struck me to my very core, and my knees suddenly felt weak. I all but sagged to the ground, and the screeching scream pierced the air again, preceding the great and terrible beast that soared out from the forest and into the cornflower sky.

We all lost it then, feeling that uncontrollable pull in our limbs that brought our bodies into smaller, more compact forms, four legged and furry, the terror rising up in us and pushing us into our defensive state. As my paws touched the ground, I arched my back, every hair on my body fluffing to make myself bigger, my claws ready and digging into the ground. Wolf was crouched low and started growling, baring those sharp white teeth that would always snap at me in a fashion he claimed was playful, though I knew better. Prairie Dog managed to find a hole to slink into, as she always did, burrowing deeper to keep herself safe, and Possum’s grey body fell with a graceless thump on the ground, her legs stiff and her naked pink tail curled around her as she pretended to be dead, as if that would prevent the monster from noticing her.

Only Rabbit didn’t change; she never was nearly as skittish as everyone made her out to be. She stood strong, her hands balled up into fists at her side, staring up at the massive creature circling around them.

Dragon spotted us easily, and I spat and hissed and bounced around helplessly, unable to believe the size of him. No wonder there hadn’t been a Dragon in so long! Such a power was too much for one person. He let out another roar, careening through the air and opening his mouth to let out a long burst of flame. The air dried around us, and the clothing on the rocks burst into flame from the sudden scorching. Wolf began to bark maniacally, prancing on his paws, as useless as I was.

And Rabbit continued to stand there, a strange glint in her eye. Dragon was circling, circling, and it was clear that he was about to descend on the one figure that was the easiest for him to grab with his massive, terrifying talons. I let out a yowl of warning, to do whatever I could to get her down to avoid those reaching claws.

I crouched down low, my bottom wiggling to get me in the right position, and then I froze. Rabbit opened her mouth, and her voice carried strong and sure in the heated air.

“No!” she shouted. “This is not how it’s done!”

To everyone’s shock and amazement, Dragon pulled back, hovering a moment in front of her before he landed, the mighty force of his wings pushing the air forward. It was clear he was still young, but even in his smaller, still-growing size, he was twice as tall as she. He opened his mouth and let out another shout, like nails scratching down a chalkboard, and it made every inch of my spine shudder. But Rabbit stood strong, shaking her head, despite how close those teeth came to snapping off her pert little nose.

“No!” she shouted again,

“We do not harm our own,” she said, softer this time, but still forceful. She didn’t break her gaze with Dragon, but I could tell this next part was directed at me. “We must be honest and true and good to each other, even when it goes against our natures. That is how it is, that is how we survive, and that is how it has been for centuries.”

Dragon seemed to hesitate, his spined tail flicking in the air, but his wings lowered against his back, and he ducked his head, almost as if in apology. Rabbit smiled, reaching a gentle hand out to his scaled muzzle. “I know,” she said, moving forward to embrace Dragon’s head against her breast. I felt myself stretching back out into human form, aching more from my envy than from the actual transformation. “It’s so strange and frightening at first, but it gets better, I promise.”

As she spoke, we weren’t the only ones smoothing out into our human forms. Dragon in her arms had turned back as well, and I realized how young and confused he was, just a mere boy, probably not even twelve years of age, and he clung to Rabbit desperately. She eased out his sobs with a gentle hand in his hair, and she glanced up to give us all a rueful smile.

“Let’s get him home,” she said. “I’m sure the village is in disarray, but there’s a lot of work to do. We finally have a Dragon!”

Wolf moved forward before I had a chance to, helping Rabbit along with the boy before he lost control of himself again. I was too dazed to even be sufficiently irritated; I was supposed to have all the quick reflexes, but as they started off, I hung back, feeling useless and marveling all the more over Rabbit.

Possum had only just pulled herself off the ground, dusting the dirt off her skirt as she drifted over toward me. She was shaking her head in disappointment, and she let out a long sigh. “Seriously, Cat,” she said, “how long were you there?”

“Oh, shut up, Possum,” I said and started following the others. You’d think it would be easy to focus on the fact that we had a Dragon right then, but all I could think about was Rabbit and her soft but steady eyes, and how I would give anything to be Dragon that day.

L.S. Engler writes from outside of Chicago, though she grew up weaving words in the woods of Michigan. Her work has appeared in a wide variety of journals and anthologies, including The Tishman Review, Pulp Modern, Bards and Sages Quarterly, and The Saturday Evening Post. She tends to enjoy all things nerdy, usually a little too much.