I've always wanted to write a story that I thought was worth the effort of showing to everyone, and I've finally hit the jackpot. I caught myself thinking about my life this afternoon, and realized that I'm having so much mroe fun nowadays than ever before. I have full weekends and I can't wait for one to end so I can get abck to school, get that over with, and ehad on to the next! They one ahead is always more exciting than the one left behind! Now... onto the constant gripes that we know plague me. Why do I stay with Clarissa? I can live without dan, I know I can. And I know she can live without me. I am constantly being disappointed when I hang with her, when I deal with her. Oh... I don't want to talk about this jsut now. Too tired, not enough caring. But, here's the story I am so proud of. Maybe more will come later... maybe not.

:: The villagers, fleeing in terror of their lives, race for the forest's dense cover, leaving behind their assets and life's works to the beast that came over the mountain, the beast they'd heard of from legends and Tales of Old, from the days of their ancestors long dead. It had to have been what they thought, the vibrant colors, a brilliant display of the message Nature gives to those of exceptional poison or bite; the shadow many times the size of their own village; all that could only make them think that it was what the legends foretold would come should the day of Humanity draw to a close... ::

:: The wise old Shaman, the only one that they waited for, sitting atop his son's back, protected from his death at the Thing of Lore's hand, knew what the beast was, and knew why Humanity instinctively feared them. His line, one of the oldest in the land, had a tale, passed down from generation to generation, and so forth and so on, about these creatures from the North, who had once come South to hatch their young in the mountains where the villagers had set up their small, pathetic towns. The land used to be abundant then, for they controlled the game, they added their immense lifeforce to the forests surrounding them, adding civility to the savage Humans of Old. Behind the eyes of black onyx, there lay a tale waiting for the One that should be told, one that should be shared... The humans feared their guardians, the instinctive fear that one feels for a Power greater than their own. And none were greater than the mighty Beings to the North. And so, with the power of Old Age and Great Wisdom, the old man stopped his terror-stricken son,and craned his neck around to watch the vivid display of colors that the creature exerted, the immediate brightening of the flora about it's clawed feet, the delicate way it picked off only the stragglers and weakened pigs of the village's herd... Natural Selection surely had done its work with this One... A smile lit upon his wizened(sp?) face, as he watched magnificence, his aloof features gone beatific and humble... To the Gods of the North, the humans were none other than sheep- Old friends gone astray.

:: His son's nerves, from having also craned his neck to get a better view of the Fearsome Thing, were now at the breaking point. And, under the immense pressure of the moment, he broke. Starting forward at a dead-out run, he raced for the forest, the old man beating upon his back with arthritic-enfeebled hands, not hurting him, but causing more of an annoyance. With a tale in mind, he let his hands drop, the old man falling from his back, to land upon a dense spray of soft vegetation, the son letting out a scream of anguish, his legs pumping faster and ever faster, to the forest's edge... His people could not possibly crucify him... His father had been eaten right off his back! Was it not best that one had survived? He, the survivor, surely would get a big reunion, for keeping his father alive under such amounts of pressure, for so long! And with this lie in mind, he reached the forest, where his people welcomed him joyously, saddened by the tale he brought, of the creature's wrath wreaked upon the land and his father. ::

:: And so the old man, after the shock of having been dumped by his cowardly child, gave it a shrug, and turned back to watch the creatures antics, as it performed aerial dives and flips to astound the most agile of birds, before landing upon the ground with an ear-shattering scream of mock-anguish, and with a heave of its mighty wings, taking off once again for the comforting solitude of the air... But, where were the others of this race? They were supposed to travel in droves, dozens of them, if not hundreds or thousands. The tales told of whole caves being airborne at one time, the sun blocked out for days of their crossing, night being proclaimed voer all the land by the immense shadows of their bodies... And yet, there was only this one. Surely young it was, the splendor of it's agility evident in the every twist, turn, bob, and weave, that it exhibits. Watch the way it flies over his head, coming so close to his prone form upon the ground, that is makes his hair whip around, anchored by naught but the roots to which he can feel them pulling, wishing to be within the creature's shadow, so great was its influence upon the things, be they flora or fauna, around it- even so much that he should feel able to stand and walk toward it, to dance upon the air as it did so well... ::

:: Bank your wing tips! Bank them! The young creature could not seem to get her flying instructor's voice out of her head, a constant reminder of who she was, and where she was from, the nasal, gravelly voice seeming to constrict the brain within her ears, to ring forever within the mind of his pupil... The sweet taste of pig, pork, she was taught, when eaten, fills her mouth, enticing her to go back for more, though she was satiated to the point of near helplessness. A glance around her surroundings is enough to appease her momentous curiousity, though a smell enters her nostrils, causing them to flutter, flaring to catch the scent better... What could possibly send such a scent of mixed signals? Delicious prey smell, mixed with the otherwise bitter scent of predator... And still yet, the scent of an uncleanly body, as well. Her wings taking on the job of flying, instinctively flapping so that she goes in a straight line, her body an arrow within the confines of the air, she cranes her neck about to catch better a sight of sound, of this elusive beast. There, in the forest, from whence the combination of smells came, and, faintly, from straight below her! ::

:: If this was even a fairly old Dragon of Lore, then they might know of the legends surrounding the two race's history together. But, if not, then there stands a fine chance that they knew not of Humanity at all, sheltered in the valley of their homeland, where they might never need to venture, the stories left to stew in the minds of the Elders, wreaking pain upon their stony features. And here it came, a distinct difference exhibited in the flight of the Dragon, the difference between life and death for the old man... A searching, scenting difference, that had surely come over the adolescent of centuries of age. Prepared for his death within the cavernous maw of the magnificent creature looming above him, he watches, the blood racing wildly through his veins, invigorating his old limbs, the stick-thin figure rising to his feet for one more adventure in the timeless years of his life, memories of his childhood, long forgotten in the recesses of his brain coming to the fore, to display to him their glorious truth... Life, in all its folly and death, is nothing more than what you make of it. ::

:: Taloned feet rip into the ground, gashing open the dense sod of the plains with an earth-shaking revelation of strength and power, the brilliant, almost violently yellow, scaled hide of the dragon rippling, reflecting the sun's beating glare, shining most victoriously in defiance of the harsh, punishing heat of the summer's cruel temperatures. The dark purple wells of iridescent softness, large and doe-like in their sublime innocence, peer into the old man's own, her gaze questioning and clearly curious. A voice of shining silk, soft and though loud enough to shatter ears, is absorbed into the listener's mind, the question she asks blunt, the only questions that animals seem to understand. :: ~What are you, hunter or hunted?~

:: As he thought... She knew naught of the relationship, nor even what Humans were... Lucky dragonlet, lucky girl, he thought.The voice rang within his mind, causing a dull ache to be started right behind his temples, to pound and beat like the drums of a village's traditional gatherings. But, his own voice, strong and confident, rang out in her mind as well, a beacon to the forces within, alerting them of a presence within himself that few knew of, of which her Other sense told her. :: ~We are both, and we are neither, young one. We are Human, the younger brother of your own great race of the North.~

:: And so it came to pass that Lokila, the trickster, the child, came to know of Humans, a tribute to the very minds of Dragon and Human alike. Perhaps this would be the one who would unite the two races once again in the harmony they had once shared? Perhaps. Only time would tell whether wounds of old can be healed by the innocence of youth. But... perhaps. ::