Taowren diligently lit the slender sticks for the fifth night in a row to no avail. Despite Brayandli’s best intentions, the incense simply didn’t seem to work on him. He sat on the windowsill with his back resting against the latticed window frame and gazed out at the cloudless night sky; stars glittered in the velvety darkness, framing the full white moon whose pale rays of light shone on the leaves of the surrounding maple trees.
Taowren closed his eyes, listening to the beats of the night’s music. Something in the air continued to strum his heartstrings, whispering at the edge of his conscious mind and telling him… Something. With light feet he dropped out of the window.
It was not the first time he had been filled with wanderlust since he had entered the mountain, nor was it the first night he had found himself following his feet out through the Okan residence gates. It was, in fact, the fourth time he had given in to the temptation to scour the sloping hills and meander through the forests of the mountainside.
Something was calling, singing to him, every night. He was certain of it. There was a music playing in his chest, music only he could hear, and until it either shut up or told him what it wanted, he was plagued to feel it unceasingly every night.
Taowren did not walk with a particular destination in mind, instead allowing his soul to lead him through a series of coiling game trails over several slopes and hills. After some time, he reached a glimmering stream and followed it uphill. The feeling that someone was calling to him grew stronger and, urged on by it, he quickened his steps into a loping jog. Ferns and shrubs batted against his calves, but he hardly noticed as he followed the water through the darkness until he came to a wide clearing.
Moonlight shone down into a space between the towering trees. The stream had split off from a wide, shallow creek, dotted with a smattering of smooth stones of various sizes. The gentle babbling of the water around these stones was the only sound that could be heard, except for the distant hoot of a hunting owl. Taowren could barely perceive them, for his body and his mind were filled with drums, as if two hearts beat in his chest.
This was it. This was what had been calling to him. But what was it?
A sudden thirst. Taowren crouched at the water’s edge, cupped his hands under its surface and then brought the cool water to his lips to drink. Then, from the darkness of the underbrush on the other side of the creek, it moved. Leaves rustled and twigs cracked beneath its clawed feet. He looked up.
A pair of swirling golden eyes were peering at him in the darkness. He froze instinctively, water draining from his palms. Opposite him, the creature’s tongue lashed out; it was forked at the tip, and it dipped into the water as the creature drank deeply. The golden glowing eyes did not leave Taowren’s face.
What are you…?
From within his mind, Taowren flung the words out—he did not know how, but he felt his soul was calling out to the creature too. He slowly, almost reverently, got to his feet.
Something like the memory of an echo rolled into Taowren’s mind in return.
What. Are. You?
From across the water, the small furred creature languidly stood up onto its hind legs. It was about two feet tall, slender as a hunting cat, and its forepaws with long, sharp claws hung loosely at its sides like arms, almost as if it were mirroring Taowren’s own pose. He almost laughed at the imitation, but knew in his core that to laugh would be the deepest sacrilege. From a distance this creature could have been a binturong, but for its forked tongue and glowing eyes—and, Taowren noticed, atop its head were two ivory nubs, glinting in the pale moonlight.
I am Taowren. Enraptured, Taowren moved forward unthinkingly until he was crouching in the shallow water. The horned creature wiggled its head and long body; it would have looked serpentine but for the thick gold-and-brown marbled fur coat covering the animal’s long body. It had four short legs with paws, all boasting narrow but viciously curved claws, and an impossibly long and swirling tail. Almost as if hypnotised—or hypnotising—the creature swayed back and forth, undulating its body along with the music that resonated directly from its soul and into Taowren’s mind.
Ettore, it said, without words.
As a man possessed, Taowren abruptly stood up and took a step across the slippery stones towards the creature—towards Ettore.
The little animal jumped up and danced back on all four paws, arching its back into a bizarre curve and opening its jaws to reveal two rows of sharp fanged teeth. It continued its hopping dance backwards, stopping only when its tail lashed against a nearby tree.
Wait! Don’t be afraid of me. Taowren showed his palms placatingly as he called to it, flinging warmth with his unspoken words. You have been calling to me.
You. Calling. Me. It seemed human language was not the way this creature usually communicated, for it instead returned Taowren’s warmth with its own feelings; excitement, nervousness, fear, desire. The music resonating from it shifted too, the drums louder and more insistent, but with the light windy tones of a flute following it. Taowren couldn’t say how, but he knew this creature desired something from him.
Dragon’s dance!
The creature leaped into the air and soared, flipping itself once in a blurring somersault before it landed on a rock in the middle of the creek.
Dance, Taowren!
Taowren jumped from one stone to the next, and opposite him the little forest creature mirrored it. He hopped back to the first stone and it mimicked him again, adding a flourish of its tail, so Taowren shook his own hair to return the motion, causing the creature to wiggle happily on its perch. With movements at times jaunty and other times fluid, the pair answered one another’s calls with steps, pivots and leaps. The dragon was acrobatic, leaping through the air and flipping into the shallow water, whilst Taowren responded with his own jumps and splashes. The music flowing from one to the other and back again pulled him, telling him where to place his light steps and nimble feet; as one entity they passed minutes into hours this way, as if both were possessed by the other.
It did not seem time had passed, and yet suddenly it seemed that it must have; as the sun’s rays streamed through the branches of the surrounding trees and began to crest over the cliffs up ahead, Taowren spun to a halt, breathing heavily, only becoming aware now that his clothes were soaked both from splashing in the river water and his own sweat. Before him, the dazzling little dragon looked up with sun-bright eyes.
“I’ve never met a dragon before,” Taowren murmured, sitting himself down on an algae-ringed stone.
First human, too. Ettore bobbed his head and snaked through the shallows to seat himself before the boy’s feet. Did not know humans dance.
“Not as well as dragons.” Taowren smiled down at the creature. Now as sleek with water as he was, he realised just how small it was; its tail was almost as long as its sinuous body. “Are there many dragons here?”
Up there. Ettore’s liquid gold eyes turned to look at one of the mountain peaks, currently ringed with the white halo of the rising sun. More up there. Not near here. Not with this one. This one alone.
Taowren shaded his eyes to peer at the high peak. What brings you down here, then?
You. Keep calling to me. The little wood dragon shivered, its marbled fur coming to stand on end, and it twisted its head and neck to an almost impossible angle. We shall dance again.
We shall?
Yes!
*
“Where the hell have you been?” Tomar snapped at him the moment Taowren walked through the front door. “It’s already the hour of the horse! And why do you look like you fell off a cliff?”
Taowren was still soaked with what smelled like pond water, his hair floating about his face and shoulders, looking even more wild than it normally did. There was dried algae stuck to his pantaloons, and mud and pondweed caked the bare skin showing through his sandals. But worst of all was the possessed look in Taowren’s eyes; they were shining, his pupils were huge. He wore an incomprehensible expression on his face, like a man who had reached enlightenment or was about to start drooling like a babe.
“I think I am in love.” Taowren was heedless of the mud on his feet as he yanked them free of his shoes and stepped over the threshold.
“What?” Tomar looked at him, aghast.
“I am in love, I said,” Taowren span on the ball of one foot, eyes shimmering with a possessed life, “with these mountains!”
“What herbs have you been smoking now?” Tomar crossed his arms across his chest, and abruptly made to kick Taowren towards his bedroom. “Have you just been wandering around in the bushes all morning? What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong,” Taowren let out a light, musical laugh as he danced out of reach, “I feel great!”
“Yeah? Well, you stink, Taown.” Tomar followed and pushed him through the doorway, “I’m going to get a bath going, you take all that off. Mother will have a heart attack if she sees you—you look like a wild man.”
“Whatever you say.” Taowren didn’t care to argue back. He didn’t care about anything at all.
Tomar glowered at him for a moment longer, but genuine concern was colouring his expression. Taowren was always eccentric and light-hearted; back home he frequently wandered around the grounds and into the neighbouring wilderness to idle hours away. This was not uncommon, but right now he seemed like he was high. Tomar shook his head and made a mental note to never offer Taowren any kind of herbs again.
“I want my herbs back,” he huffed, as he pulled the door closed, “Smoking them clearly doesn’t do you any good at all!”
Taowren did not even hear him but began to dreamily shed his outer layers and drop them into a pile beside the door to be sent to be washed later. His mind was buzzing. What a night—what a night! A dragon. A real-life dragon! A little one, certainly, for dragons of legends were said to be able to topple castles, so perhaps this was a baby, but it was certainly a dragon!
What is ‘baby’? I am dragon! Ettore was, even now, still in his mind, his spirit floating there as their souls continued to play their music to one another. Taowren had never felt so warm-hearted before.
Following his harrumphing cousin’s instruction, Taowren prepared the bathtub that sat behind an imperial divider and allowed his seething cousin to bring through several buckets of warm water for him.
“At least it looks like you slept a bit,” Tomar commented, moving to leave once the tub was filled. “There’s life back in your face. Your eyes aren’t shadowed like the depths of a bamboo forest anymore.”
“I told you, I feel great.” Taowren seemed a little more sober and less bestial now that he was out of his wet clothes and in a pale silk house-robe.
“Just… Wash up, and pull yourself together. I’ll be back later.” The door closed with a snap and Taowren heard a retreating mutter as he stripped and sank gratefully into the steaming, fragrant water. Muscles he hadn’t realised were aching abominably relaxed in the heat of the bath and he slid down until only his nose and eyes were above the water. The sound of the outside world was dulled almost to nothing, but still that wild music sang inside him.
Ettore…?
I am! Taowren smiled to himself at the dragon’s voice. Who knew this was how dragons spoke? Straight into each other’s minds! When we dance again?
When do you want to?
Tonight, under Moon.
Okay!
Taowren shook out his hair under the water and surfaced to see the contents of the bath had already turned the colour of day-old dishwater.
“No wonder Tomar looked so angry,” he muttered, but still he couldn’t help the smile that lingered on his face. Making friends with a dragon!
After scrubbing his arms, legs and chest, and rinsing the lavender-infused soap from his wavy wet hair, Taowren exited the tub and dressed himself in fresh robes. As he was combing his dark hair with his fingers, there was another knock at the bedroom door and Tomar appeared once again. Taowren felt his critical eye raking over his appearance.
“What’s up now?” Taowren asked, trying to look as suitably human as possible.
“Hmph. When you’re finished getting dressed, we need to go. Father signed us up for calligraphy classes over at the Butterfly Pavilion.”
“Do we have to?” Taowren moaned. Calligraphy classes, even here? He groaned and slumped his shoulders. Why were there always more classes?
“What? This isn’t just a holiday, you know. Father brought you here so you could learn how to be a proper nobleman.” Tomar perched on the end of his bed and looked around the room. “Where are my herbs, by the way? You didn’t smoke them all, right?”
“In that drawer.” Taowren gestured vaguely without looking as he tried to fasten a brocade sash around his trim waist one-handed. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“And you could at least tie your hair up for once.”
Taowren sighed at his cousin’s words. He did not spend much time on the finer details of his appearance—although soft-faced he felt his figure was good, not too broad and not too small, and as long as his clothes weren’t on inside out, that should be enough to pass off as appropriately attired during the day, right?—but Tomar did. Tomar was always immaculately dressed, his hair always pulled up into a severe tight bun. So neat were his robes that a single crease or loose strand or hair would probably be considered a great offence to his appearance! Taowren didn’t know how or where Tomar found the energy for all that finicky preening. He much preferred his robes and hair loose and free; life itself was far more comfortable that way.
You have. Good pelt.
Taowren smiled at the echoed thoughts as ran his fingers back through his hair once again, his heart raising again in his chest at his secret joy. He then shook his head so everything stood out at even wilder angles, grinning widely at Tomar.
“I don’t like how it pulls on my temples when I tie it up. Not everyone wants to look like an old scholar at our age!” He stuck his tongue out at his cousin, shook his hair out again and pranced over to the doorway before Tomar could complain anymore. “Come on, Sour Plum, we’ve got calligraphy to do!”
“Do not call me that!” Tomar snarled after him, but still his fussy cousin came loyal stomping along after him.
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