Draconian POV: Volume 1 by Mai Keyes

 
     
    The Clutch
     
     
    Once upon an Autumn evening, a dragon nest
lay hidden in tall weeds. The eggs inside were blanketed by soil
and mulch to keep them cozy at night
and safe from scavengers.
    Fira, a
blue-tipped copper dragon, returned from feeding. She trotted
directly to her nest. This hunt was her first since setting her
clutch, and the experienced mother was eager to check the eggs.
    She delicately
raked the protective compost off her large eggs. Fira tilted her
head, inspecting the nest side to side. She could not count
individuals. The dragon affirmed that all eggs were present by
recognizing their set pattern.
    Reassured that no egg had been removed,
she next searched for signs of hatching. There were no fracture
lines on the thick shells. Still, Fira felt juveniles would soon emerge.
    As she settled,
the dragon heard soft thuds rolling across the field. She stretched
up her four foot neck and peered. A shape came into view: a
horseman riding swiftly toward her.
    For battle, no
doubt. The large steed neighed as it charged. Given that
blue-tipped copper dragons are wingless, this would be a battle
fought on land.
    Not a problem. She felt confident in her
heat-breath, reserved for these occasions.
    Fira arched a toothy smile and reared to
meet the threat. She inhaled, then spewed spiraling flames at the horse. She anticipated this spooking the
horse and felling the combatant, for it was her best opening
tactic.
    Only the animal
didn’t flinch. This steed was trained for warfare. It rushed
through the blaze, protected by plate metal and a sheared mane and
tail.
    Vigilant, Fira
lashed her powerful tail, catching the plated horse with a wallop.
The steed braced, but flipped, scattering grass beneath his hooves.
Brown dust flew up around the impact.
    The human, apparently practiced in falls, rolled away uninjured. He jumped up and
advanced with his silvery broadsword. The spear strapped to his
back twinkled in the diminishing daylight.
    Now, Fira
attacked directly. She tried to keep a distance by using her tail
on him. A solid hit with the thin end could cut a man in two. This
method was not very accurate though, and the man was dressed in
agile chain armor.
    When her
opponent dodged the tail strikes, she struck out with claws. The
warrior managed to deflect her swipes with his sword. The
frustrated dragon only obtained nicks on her deadly nails.
    This scuffle
was far more arduous than foreseen. Fira decided to change her
tactics and lead the dragon hunter away from her clutch. She
scrambled away. The dragon hunter pursued.
    The fight and
sprint were hard on the great, cold-blooded beast. Tiring, she
paused. Fira swung her head around and softly heated her own
wingless back with flame. As her blood warmed, her eyes scrutinized
the enemy who once again hurtled forward on horseback.
    Fira readied to
emit an inferno, and was met by a flying lance. The hunter’s spear
pierced her throat. The ensuing pain was less important than the
other terrible fact: her heat-breath was blocked. The copper dragon
furiously scratched at the exposed pole. It would not be
dislodged.
    Scarcely
breathing, she struggled with her human adversary until the chill
of nightfall brushed her hide. Realizing she hadn’t swathed her
clutch of eggs, Fira got a surge of vigor. The mother gathered her
failing strength, leapt, and sailed over horse and man.
    The hunter saw
the error in her act and raised his broadsword. The blade cleaved
Fira’s underbelly. Her hind foot smacked the man to the ground as
she plummeted. Collapsing in weeds and tall grass, she made a
finale attempt to reach the eggs.
    Only briefly
dazed, the man rose again to complete the slaying. The dissonance
of a horse’s whinny was Fira’s last perception.
     
    Afterward , the dragon hunter gawked at his kill. The
female’s body lay awry on the field. Its large, dead eyes stared
westward into the murky Autumn twilight.
    Ah, the
nest.
     
    The man remounted and steered his horse