Dragons Wild

Forty-one

Griffen soared.

Everyone had dreams of flying, or of falling. Of hurtling through the air, currents buffeting over skin. How much control one had often depended on the type of person.

This wasn’t like that. Griffen wasn’t at the mercy of the winds, wasn’t free flowing through the air. He could feel the power of muscles straining with each powerful beat of his wings. Muscles that he knew, on some level, he didn’t have in the waking world, but here they felt right. He didn’t question them, just exulted in the pounding of his blood through them, the effortless strength that kept him aloft.

He cut through the currents of the air as a shark did through water. Utterly confident, fulfilled, free. He was as much a part of the world as the clouds that passed under him. Sunshine beat down, and felt odd against his skin. As if it weren’t skin at all, but something rougher that soaked in the light and sent small waves of pleasure through his body.

He twisted in the air, tucking arms and legs beneath him, folding wings around him, unquestioning suddenly being a six-limbed being. Dreams have logic of their own. He dived under the clouds, saw a city before him. Lines of energy coursed, etching their own pattern above the web-work of streets and buildings. The city called to him, pulled at him. He gave into the pull and sank lower in the air.

As he circled over the city, making lazy patterns through the air, he saw a part he recognized. A small patch of lower buildings, older; a square of green in front of a great cathedral; river on one side. It was like the cities garden, if one had planned out a garden in brick and iron. Several lines of energy ran through it, met, throbbed.

Griffen looked upon the French Quarter and saw something beautiful. Something his. Warring emotions mixed in the young dragon’s beating heart. A need to explore, to protect, to build. He looked down from the skies and saw his territory, his home.

He landed in Jackson Square, and for the first time something about the dream disturbed him. He was alone, completely. No people stirred in the Square, no sounds of cars or carriages filled the air. It felt lonely, wrong. In so many ways, the Quarter was the people inside it.

Griffen lifted his head high. Now that he had been unsettled, he slowly became more conscious of himself. His head was higher off the ground than it should have been. He could see farther; he could smell the river beyond Decatur Street. In the odd silence of the empty Quarter, he could hear the lapping of the water. Something about the scent and smell drew him.

Without consciously moving, he found himself at the waters edge. He stood on the set of wooden stairs that led from the Moonwalk to the shore. He found himself drawn more and more to the water, fascinated by the swirling currents and small waves. The river smelled of mud and of age and of power. An ever-changing steam, that had lived and ran and thrived long before there was ever a city.

Griffen peered closer.

He fell into a trancelike state. No longer could he feel the body he inhabited. No longer did he smell water or city. It was as if the swirling reflection of himself in the water became the entire dream, his entire world. It swelled in his sight. Obscure, detailless, just a green blob in the muddy waters.

Then it cleared, and a scaly monster stared back at him.

Griffen awoke with a start, lurching up in bed. Then smashing back down as his head cracked into the ceiling above. Stars burst into his already blurring vision, and the bed collapsed under him.

He lay, absolutely stunned. His head throbbed, whether from the dream, the surge of adrenaline, or the impact, he couldn’t be sure. His vision swam and he had to close his eyes tightly, waiting for things to settle before daring to open them again. It took several hard blinks for his sight to focus.

The clock showed five thirty. He reached up, clumsily and groggily, trying to turn the lamp on and only managing to drop it off the dresser, earning his head another impact. He finally got it turned on, lying on its side on the floor, and by then Valerie was pounding on his front door.

“Hold on!” Griffen called and pulled himself to his feet.

“You alive in there?” Valerie yelled back, not managing to hide her worry.

“Think so. Hang on.”

Griffen stepped out of the wreckage of his bed, still more than a little shaky. He leaned on the wall and surveyed what was left of what had been a lovely piece of cherrywood furniture. Griffen had always thought a bed should be more than a few bars of metal to stick a box spring and mattress on. Sadly, he looked at several planks that had been broken right in two.

Then he looked upward, and the last remnants of sleep slipped away.

“Griffen! I will break this door down!” said Valerie.

Hastily, Griffen grabbed a bathrobe and wrapped it around himself as he went to let his sister in. She looked him over from head to toe, even turning him by the shoulder as she surveyed for any obvious damage. Seeing no blood or bruises her expression quickly changed from worry to anger.

“What did you do?” she said.

“I was dreaming…I was flying. I saw my face, a dragon’s face, and it scared me awake.”

“And that resulted in a crash that probably woke people up three streets away how?” his sister said, unrelenting.

“I’ll show you.”

He led her into the bedroom and she stared at the mess. Confused and concerned, she walked carefully around the remains of the bed, face tight with worry. When her eyes finally flicked upward, he watched with some satisfaction as she did a full double take, then stared.

“Huh,” she said after a long moment, “so dragons have horns?”

The ceiling was dented, a large dimple in the plaster about the size of a football. The apartment didn’t exactly have high ceilings, but even so, Griffen would normally have to stand on his bed to touch it. What was more worrying was a series of small punctures, as if several objects had punched right through. Bits of flaked plaster fell even as they watched.

“You don’t think you really?” Valerie said, still looking upward.

“I don’t know, what else could have happened?”

“I don’t know…this is more than a little freaky, Big Brother.”

“I would have said frightening, maybe terrifying, but freaky works. Thank god I was in bed alone.”

Valerie shook her head, finally looking back at her brother. He seemed no worse for wear, though his eyes were just a little too wide. Considering how little he usually showed, that was enough for her. She put an arm around him and hugged him tight to her.

“Poor wittle brother had a nightmare?” she teased, trying to lighten his mood.

“Actually no, it was kinda fun. I still don’t understand why that last moment spooked me so.”

“Well, I’ll say this, you need to work on your control. Imagine if you were flirting with Fox Lisa in the bar and suddenly your emotions triggered another change. You might split your pants!”

Griffen, startled, jerked his head toward his sister. Even his control couldn’t stop the smirk that spread to his lips. She thought for a second about what she had just said, and promptly cuffed her brother on the back of the head.

“I meant with a tail!” she said.

“Sure you did, Sis.”

“You’re sick sometimes, and I’m going back to bed!”

She stomped off, slamming his door behind her. Griffen hadn’t seen his sister blush in years. It was almost worth having to replace the bed.