Bread Pans and Shimmering Scales

Bread Pans and Shimmering Scales

by Dana Wagner

Clank, clank, clank.

My eyes remain closed as a sigh escapes. Not another one. I think to myself as I continue to feign sleep. They always think they have a chance if I appear to be sleeping. Silly creatures. I enjoy gazing upon their countenance at the point in which I stretch and roll, pretending to rouse from slumber. A smirk will inevitably tug on my mouth when horrified shock crosses their face the moment they realize their mistake. I love it even more when they soil themselves. I can’t help it, they amuse me.

They enter my home, my domain in search of my treasure, my hide, and yet they are somehow bewildered at my presence. Curious indeed, is it not? Even more baffling is the fact that they become indignant when I try to protect those very things they seek to obtain. I ask you, if someone forced their way into your home and drew a weapon, would you not defend what was yours as well? Yes, I do believe that you would.

Oddly enough, they do not seem to view their actions in the same light. They do not believe themselves to be the villain, but rather the victim. How very egocentric of them, don’t you think? They act as though they are entitled to whatever they discover here. As though it hasn’t already been both discovered and claimed hundreds of years before their meager existence came to be.

Ah, the tell-tale falter in their steps tells me that they are getting too close for their own comfort. Time to put on a show. I give a huff, puffing a couple of impressive smoke circles out of nostrils that the entire invading being could climb inside of for a cozy nap. I flick my tail, sending a blast of air in their direction. Whoosh! I peel open one scaled lid, slowly, allowing them to see their insignificant reflection in its glossy violet depths. I open the second eye and let my gaze pierce first their armor, and then their soul before I raise my head to fully assess the situation.

I unfurl my clenched toes and let them spread wide, then curl my impressive claws back inward allowing them to scrape at the dirt, stone and shiny baubles within reach. The sound echoes within the cavernous walls of my massive domain. This particular being shivers at the screech of the stone as I scrape against it. It is a reaction I have witnessed thousands of times throughout the course of my existence. I take my time as I put on an elaborate production of stretching out my thick, leathery wings. They are a shimmering display of iridescent purples and greens that always leaves them awestruck. 

I am in no hurry. I am in no danger. These human bags of squishy flesh and stick-like bone do not realize my immortality until it is too late. I wonder how it is they think I have survived this long? Surely even their inferior minds could riddle it out. Steel, no matter how pointy or shiny or sharp, is no match for my scales. Jewel encrusted hilts and blades elaborately engraved with religious chants or protective runes cannot disrupt my magic. I am shielded. Impregnable beyond their comprehension. 

My current opponent stands before me shaking as he points a blade so thick and heavy at me that it is a wonder he can hold it upright let alone actually strike out with it. I almost pity him in his fancy armor. They always wear metal armor. I don’t understand this. Surely they know that metal is a fabulous conductor of heat. My favorite weapon is known to be fire and yet they come to me wearing a bread pan. Foolhardy at best. I guess it’s time. I’m getting bored watching this fool point his toy sword at me. It might as well be a sewing needle for all the good it will do him.

Alright then. I toss my head back and roar, sending a fiery blast over his head into the vast expanse of my dwelling. Just a warning shot. His chest heaves with resolve and he charges at me. Here it comes, the shiny point seeking what they all call my “soft underbelly”. What a laughable notion. I do not move. I do not attempt to dodge or retreat. It is simply unnecessary. 

The tip of his sword hits with great force, but it never touches me. The field of magical protection cannot be breached by human weapons. The very air ripples and a starburst erupts around the point of impact. His eyes meet mine. I see him leaning into the blade, shifting his shoulder for more leverage. The starburst brightens and expands, shimmering like my scales.

He withdraws and steps back.

 Intriguing. My thoughts decide.

 He returns his sword to its sheath. He bows deeply with respect. I feel the scales above my eye raise in curiosity. This human’s approach is unlike any I have entertained previously. 

“Is my language familiar to you, Mighty Dragon?” He asks.

It wishes to converse? Oh, dear. This is uncharted territory. Unwilling to yield fully, I simply nod my head.

“Not only are you powerful, then, but also intelligent. In that case, I wish to beg for forgiveness.”

I tilt my head sideways, urging him to continue with my unspoken question.

“I have been sent to end you. I am not foolish enough to believe myself capable of such a task. I have seen for myself that you are untouchable. I beg that you would allow me to return unscathed to my people and inform them of such. I believe I can convince them to let you live in peace.”

As he speaks, he is rubbing his thumb over a coveted rare crystal at the very end of his sword’s grip. Either he thinks I do not notice this activity, or he thinks I do not understand it. It does not escape me. The significance does not escape me. He has magic, this one. He doesn’t want me to know. Ah, but I do. I do know, little one. Your attempt at flattery will not save you. I could tell you, but I think I shall let you figure it out for yourself.

I shift myself into a less threatening stance. He thinks I am accepting his terms, extending my trust. He continues to rub the crystal in what he thinks is an inconspicuous manner. I know exactly what his intentions are. That crystal holds magic. Magic said to be able to vanquish a dragon when used properly by a mage of great skill and power. True enough. But only if the mage and his magic are older than the creature it seeks to destroy. Funny how that bit of crucial information gets left out of the human lore. 

“Will you allow me this, Mighty Dragon?” He asks as a means of distracting me from his task. “I wish to rid you of further inconvenience and disruption.”

 He has nearly completed powering the spell. I can tell because the crystal is vibrating with energy. I can hear it. I can feel it. I let him get the spell off, he thinks it will dispel my magical shield and end my life. The spell hits, a starburst forms and erupts into enough tiny lights to form a new galaxy.

There it is. That look. The one that says he’s actually figured it out. I feel my smirk slide into place. 

“You’re one of the Ancients,” he proclaims.

“Something like that.” I let him hear my voice, soft and feminine. I hold my tongue and let the echo of my lilting voice fill the space.

“You are the Mother of Ancients.” His face becomes the purest shade of white as he nearly chokes on the words.

It is quite satisfying that he can identify me. I am glad the tales are still being circulated. I smile serenely and let his realization fully take hold. He has sealed his own fate. As his pallor shifts from white to nearing-vomit green, I know with certainty he has connected all the dots. He will not leave this place, just like those before him, and those who will follow.

“I am, and you have cast your last spell.”

My fury erupts forth in an enormous ball of bright and colorful twisting flames, dancing around one another as they spin open into a spiraling cone that won’t miss its target. I let the bread pan do the rest as I settle myself comfortably to finish my nap. At least until the next one arrives.