DRAGONS BREATH

.  There was a time when dragons dreamed about soaring above the highest clouds and knew not of lances or arrows, nor white hot hate..Dragons and men lived separate existences,,,by choice of the fiery  serpents.   Dragons were peaceful creatures.  Their kindness equal to thteir wondrous size and strength.   The heart of the Dragon was as pure as his stomach was hot. Hot, hotter and hottest were the only settimgs.  

The Dragon could digest anything, and did.  Rocks, wood and vegetation all became fuel for his furnace. After five years, flames could be belched forth in great Dragon breaths. Before that, the young were defenseless and vulnerable. 

Prius remembered  being four when he first  saw the power of his heritage.Heartburn was the ultimate compliment to a Dragon. It was when his heart was purest that the flame attained a blue,white color from his feet and the heat grew in intensity.

THE WALL

Dragons did not blow out candles on their birthdays. They blew out pieces of the cliff. When a Dragon turned five,he was brought to the Great white granite cliffs, to add his individual mark to the eternal mural, that was their Dragon history.

Prius knew his time was near and he watched with his cousin,Crooked Scale, from the feet of his father, Prago,as the ceremony proceeded slowly. Dragons never hurried.

"I'm scared,"Crooked Scales tail could  not keep still.."What if I blow a puff of smoke and they all laugh?"

"Keep good thoughts" Prius tried to calm him...."and focus!"

"Focus?" Crooked Scales eyes almost crossed.

THE VILLAGE

Far down the mountain was a small village of stone and wood buildings , and unlike the others that appeared haphazardly along the countryside. A main street of cobblers,breadmakers, and blacksmiths,servicing the farmers that drove down the roads in their carriages,dressed in plain, handmade clothes,were available whenever a trip was needed...or money was available.

Barnum loved the trips through the town, filled with the sounds...plunderings and voices ,filling the air. So different from the solitude of their farm..An only child, he liked the chattering of the cows and chickens. But these sounds were a different and  exciting music.

Barnum was 13, and could wear his father's old overalls, and even his shoes, with the aid of rolled cloths. The cobbler went for patches and stitches and not door the fresh, wonderful smelling, new boots, that hung, tantalizing, from the cords that stretched  across the store.

He sat on his stool and removed his shoe and handed it to Old Brandy, a toothless, bent man, who looked as if he's pounding a sole,just standing in the middle of the store, with his hammer was Drury ,

Any news from thOutlands?" Drury asked as he reached to touch a  specially handsome pair of boots.

"Nothing that will get you those boots, but maybe the boy."

Brandy moved  quickly for his age, already mending the  boot. Barkums 'eyes  widened. Drury remained silent and uncomfortable.  His mouth twitched. "More taxes are comin, much more. More men needed to do 

 king's bidding. More strong boys needed to become men," He touched Barkums shoulder.

"I'm strong", Barkum puffed up his chest...

"Can lift a whole bale of hay."

"Since when your folks have a whole bale of hay?"the old man spit out a nail, or a full belly?"

"Just finish the boot", Barkum has time to grow a belly...and fill it" he answered under his breath.

Barkums eyes were on the boots. His big ears just framed  his lean, sculptured face .

THE SWORD

Barkum twirled the old sword, jabbing and striking the poses he had seen through the fence of the Warrior Trainijng School. He had his own watching spot, nestling between heavy, leaves bushes,barely breathing but , always his eyes , darting at the flashing swords, his body vibrating with every clank of steel.

He whirled about the barnyard, stabbing trees,looking off the tops of berry stalks, then freezing in an assault pose,facing Jimmy the Scarecrrow,daring him to raise his broom

The old sword had many missing chunks, it's point finally gone...but it still could cut and, the handle was perfect...perfect for Barnums:"s hand. It was his secret treasure,hidden away from  his Dad's eyes, under the barn's  creaking boards...Just as were the stories behind each missing chunks, his dad would not tell him about. No matter how many times he asked, pleadedd to know the past life he led, it was always the same answer,same sad look,the same harsh words "The bloom doesn't stain the steel, it stains the mind. Let it be"

Barnum just wanted to be. A wet tongue was brought him back to the present, as Groff,a big yellow dog was all over him,knicking him down, licking his face. "Some warrior"  He rolled with Groff in the dirt."

 "Duels with dog and scarecrow and I still  ilose Barnum screamed at the clouds above, lifting the sword. "I will be...II sware I will be." Groff kept licking.

DEATH

Barnum tossed the can in the air and swung the sword as it ascended...clank...it flew through the air.  Two of three...he was getting better. He remembered one of five.  He smiled, then frowned. "Cans ain't foes that move." Thinkibg of the boys at the school dueling, faking movements. So many surprises.

He rested on his sword, surveying the backyard, watching the chickensfrolicking about. "Did he dare?" He fed them. He scooped up their eggs..."they sure could dart" , he  thought ...His eyes clouded at the thought."What's the harm? They could use the exercise."

He went to the coop and took out two. 

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