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Upheaval
Part 1 - The Day the Lightning Came
If nothing else, Sal Warner was a creature of habit. He'd woken up at 6:00 am as usual for a breakfast of salted port and rye bread. Then six hours of work in the fields beating back the brush that always threatened to overrun his little farm, just like yesterday. A break for lunch; more salted pork and rye bread, with an orange for dessert. And finally, like every Friday, six more hours spent making sure the pigs were still pigs and that they wouldn't knock down their sty walls again.
With his work for the day done, he limped back over towards the farmhouse, making sure to pay Ol' Whistler a visit along the way. The only tree on Sal's farm to have survived the Storm, the venerable oak still grew tall and true, even a decade later. Not even Sal could claim that, although a ruined left leg had been a much smaller change than what so many others had experienced. Of course, that wasn't to say that Ol' Whistler hadn't been affected at all. On the contrary. As Sal approached, the wind picked up as usual, winding its way amongst the tree's crystalline leaves to produce a single soft, clear note.
"Good day to you too," answered Sal, grunting as he sat at the tree's base. Changing with the wind, the tone split into a pleasant melody of notes. "Is that so?" asked the farmer, chuckling at the sounds only he could understand. "It's that time again? Well, happy new year in that case, my friend. Hard to believe ten years have passed and that we're both still here."
Tipping his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes for his typical hour-long evening nap, Sal slid down and leaned back against Ol' Whistler's smooth bark. Yes, ten long years had come and gone on the farm since the Storm, each more boring than the last. But these days, boring was good. It meant that nearly three months had come and gone since the last time one of his animals had turned, two years since any of his neighbors had vanished into the night without a trace, and - God forbid - that none of them had come to visit yet. At this rate, he'd maybe even live to the ripe old age of forty. Hard to believe just how much had changed in ten years...
Peals of thunder rumbled in the distance, and a few drips of water spattered to the ground next to Sal. Grumbling, Sal scanned the sky. Storms only ever brought trouble, and the one rolling in from the east likely wouldn't be any different. Well, whatever came around this time, he'd weather it just like everything else. Or he wouldn't, and then it would be his time. Closing his eyes, he sighed, and with Ol' Whistler's foliage up above protecting him from the rain, drifted off to sleep.
A scant half-hour later however, Sal found himself being rudely awoken by the sound of Ol' Whistler screaming into the night as the rain pelted down. Something hot and sticky splattered all over him from above, and his hands immediately went to his face. Lightning flashed and he saw a misshapen form hunched above him, maw wide open and dripping down onto him. Heart racing, he scrambled back even as the winged thing dropped towards him, collapsing into a heap of feathers and flesh as it impacted the ground heavily. Yet, it made no move towards him, and Sal's hands came back stained red. Whatever danger it might once have posed, it was no longer in a position to harm anyone.
Getting his feet beneath him and his heartbeat under control, Sal crawled back over after carefully making sure that the beast was no longer breathing. Now that he'd gotten a good look at it, it seemed to be one of those twisted bird monsters he'd seen harrying his livestock and scavenging any little bit of food they could, only far bigger and covered in deep ugly gashes that yet still leaked blood. Perhaps it had thought to make a meal of him, and given its size it certainly would have been capable of such a feat had it not met an untimely end. Looking up, Sal wryly noted the glistening red coating Ol' Whistler's razor-edged leaves where they'd sliced into his would-be aggressor.
"Good save there. Thanks again, old buddy," Sal whispered under his breath as the oak quieted down and let loose a single questioning chime. "I'm okay, thanks. How 'bout you?" The oak of course was fine. In fact, Sal didn't think he'd even seen anything that might potentially threaten the mighty tree, and for that he was thankful. It wasn't the first time Ol' Whistler had protected him, and it likely wouldn't be the last. After all, that's why he could allow himself to let his guard down when he napped in the ancient tree's shade.
Quickly inspecting the carcass, the farmer estimated that he'd also gained at least a few hundred pounds of usable meat. A quick salting and curing, and he'd be able to hold over another season on this alone without having to dig into his slowly dwindling supply of pigs. Humming along in tune with Ol' Whistler's renewed music, he hastily set about task of butchering it before any other opportunists came along and stole away his prize; a messy task for sure, but a necessity in the times since the Storm.
He'd only barely begun though when a round object a bit smaller than the size of his head and ovoid in shape rolled out of the monstrosity's beak and stopped at his feet. It almost looked like some kind of egg, although with a bluish tint and an almost scaly texture, it wasn't any kind of egg the farmer had ever seen before. And it definitely wasn't the bird's, given that the gluttonous fowl had seemingly tried to eat it. Ol' Whistler's inflection turned curious and its song questioning, and Sal answered, "Yeah, I don't know either buddy." But regardless, whatever the egg had once been, it was now going to be his dinner.
Carting it back to his farmhouse along with the first load of meat, Sal quickly popped it into a pot of boiling water before returning to the fields to finish cleaning up the remains he'd left behind. It wasn't often that he could have eggs; the chickens had been his first farm animals to go, and he found himself anticipating the meal to come when he returned. When the moment finally arrived though, with Sal seated at his small kitchen table with the boiled egg sitting on his plate, he was sorely disappointed to find it cracking open by itself. And rather than the delicious golden treat he'd expected, he instead found a little scaly lizard-thing staring back at him with its too-big eyes from within.
Well, whatever it was, Sal didn't want it. Living with the usual cats or dogs was already a risk these days. He'd heard countless stories of once-beloved pets turning and attacking their former masters. Reaching down, Sal went to pick it up, when it suddenly sneezed, releasing a small spark of electricity from its mouth and making him jerk back reflexively. That could definitely become a problem once it grew up, not to menton that this thing already looked dangerous enough for a newborn with its leathery wings, tiny pointed teeth and claws, and nubbly horns. Plus, the farmer had no idea how big it'd get on its own. No, it had to go.
Gingerly picking up the plate, and being careful not to disturb the reptile lest it try to sink its fangs into his finger, Sal carried it over to the stove. In one smooth gesture, he dumped its contents, lizard, shell, and all, right back into the pot simmering on his stove. It looked far too scaly and boney to make a meal, but he wasn't sure releasing it was the right idea either. It was better to be safe, he thought. He didn't need another predator roaming his farm. "Eep!" went the reptile as it hit the scalding water, but it made no effort to escape. In fact, it looked almost pleased. It stretched its forelegs, almost catlike in its movements, then curled up on itself at the bottom of the pot and let out a big yawn. Looking up at the stunned Sal again with those big eyes, it bobbed its head, let out an appreciative burbling "Frruuu" of contentment, then drifted off to sleep.
"What manner of beastie are you? Some kind of... dragon?" Sal asked himself. After the boiled egg had hatched, he probably should have expected that it'd like the heat, but it had just been surprise after surprise with this thing. And that was having only known it for five minutes. In Sal's eyes, surprises were bad. Excitement got you killed, and he was perfectly happy to live a boring farm life. Placing the lid back on the pot, he carried it outside and left it on his porch to deal with later, then swung by the storehouse on his way back in. It looked like it'd be salted pork and rye bread again for dinner...
By the time Sal was done eating, he'd almost forgotten about the dragonling. That though only lasted until he'd wandered out onto the porch and found the pot once more, now empty with its lid askew. He briefly wondered if he'd done the right thing by tossing the newborn reptile into the untamed wilds. Well, no sense worrying over something he'd most likely never see again. Either the dragon would survive, or it wouldn't. It didn't really matter to Sal either way, so long as it didn't return to cause him any trouble. And if it did, Sal trusted Ol' Whistler to take care of it like it had so many other aerial threats since the Storm. Putting the wyrmling out mind, he sat down in his favorite chair to stare at the sky, now clearing as the rainclouds passed him by. The stars shone like gems in the fabric of the night, reminding him of days long gone. They were the only thing the Storm hadn't changed. The only memory left of the world that once was; a reminder both of what had been taken and what had been gained. And of the one person Sal wouldn't ever let himself forget.
After watching the starlight dancing amongst Ol' Whistler's transluscent leaves for just a bit longer, lighting up the oak's crown like a beacon in the night, Sal lifted himself back up and groaned as his bad leg complained. Limping inside, he shut the door, bolted back all seven locks, and set the bar for good measure. No sense taking any risks. He'd had scavengers try to break in before, and it was only thanks to some intimidating swings of his trusty hatchet that he'd kept them at bay. When he retreated back to his bedroom though, he found that despite all of his precautions, he'd already let in an invader.
Right in front of him, snuggled up in the very center of his comforter, was the little dragon from before. It had evidently slipped past him when he hadn't been watching, deciding that his home was also its home. He took one step closer, and its head shot up, eyes searching and pupils narrowing in the candlelight. "It's okay little buddy," said Sal, keeping his voice low to not spook the small reptile. He'd been too surprised himself before to really get a good look at it, but now he was noticing the striking azure of the dragonling's scales, contrasting with its paler sky-blue underbelly and golden eyes. "Well aren't you beautiful..." commented the farmer as he lowered himself onto the bed next to the creature, which let out a short "Rur!" of acknowledgment before dropping its head back down. For whatever reason, it seemed comfortable around him, although Sal still wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable around it. Well, for now it could stay, he supposed. He really didn't feel like undoing all seven locks once again, so he'd figure out what to do with his new 'friend' in the morning.
"Bye honey!"
The sound of Tara's voice rang sweet in Sal's ears. It had been six years to the day since they'd first met as starry-eyed freshmen in college. As a country bumpkin trying to learn to play the piano and evade the rest of his family's farming life, the statuesque lawyer-in-training had seemed so far out of his reach. And yet, five years later he'd found himself holding her hand at the altar.
"If everything goes well, I'll only be gone a day or two. The case is pretty cut and dry," she'd said. "I'll see you when I get back!"
He'd smiled at her, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and seen her off at the airport terminal. As always, he'd waited for her plane to depart, already missing her presence by his side. Leaning back on a hillside overlooking the runway, he chewed a frond of grass as he watched the plane taxiing over then revving its engines. Slowly, its nose rose up off the ground, then its tail. It was off, soaring into the sky and bearing away the love of his life. If he could, he'd wait here for her return. But at least, as she'd said, she'd be back soon.
Something glimmering in the distance caught his attention; a brief flash of a color he'd never seen before and that couldn't possibly exist. Hair standing on end as the smell of ozone filled the air, he sat up just in time to see a roiling wall of iridescent energy surge forward from the horizon and roll in towards him. He'd barely had time to leaping up to his feet though when it swept over him. Within the cloud, impossible arcs of electricity jumped every which way, twisting everything they touched. Sal watched dumbstruck as one sank into the tree next to which he'd been standing, ripping back its bark to reveal a glowing green mist within. But when the tree reached for him, his resolve broke and he ran. All around him, it was chaos. To his left a pedestrian was being dragged away by what had been a squirrel moments before. Another had been struck head on himself, now writhing on the ground as bony plates growing out from within split his skin.
Trying to find shelter, Sal had begun running back towards the airport terminal when a stray bolt struck his left leg. Screaming in pain, he collapsed to the ground as he felt the bones within twisting and shattering. But as he fell, what he saw made his blood run cold. The Storm had caught up to Tara's plane. Or rather, what was left of it. The entire front half of the plane had seemingly vanished without a trace, leaving its tail to tumble out of the sky and impact the ground with a rumble that tore out Sal's heart.
Waking with a start, Sal shook his head and rested it in his hands. Ten years had dulled the pain of losing Tara, but they hadn't erased it. Stretching, he looked up and whispered, "Hey honey. Still love you. I'll come back to see you one day..." Still, in spite of everything that had happened, he wasn't in any hurry to meet his end. She'd have wanted him to go on, and it was for her that he'd toiled on year after year, tending the farm and surviving on his own outside of the cities despite all odds. And today was another day. Time to get up and get to work.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at the bed, and seeing the divot in the mattress, the previous day's events came crashing back. Looking around for the diminutive dragon, he couldn't see it anywhere in the room. And indeed, the door was slightly ajar. Where could it have wandered off to, wondered Sal? And what kind of trouble was it causing?
No sooner had he left the bedroom and returned to the kitchen though than its head popped out of one of the salting bins in the corner he'd so recently refilled. A scrap of meat protruded from its jaws, and it quickly snapped it up. Unsure whether to be amused at the dragonling's antics or upset that it had gotten into his food stores, Sal settled for setting out a plate of salted pork and rye bread for breakfast. "Don't stay in there too long," he advised the reptile, "Or you'll shrivel up like a raisin."
"Mmrrrmmfff!" it answered around its mouthful of food, prompting a small chuckle from Sal as he looked down at the salt-covered reptile. He hadn't had many occasions to laugh since the Storm, but the dragonling's antics were just far too cute. Perhaps it was that he hadn't really had anything to care for since the Storm, or perhaps it was the blue of its scales reminding him of the blue hair highlights Tara had loved, but somehow, he was almost warming up to its presence.
"Alright fine. You can stay," relented the farmer as he finished his own breakfast. "Just try not to cause too much trouble."
Standing, he tossed his dishes into the sink and meandered over to the front door, ready to unbolt it and face another day. Perking up, the dragonling scampered out of the salting barrel and to Sal's feet. "Just like a dog, aren't ya?" asked the farmer as it scurried around his legs, then bounded out the door as he undid the last lock and pushed it open. "Well, have at it!" And before he'd even had a chance to step outside, it had already lapped the porch three times and found itself a cozy little spot of sun to curl up in. He'd missed having a pet, but he had to admit to himself that he was perhaps playing roulette with his life. If the reptile turned, he'd have no one to blame but himself. And was it just him, or was it already looking a little bigger than the night before? He had no idea how large it would grow, and perhaps one day it would get large enough to see him more as a meal than a friend.
Picking up his hatchet, Sal briefly considered swinging it down onto the dragonling's exposed neck. But he knew that he just couldn't do it. It was just a newborn, and somehow, it had clearly come to trust him. If he betrayed that, he'd never live it down. Instead, he hucked the tool onto his shoulder and ventured out into his mostly-barren fields. A decade ago, they'd have been filled to the brim with grains and vegetables, and ringed with animal pastures. Nowadays though, Sal just grew enough to feed himself. Although perhaps that'd have to change now with the new arrival.
Today was Saturday. At least, Sal thought it was. The days tended to just blend together sometimes. That meant he'd be working the eastern edge, thankfully the closest to his farmhouse and therefore the least tiring for his bad leg, although it was also the wildest. Wishing Ol' Whistler a good day as he went by, and receiving a polite tinkling melody in return, he set to chopping at the vines poking past the fence marking the edge of his property. In the years since the Storm, his home had become encircled on three sides by dense forests that grew thicker by the day. The farm had become an entrenched position against the encroaching wilds, backing up against the steads of a few other stubborn families that like Sal refused to let the last vestiges of civilization outside the cities slip away. It was a constant struggle. Anytime he'd been forced to miss a day of work, he'd come back to find that the forest's edge had moved in a few more feet. It was much easier to instead keep the creeper vines at bay, which seemingly dissuaded the rest of the plants from moving in as well. And so, he swung the axe time and again, pulling back against whenever the vines tried to grab at him, and chopping at them when they didn't.
He'd made it almost halfway down the property line, nearly four hours later, when a Ol' Whistler's voice rang out loud and clear. Recognizing the oak's warning song, Sal hop-skipped back to the tree's base, cursing his leg all the while. He took one look up, expecting to see some winged beast or another bearing down towards him, only to see clear blue skies. The cause of Ol' Whistler's alarm was quickly made evident though when a loud, panicked "SKREEE!" sounded from the nearby pig sty.
Hobbling over, and grumbling all the while, Sal yanked open the door and immediately hopped back in horror as he saw what awaited inside. "Gah!" he groaned, gathering his wits. "Not again!" The swine had all gathered in one corner of the space, save one that was slowly bearing down on a small blue shape in the opposite corner. One that had grown to three times its normal size, sprouting an extra set of legs along the way, and whose muzzle had split vertically, giving its face an appearance not that unlike that of the grotesque worms that popped up every few years to ravage the countryside.
"Hey!" yelled the farmer at the engorged swine, not that he expected it to listen. "That's my dragon there, thank you very much." Sure enough, it barely paid him mind and took one more step towards the terrified wyrmling cowering in the corner, ignoring the impotent sparks spewing from its scales. Cursing, Sal hoisted up his hatchet and limped in towards the monstrosity closing on his new pet.
Before he could reach it though, the panicking dragon attempted to dart out between the pig's legs, only to be intercepted by its long tongue. Flicking out, the appendage wrapped itself around the reptile's hind leg, and effortlessly reeled the dragonling right up into the pig's slavering maw. Its pleading golden eyes met with Sal's for a brief instant, then vanished as the monstrosity's jaws shut, sealing in the blue-scaled form. A loud gulp echoed throughout the barn, and when the pig slowly turned to face Sal, its empty mouth spoke volumes about what had happened to the little dragon.
"Hey! HEY!" repeated the farmer, incensed at the beast's sheer impudence. He'd just decided to keep the dragon around, and some stupid turned pig wasn't about to take it from him now. Running in with his axe held high, he brought it down on the boar's bloated body, biting deep and drawing an almost human-like scream of pain from the animal. But even facing down the angry farmer, only hunger filled the twisted animal's eyes, and it lunged forward, knocking the breath from Sal's lungs with a headbutt to the chest. Without giving him the time to recover, the swine's tongue lashed out and wrapped itself around Sal's legs, sending him tumbling to the ground.
His head connecting with the sty's hard floor, Sal focused on one thing alone; keeping his grip on the hatchet. He barely even noticed when the pig began drawing his feet into its mouth, intent on swallowing him just as it had the dragonling. His vision swimming, but rage keeping him afloat, Sal swung again and caught the monster's thick neck, releasing unnatural black ichor that splattered onto the floor. It screeched and swallowed loudly, roughly dragging Sal another few feet along the ground and trapping him up to his waist in the embrace of its gullet. Its bloated stomach rumbled in anticipation of the meal to come, but putting all of the strength he'd built defending his farm and the resentment he'd held since the Storm into one last blow, Sal brought the axe crashing down onto the swine's temple where it sank in nearly to its poll. His enemy convulsed once, the light going out of its eyes, and it collapsed, its grip on Sal going slack.
Extricating himself from its throat, the farmer paused for a moment to catch his breath, and a familiar blue form popped out of the swine's mouth after him, leapt onto his chest, and covered him in slobbery licks. "I'm glad to see you too," answered Sal with a smile. Standing wearily once his newest friend had hopped back down and leaning on his hatchet for support, he limped out of the sty, dragon in tow. He'd have a big mess to clean up for sure, and certainly more salted pork than he'd be able to eat on his own, although he had a certain inkling that he'd be getting plenty of help with that.
Stepping outside, the dragonling trilled happily and shook the residual slime off its scales, already forgetting its brush with death. Spreading its wings, it haphazardly took to the skies, circling the farm once spitting bright sparks at the clouds before coming to rest on Sal's shoulder. Nodding his thanks to Ol' Whistler for the warning, he retreated back to the old tree's shade. It wasn't nap time yet, but none of the day had gone as planned. Soothed by the oak's gentle singing, he gingerly laid himself down, his bruised and battered form protesting every movement. But he didn't complain. It could have been worse. Everything could always be worse nowadays, and he was thankful for what he still had; a feeling that redoubled as the wyrmling hopped down and curled up at his side.
"Alright buddy, enough excitement for one day," said Sal, scratching its head as it nuzzled him affectionately. "And don't you ever dare turn on me too. I'd hate to have to put you down." Of course, if that day ever came, Sal wasn't sure he'd even be able to do it, especially if the wyrmling grew much larger. But he'd deal with that when he'd need to. Or, better yet he hoped, it would never come to pass.
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Upheaval
Part 1 - The Day the Lightning Came
If nothing else, Sal Warner was a creature of habit. He'd woken up at 6:00 am as usual for a breakfast of salted port and rye bread. Then six hours of work in the fields beating back the brush that always threatened to overrun his little farm, just like yesterday. A break for lunch; more salted pork and rye bread, with an orange for dessert. And finally, like every Friday, six more hours spent making sure the pigs were still pigs and that they wouldn't knock down their sty walls again.
With his work for the day done, he limped back over towards the farmhouse, making sure to pay Ol' Whistler a visit along the way. The only tree on Sal's farm to have survived the Storm, the venerable oak still grew tall and true, even a decade later. Not even Sal could claim that, although a ruined left leg had been a much smaller change than what so many others had experienced. Of course, that wasn't to say that Ol' Whistler hadn't been affected at all. On the contrary. As Sal approached, the wind picked up as usual, winding its way amongst the tree's crystalline leaves to produce a single soft, clear note.
"Good day to you too," answered Sal, grunting as he sat at the tree's base. Changing with the wind, the tone split into a pleasant melody of notes. "Is that so?" asked the farmer, chuckling at the sounds only he could understand. "It's that time again? Well, happy new year in that case, my friend. Hard to believe ten years have passed and that we're both still here."
Tipping his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes for his typical hour-long evening nap, Sal slid down and leaned back against Ol' Whistler's smooth bark. Yes, ten long years had come and gone on the farm since the Storm, each more boring than the last. But these days, boring was good. It meant that nearly three months had come and gone since the last time one of his animals had turned, two years since any of his neighbors had vanished into the night without a trace, and - God forbid - that none of them had come to visit yet. At this rate, he'd maybe even live to the ripe old age of forty. Hard to believe just how much had changed in ten years...
Peals of thunder rumbled in the distance, and a few drips of water spattered to the ground next to Sal. Grumbling, Sal scanned the sky. Storms only ever brought trouble, and the one rolling in from the east likely wouldn't be any different. Well, whatever came around this time, he'd weather it just like everything else. Or he wouldn't, and then it would be his time. Closing his eyes, he sighed, and with Ol' Whistler's foliage up above protecting him from the rain, drifted off to sleep.
A scant half-hour later however, Sal found himself being rudely awoken by the sound of Ol' Whistler screaming into the night as the rain pelted down. Something hot and sticky splattered all over him from above, and his hands immediately went to his face. Lightning flashed and he saw a misshapen form hunched above him, maw wide open and dripping down onto him. Heart racing, he scrambled back even as the winged thing dropped towards him, collapsing into a heap of feathers and flesh as it impacted the ground heavily. Yet, it made no move towards him, and Sal's hands came back stained red. Whatever danger it might once have posed, it was no longer in a position to harm anyone.
Getting his feet beneath him and his heartbeat under control, Sal crawled back over after carefully making sure that the beast was no longer breathing. Now that he'd gotten a good look at it, it seemed to be one of those twisted bird monsters he'd seen harrying his livestock and scavenging any little bit of food they could, only far bigger and covered in deep ugly gashes that yet still leaked blood. Perhaps it had thought to make a meal of him, and given its size it certainly would have been capable of such a feat had it not met an untimely end. Looking up, Sal wryly noted the glistening red coating Ol' Whistler's razor-edged leaves where they'd sliced into his would-be aggressor.
"Good save there. Thanks again, old buddy," Sal whispered under his breath as the oak quieted down and let loose a single questioning chime. "I'm okay, thanks. How 'bout you?" The oak of course was fine. In fact, Sal didn't think he'd even seen anything that might potentially threaten the mighty tree, and for that he was thankful. It wasn't the first time Ol' Whistler had protected him, and it likely wouldn't be the last. After all, that's why he could allow himself to let his guard down when he napped in the ancient tree's shade.
Quickly inspecting the carcass, the farmer estimated that he'd also gained at least a few hundred pounds of usable meat. A quick salting and curing, and he'd be able to hold over another season on this alone without having to dig into his slowly dwindling supply of pigs. Humming along in tune with Ol' Whistler's renewed music, he hastily set about task of butchering it before any other opportunists came along and stole away his prize; a messy task for sure, but a necessity in the times since the Storm.
He'd only barely begun though when a round object a bit smaller than the size of his head and ovoid in shape rolled out of the monstrosity's beak and stopped at his feet. It almost looked like some kind of egg, although with a bluish tint and an almost scaly texture, it wasn't any kind of egg the farmer had ever seen before. And it definitely wasn't the bird's, given that the gluttonous fowl had seemingly tried to eat it. Ol' Whistler's inflection turned curious and its song questioning, and Sal answered, "Yeah, I don't know either buddy." But regardless, whatever the egg had once been, it was now going to be his dinner.
Carting it back to his farmhouse along with the first load of meat, Sal quickly popped it into a pot of boiling water before returning to the fields to finish cleaning up the remains he'd left behind. It wasn't often that he could have eggs; the chickens had been his first farm animals to go, and he found himself anticipating the meal to come when he returned. When the moment finally arrived though, with Sal seated at his small kitchen table with the boiled egg sitting on his plate, he was sorely disappointed to find it cracking open by itself. And rather than the delicious golden treat he'd expected, he instead found a little scaly lizard-thing staring back at him with its too-big eyes from within.
Well, whatever it was, Sal didn't want it. Living with the usual cats or dogs was already a risk these days. He'd heard countless stories of once-beloved pets turning and attacking their former masters. Reaching down, Sal went to pick it up, when it suddenly sneezed, releasing a small spark of electricity from its mouth and making him jerk back reflexively. That could definitely become a problem once it grew up, not to menton that this thing already looked dangerous enough for a newborn with its leathery wings, tiny pointed teeth and claws, and nubbly horns. Plus, the farmer had no idea how big it'd get on its own. No, it had to go.
Gingerly picking up the plate, and being careful not to disturb the reptile lest it try to sink its fangs into his finger, Sal carried it over to the stove. In one smooth gesture, he dumped its contents, lizard, shell, and all, right back into the pot simmering on his stove. It looked far too scaly and boney to make a meal, but he wasn't sure releasing it was the right idea either. It was better to be safe, he thought. He didn't need another predator roaming his farm. "Eep!" went the reptile as it hit the scalding water, but it made no effort to escape. In fact, it looked almost pleased. It stretched its forelegs, almost catlike in its movements, then curled up on itself at the bottom of the pot and let out a big yawn. Looking up at the stunned Sal again with those big eyes, it bobbed its head, let out an appreciative burbling "Frruuu" of contentment, then drifted off to sleep.
"What manner of beastie are you? Some kind of... dragon?" Sal asked himself. After the boiled egg had hatched, he probably should have expected that it'd like the heat, but it had just been surprise after surprise with this thing. And that was having only known it for five minutes. In Sal's eyes, surprises were bad. Excitement got you killed, and he was perfectly happy to live a boring farm life. Placing the lid back on the pot, he carried it outside and left it on his porch to deal with later, then swung by the storehouse on his way back in. It looked like it'd be salted pork and rye bread again for dinner...
By the time Sal was done eating, he'd almost forgotten about the dragonling. That though only lasted until he'd wandered out onto the porch and found the pot once more, now empty with its lid askew. He briefly wondered if he'd done the right thing by tossing the newborn reptile into the untamed wilds. Well, no sense worrying over something he'd most likely never see again. Either the dragon would survive, or it wouldn't. It didn't really matter to Sal either way, so long as it didn't return to cause him any trouble. And if it did, Sal trusted Ol' Whistler to take care of it like it had so many other aerial threats since the Storm. Putting the wyrmling out mind, he sat down in his favorite chair to stare at the sky, now clearing as the rainclouds passed him by. The stars shone like gems in the fabric of the night, reminding him of days long gone. They were the only thing the Storm hadn't changed. The only memory left of the world that once was; a reminder both of what had been taken and what had been gained. And of the one person Sal wouldn't ever let himself forget.
After watching the starlight dancing amongst Ol' Whistler's transluscent leaves for just a bit longer, lighting up the oak's crown like a beacon in the night, Sal lifted himself back up and groaned as his bad leg complained. Limping inside, he shut the door, bolted back all seven locks, and set the bar for good measure. No sense taking any risks. He'd had scavengers try to break in before, and it was only thanks to some intimidating swings of his trusty hatchet that he'd kept them at bay. When he retreated back to his bedroom though, he found that despite all of his precautions, he'd already let in an invader.
Right in front of him, snuggled up in the very center of his comforter, was the little dragon from before. It had evidently slipped past him when he hadn't been watching, deciding that his home was also its home. He took one step closer, and its head shot up, eyes searching and pupils narrowing in the candlelight. "It's okay little buddy," said Sal, keeping his voice low to not spook the small reptile. He'd been too surprised himself before to really get a good look at it, but now he was noticing the striking azure of the dragonling's scales, contrasting with its paler sky-blue underbelly and golden eyes. "Well aren't you beautiful..." commented the farmer as he lowered himself onto the bed next to the creature, which let out a short "Rur!" of acknowledgment before dropping its head back down. For whatever reason, it seemed comfortable around him, although Sal still wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable around it. Well, for now it could stay, he supposed. He really didn't feel like undoing all seven locks once again, so he'd figure out what to do with his new 'friend' in the morning.
- - -
"Bye honey!"
The sound of Tara's voice rang sweet in Sal's ears. It had been six years to the day since they'd first met as starry-eyed freshmen in college. As a country bumpkin trying to learn to play the piano and evade the rest of his family's farming life, the statuesque lawyer-in-training had seemed so far out of his reach. And yet, five years later he'd found himself holding her hand at the altar.
"If everything goes well, I'll only be gone a day or two. The case is pretty cut and dry," she'd said. "I'll see you when I get back!"
He'd smiled at her, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and seen her off at the airport terminal. As always, he'd waited for her plane to depart, already missing her presence by his side. Leaning back on a hillside overlooking the runway, he chewed a frond of grass as he watched the plane taxiing over then revving its engines. Slowly, its nose rose up off the ground, then its tail. It was off, soaring into the sky and bearing away the love of his life. If he could, he'd wait here for her return. But at least, as she'd said, she'd be back soon.
Something glimmering in the distance caught his attention; a brief flash of a color he'd never seen before and that couldn't possibly exist. Hair standing on end as the smell of ozone filled the air, he sat up just in time to see a roiling wall of iridescent energy surge forward from the horizon and roll in towards him. He'd barely had time to leaping up to his feet though when it swept over him. Within the cloud, impossible arcs of electricity jumped every which way, twisting everything they touched. Sal watched dumbstruck as one sank into the tree next to which he'd been standing, ripping back its bark to reveal a glowing green mist within. But when the tree reached for him, his resolve broke and he ran. All around him, it was chaos. To his left a pedestrian was being dragged away by what had been a squirrel moments before. Another had been struck head on himself, now writhing on the ground as bony plates growing out from within split his skin.
Trying to find shelter, Sal had begun running back towards the airport terminal when a stray bolt struck his left leg. Screaming in pain, he collapsed to the ground as he felt the bones within twisting and shattering. But as he fell, what he saw made his blood run cold. The Storm had caught up to Tara's plane. Or rather, what was left of it. The entire front half of the plane had seemingly vanished without a trace, leaving its tail to tumble out of the sky and impact the ground with a rumble that tore out Sal's heart.
- - -
Waking with a start, Sal shook his head and rested it in his hands. Ten years had dulled the pain of losing Tara, but they hadn't erased it. Stretching, he looked up and whispered, "Hey honey. Still love you. I'll come back to see you one day..." Still, in spite of everything that had happened, he wasn't in any hurry to meet his end. She'd have wanted him to go on, and it was for her that he'd toiled on year after year, tending the farm and surviving on his own outside of the cities despite all odds. And today was another day. Time to get up and get to work.
Rubbing his eyes, he looked down at the bed, and seeing the divot in the mattress, the previous day's events came crashing back. Looking around for the diminutive dragon, he couldn't see it anywhere in the room. And indeed, the door was slightly ajar. Where could it have wandered off to, wondered Sal? And what kind of trouble was it causing?
No sooner had he left the bedroom and returned to the kitchen though than its head popped out of one of the salting bins in the corner he'd so recently refilled. A scrap of meat protruded from its jaws, and it quickly snapped it up. Unsure whether to be amused at the dragonling's antics or upset that it had gotten into his food stores, Sal settled for setting out a plate of salted pork and rye bread for breakfast. "Don't stay in there too long," he advised the reptile, "Or you'll shrivel up like a raisin."
"Mmrrrmmfff!" it answered around its mouthful of food, prompting a small chuckle from Sal as he looked down at the salt-covered reptile. He hadn't had many occasions to laugh since the Storm, but the dragonling's antics were just far too cute. Perhaps it was that he hadn't really had anything to care for since the Storm, or perhaps it was the blue of its scales reminding him of the blue hair highlights Tara had loved, but somehow, he was almost warming up to its presence.
"Alright fine. You can stay," relented the farmer as he finished his own breakfast. "Just try not to cause too much trouble."
Standing, he tossed his dishes into the sink and meandered over to the front door, ready to unbolt it and face another day. Perking up, the dragonling scampered out of the salting barrel and to Sal's feet. "Just like a dog, aren't ya?" asked the farmer as it scurried around his legs, then bounded out the door as he undid the last lock and pushed it open. "Well, have at it!" And before he'd even had a chance to step outside, it had already lapped the porch three times and found itself a cozy little spot of sun to curl up in. He'd missed having a pet, but he had to admit to himself that he was perhaps playing roulette with his life. If the reptile turned, he'd have no one to blame but himself. And was it just him, or was it already looking a little bigger than the night before? He had no idea how large it would grow, and perhaps one day it would get large enough to see him more as a meal than a friend.
Picking up his hatchet, Sal briefly considered swinging it down onto the dragonling's exposed neck. But he knew that he just couldn't do it. It was just a newborn, and somehow, it had clearly come to trust him. If he betrayed that, he'd never live it down. Instead, he hucked the tool onto his shoulder and ventured out into his mostly-barren fields. A decade ago, they'd have been filled to the brim with grains and vegetables, and ringed with animal pastures. Nowadays though, Sal just grew enough to feed himself. Although perhaps that'd have to change now with the new arrival.
Today was Saturday. At least, Sal thought it was. The days tended to just blend together sometimes. That meant he'd be working the eastern edge, thankfully the closest to his farmhouse and therefore the least tiring for his bad leg, although it was also the wildest. Wishing Ol' Whistler a good day as he went by, and receiving a polite tinkling melody in return, he set to chopping at the vines poking past the fence marking the edge of his property. In the years since the Storm, his home had become encircled on three sides by dense forests that grew thicker by the day. The farm had become an entrenched position against the encroaching wilds, backing up against the steads of a few other stubborn families that like Sal refused to let the last vestiges of civilization outside the cities slip away. It was a constant struggle. Anytime he'd been forced to miss a day of work, he'd come back to find that the forest's edge had moved in a few more feet. It was much easier to instead keep the creeper vines at bay, which seemingly dissuaded the rest of the plants from moving in as well. And so, he swung the axe time and again, pulling back against whenever the vines tried to grab at him, and chopping at them when they didn't.
He'd made it almost halfway down the property line, nearly four hours later, when a Ol' Whistler's voice rang out loud and clear. Recognizing the oak's warning song, Sal hop-skipped back to the tree's base, cursing his leg all the while. He took one look up, expecting to see some winged beast or another bearing down towards him, only to see clear blue skies. The cause of Ol' Whistler's alarm was quickly made evident though when a loud, panicked "SKREEE!" sounded from the nearby pig sty.
Hobbling over, and grumbling all the while, Sal yanked open the door and immediately hopped back in horror as he saw what awaited inside. "Gah!" he groaned, gathering his wits. "Not again!" The swine had all gathered in one corner of the space, save one that was slowly bearing down on a small blue shape in the opposite corner. One that had grown to three times its normal size, sprouting an extra set of legs along the way, and whose muzzle had split vertically, giving its face an appearance not that unlike that of the grotesque worms that popped up every few years to ravage the countryside.
"Hey!" yelled the farmer at the engorged swine, not that he expected it to listen. "That's my dragon there, thank you very much." Sure enough, it barely paid him mind and took one more step towards the terrified wyrmling cowering in the corner, ignoring the impotent sparks spewing from its scales. Cursing, Sal hoisted up his hatchet and limped in towards the monstrosity closing on his new pet.
Before he could reach it though, the panicking dragon attempted to dart out between the pig's legs, only to be intercepted by its long tongue. Flicking out, the appendage wrapped itself around the reptile's hind leg, and effortlessly reeled the dragonling right up into the pig's slavering maw. Its pleading golden eyes met with Sal's for a brief instant, then vanished as the monstrosity's jaws shut, sealing in the blue-scaled form. A loud gulp echoed throughout the barn, and when the pig slowly turned to face Sal, its empty mouth spoke volumes about what had happened to the little dragon.
"Hey! HEY!" repeated the farmer, incensed at the beast's sheer impudence. He'd just decided to keep the dragon around, and some stupid turned pig wasn't about to take it from him now. Running in with his axe held high, he brought it down on the boar's bloated body, biting deep and drawing an almost human-like scream of pain from the animal. But even facing down the angry farmer, only hunger filled the twisted animal's eyes, and it lunged forward, knocking the breath from Sal's lungs with a headbutt to the chest. Without giving him the time to recover, the swine's tongue lashed out and wrapped itself around Sal's legs, sending him tumbling to the ground.
His head connecting with the sty's hard floor, Sal focused on one thing alone; keeping his grip on the hatchet. He barely even noticed when the pig began drawing his feet into its mouth, intent on swallowing him just as it had the dragonling. His vision swimming, but rage keeping him afloat, Sal swung again and caught the monster's thick neck, releasing unnatural black ichor that splattered onto the floor. It screeched and swallowed loudly, roughly dragging Sal another few feet along the ground and trapping him up to his waist in the embrace of its gullet. Its bloated stomach rumbled in anticipation of the meal to come, but putting all of the strength he'd built defending his farm and the resentment he'd held since the Storm into one last blow, Sal brought the axe crashing down onto the swine's temple where it sank in nearly to its poll. His enemy convulsed once, the light going out of its eyes, and it collapsed, its grip on Sal going slack.
Extricating himself from its throat, the farmer paused for a moment to catch his breath, and a familiar blue form popped out of the swine's mouth after him, leapt onto his chest, and covered him in slobbery licks. "I'm glad to see you too," answered Sal with a smile. Standing wearily once his newest friend had hopped back down and leaning on his hatchet for support, he limped out of the sty, dragon in tow. He'd have a big mess to clean up for sure, and certainly more salted pork than he'd be able to eat on his own, although he had a certain inkling that he'd be getting plenty of help with that.
Stepping outside, the dragonling trilled happily and shook the residual slime off its scales, already forgetting its brush with death. Spreading its wings, it haphazardly took to the skies, circling the farm once spitting bright sparks at the clouds before coming to rest on Sal's shoulder. Nodding his thanks to Ol' Whistler for the warning, he retreated back to the old tree's shade. It wasn't nap time yet, but none of the day had gone as planned. Soothed by the oak's gentle singing, he gingerly laid himself down, his bruised and battered form protesting every movement. But he didn't complain. It could have been worse. Everything could always be worse nowadays, and he was thankful for what he still had; a feeling that redoubled as the wyrmling hopped down and curled up at his side.
"Alright buddy, enough excitement for one day," said Sal, scratching its head as it nuzzled him affectionately. "And don't you ever dare turn on me too. I'd hate to have to put you down." Of course, if that day ever came, Sal wasn't sure he'd even be able to do it, especially if the wyrmling grew much larger. But he'd deal with that when he'd need to. Or, better yet he hoped, it would never come to pass.
Following my long exodus, I'm back with the first part of a new series!
First things first, while this is a series that does and will contain vore, that is not at all the primary focus.
If I haven't scared you off yet, then you'll find here a story about a lonely man's journey as he rediscovers himself in a world turned upside-down. I won't spoil any more details here, other than that I intend to write at least a few more chapters following this one, and definitely more if you folks like it and want me to continue the story!
So have a read, and please, give me your feedback! That's the only way I'll learn and improve!
LS7
Next - Part 2
First things first, while this is a series that does and will contain vore, that is not at all the primary focus.
If I haven't scared you off yet, then you'll find here a story about a lonely man's journey as he rediscovers himself in a world turned upside-down. I won't spoil any more details here, other than that I intend to write at least a few more chapters following this one, and definitely more if you folks like it and want me to continue the story!
So have a read, and please, give me your feedback! That's the only way I'll learn and improve!
LS7
Next - Part 2
Category Story / Vore
Species Western Dragon
Gender Male
Size 120 x 114px
Listed in Folders
I love the mystery you're building up around the Storm. The interactions are wonderfully charming, and this little derg is so cute. I'm fascinated to see where this goes. :D
Glad you liked it! Thanks for the kind words, and I hope you'll like where it goes even more.
Well written and interesting start. I will certainly want to read more. One thing that isn't clear to me though is if this is set in our own contemporary world (with mention of cities, airports and colleges}, or a fantasy world similar to our own before the 'upheaval', given the existence of sapient, bird killing trees, and the farmer not being too amazed that he had hatched a baby dragon. Or would things like this be attributed to the Upheaval, and were unknown before that time?
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for the comments! They're very appreciated.
To clear things up, this is set in a world that once was very much like our own (as seen through Sal's flashbacks), but when the Storm came, it changed just about everything. It brought fantasy to the world if you will. Ten years later, it would take a lot to really surprise any of the people left, especially those living outside the remaining cities, which are really the last glimpses of the old world left (and even they've changed quite a bit as you'll soon see...)
To clear things up, this is set in a world that once was very much like our own (as seen through Sal's flashbacks), but when the Storm came, it changed just about everything. It brought fantasy to the world if you will. Ten years later, it would take a lot to really surprise any of the people left, especially those living outside the remaining cities, which are really the last glimpses of the old world left (and even they've changed quite a bit as you'll soon see...)
Thoughts as I read:
I get a good sense of who Sal Warner is right off the bat. Great portrayal of his character through his diet, his actions, his dialogue for the first half of the story.
I like the idea of his friendship with Ol' Whistler. Even the name choice helps the reader infer more about Sal, and the tree itself is a somewhat unique idea.
Awesome introduction of the dragon. In stereotypical fantasy, you expect humans to be wowed by or in reverence of dragons. The way Sal just hurls the dragon into the pot... is great. XD
Okay, some random Tara bitch with forgettable dialogue. She's pretty loose-of-language for a lawyer.
"As a country bumpkin trying to learn to play the piano and evade the rest of his family's farming life, the statuesque lawyer-in-training had seemed so far out of his reach." Wording here suggests that Tara is the country bumpkin in addition to being the statuesque lawyer-in-training.
"Something glimmering in the distance caught his attention; a brief flash of a color he'd never seen before and that couldn't possibly exist." It's really hard to visualize the leaping arcs, where they're actually coming from and going when all you elaborate with is that they're on the horizon and jumping "every which way."
"being dragged away by what had been a squirrel moments before." I appreciate the suspense, but this gives me no visualization of this creature whatsoever, unless you want me to imagine it as a squirrel still. Slightly large than a squirrel? Slightly smaller? More monstrous? Or is this squirrel now Rachel Ray in a tuxedo?
"No sooner had he left the bedroom and returned to the kitchen though than its head popped out" is apparently a correct variation of "No sooner than" but still sounds jarring and needs to be reread multiple times, especially with the random "though" thrown in there.
Sal seems pretty quick to switch his stance on the dragon from 'too much trouble, is food' to 'cute, I'm gonna keep you.'
"save one that was slowly bearing down on a small blue shape in the opposite corner. One that had grown to three times its normal size, sprouting an extra set of legs along the way, and whose muzzle had split vertically, giving its face an appearance not that unlike that of the grotesque worms that popped up every few years to ravage the countryside." 'One' seems to refer the dragon in one sentence, then refer to the modified swine in the next?
Overall, you've got some good, differing characters. Sal's his own man, Ol' Whistler's his own tree, the dragon's his own dragon. You make use of relevant symbolism, like the tree being a giver/protector, the Storm bringing evil (relevant enough for the post-Frankenstein West), the swine embodying gluttony.
You write the story with a syntactic formality. There's lots of cohesion, but not a lot of you. I could not for the life of me discern your voice from the 1,000,000,000 other living writers.
Splattered, flashed, impacted... boring verbs are boring. I'd recommend beefing up your verbs and taking risks with your general word usage.
You really like to use variations of the word "impact" when "impact" doesn't have any actual impact. Verbs that evoke specific images with context as a prerequisite are key.
A lot of cases of the passive voice.
Story-wise, the plot feels sound to me. You don't need any critique there. I can enjoy this from a story aspect, and I'm also curious about these weirdo creatures that keep poppin' up... Looking forward to reading the rest. =)
I get a good sense of who Sal Warner is right off the bat. Great portrayal of his character through his diet, his actions, his dialogue for the first half of the story.
I like the idea of his friendship with Ol' Whistler. Even the name choice helps the reader infer more about Sal, and the tree itself is a somewhat unique idea.
Awesome introduction of the dragon. In stereotypical fantasy, you expect humans to be wowed by or in reverence of dragons. The way Sal just hurls the dragon into the pot... is great. XD
Okay, some random Tara bitch with forgettable dialogue. She's pretty loose-of-language for a lawyer.
"As a country bumpkin trying to learn to play the piano and evade the rest of his family's farming life, the statuesque lawyer-in-training had seemed so far out of his reach." Wording here suggests that Tara is the country bumpkin in addition to being the statuesque lawyer-in-training.
"Something glimmering in the distance caught his attention; a brief flash of a color he'd never seen before and that couldn't possibly exist." It's really hard to visualize the leaping arcs, where they're actually coming from and going when all you elaborate with is that they're on the horizon and jumping "every which way."
"being dragged away by what had been a squirrel moments before." I appreciate the suspense, but this gives me no visualization of this creature whatsoever, unless you want me to imagine it as a squirrel still. Slightly large than a squirrel? Slightly smaller? More monstrous? Or is this squirrel now Rachel Ray in a tuxedo?
"No sooner had he left the bedroom and returned to the kitchen though than its head popped out" is apparently a correct variation of "No sooner than" but still sounds jarring and needs to be reread multiple times, especially with the random "though" thrown in there.
Sal seems pretty quick to switch his stance on the dragon from 'too much trouble, is food' to 'cute, I'm gonna keep you.'
"save one that was slowly bearing down on a small blue shape in the opposite corner. One that had grown to three times its normal size, sprouting an extra set of legs along the way, and whose muzzle had split vertically, giving its face an appearance not that unlike that of the grotesque worms that popped up every few years to ravage the countryside." 'One' seems to refer the dragon in one sentence, then refer to the modified swine in the next?
Overall, you've got some good, differing characters. Sal's his own man, Ol' Whistler's his own tree, the dragon's his own dragon. You make use of relevant symbolism, like the tree being a giver/protector, the Storm bringing evil (relevant enough for the post-Frankenstein West), the swine embodying gluttony.
You write the story with a syntactic formality. There's lots of cohesion, but not a lot of you. I could not for the life of me discern your voice from the 1,000,000,000 other living writers.
Splattered, flashed, impacted... boring verbs are boring. I'd recommend beefing up your verbs and taking risks with your general word usage.
You really like to use variations of the word "impact" when "impact" doesn't have any actual impact. Verbs that evoke specific images with context as a prerequisite are key.
A lot of cases of the passive voice.
Story-wise, the plot feels sound to me. You don't need any critique there. I can enjoy this from a story aspect, and I'm also curious about these weirdo creatures that keep poppin' up... Looking forward to reading the rest. =)
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