In all of the days of all of his years, never before had these echoing steps up the worn stone incline been so difficult. Hooves ground against stone as each movement made him more aware of pains in his joints that hadn't been there even weeks before. The path swung wide and flat along the cliffside for the weary to sit and catch one's breath before taking the last steep curve up. A cloud of dust puffed off his thick fur when he sat down in a heavy heap. Early morning wind shuffled the feathers across his broad forehead.
"I don't remember getting this old... " exhaled the buffalo chief into the morning air, rubbing his hoof over his aching hip bone tenderly. This would be his last trip up the mountain, whether he wanted it to be or not. His old bones wouldn't be able to carry him up again, but he hoped they would at least carry him back down. Chuckling and shifting the strap of the beaded satchel slung over his shoulder, the chief cast his gaze down into the shadowed valley below, observing the still-slumbering village.
His father before him, and his father before him, had kept their tribes strictly nomadic, for as far back as Chief Longsight could recall. It was rare for any tribe of buffalo to stay in any place for long unless there was some great precedence for staying there. It was unheard of for a tribe to settle permanently, under any circumstances. But there they were, the ever growing rooted village in the shadow of a great mountain. Their numbers were finally starting to settle - the number of runaways from other tribes joining because they were curious had finally tapered off. The tribe’s novelty had run its course, and they could finally live their lives without a seemingly never-ending stream of curious young buffalo wanting to learn why this tribe of buffalo had plonked itself down in such a strange place.
The chieftain rose as he saw the sun dawning over a distant mesa, rickety knees protesting with a crack. The greying bison grunted before turning back to the path and gazing up at the cave opening above. The path seemed longer than it had in the past. Longsight chuckled to himself as he shuffled up the intimidating road, remembering a piece of advice he was given what seemed like a lifetime ago.
"’When you get to my age everything seems so much bigger than yourself,’" he quoted with humor in his black eyes as he rounded the last turn - which he thought had been much longer in the past. His heart made its presence known in his chest as he stared into the dark mouth of the cave that stood tall in front of him. His mind reeled back in time, searching out that long ago time when he was scared to enter this cave; while his hooves took knowing and steady steps forward into the dark before him.
Fear. That was something young Featherstep felt more than he'd like. It seemed around every corner there was a rattlesnake den to accidentally set your tent up on, or the risk of getting trampled in the Stampede, or even being left behind when the tribe migrated...
Featherstep also realized that all of these scenarios were highly unlikely and rare at best, but nevertheless, the fear was always present. The fears of Featherstep's life were especially prevalent ever since an embodiment of fear and danger had settled itself in the middle of their Stampede path through the canyon. The tribes' stampede was something that was above sacred to them, and it was the same route every time, no matter what. The tribe was overcast with worry and sorrow for the upcoming stampede that was no longer certain to happen, which would hold the tribe there until the dragon had moved, not allowing them to migrate to a better location.
The sun had just peaked the mesa in the distance, and today the village was unnervingly quiet. No one said much as Featherstep and his brothers emerged out of their shared tent with grim eyes. Some of the calves and yearlings would run by playing, but stop suddenly and kick their hooves at the hard ground without making eye contact. One of the elders began to mumble to herself and tossed dried flower petals over them as they passed. None of these events helped to quiet Featherstep's panicked heart or mind.
Today would be a day that none would forget, but not for the reasons they expected.
Chief Barb-Heart was a ruthless and mightily leader that had gotten them through many a scuffle with other tribes. Already past the age of succession, and with the deep gash across his barrel he had garnered in a recent dispute, he was on his last legs. Without a definitive successor amongst his five sons, the tribe had begged the Chief to pick one of them before he passed.
The Chief, mischievous in youth and cantankerous in age, spoke one sentence before dying with a grin on his face: "Which ever of my sons can move the beast from its resting place, will be the next chief."
The sun was high in the sky before the five young bison had reached the edge of the small canyon where the dragon was settled, and the village was hardly a shimmer in the heat waves. Without given more than a day to prepare - and without being fully informed as to what their foe even was, only that it was large and dangerous - the brothers saw now the extent at which they were all unprepared.
Below, sprawled out the full width of the canyon, was the largest dragon these young buffalo had seen in their lives. And also the only dragon they had seen in their lives. Dragons were only a dark shape against the sky, or a fast moving cloud shadow. Occasionally, word would reach the tribe of another tribe being raided for their turquoise by a dragon, but that was a rare and terrible catastrophe that left a deep wound in the mostly uninvolved relationship of dragons and buffalo.
Recovering from their shock and pushing down their terror, the brothers nodded at each other with agreement. The eldest two brothers, Rockfall and Landslide, took several hesitant steps forward while murmuring quietly to one another. At the edge of the canyon, they nodded, and took a deep breath. Featherstep had full faith in one or both of them defeating this scaled opponent without difficulty, and the rest of them returning to the village to live normal lives.
For all involved, today met no ones expectations.
The eldest siblings began to charge full speed down the canyon, angling their horns downward towards the pitch black enemy. Featherstep and his remaining siblings looked on in bewilderment and horror as the ebony serpent lifted an eyelid and peered a golden eye at the two hoofed creatures that dared to interrupt his rest. Over the sound of galloping hooves one could almost hear a single collective heartbeat before the dragon lashed its tail out and smashed the two pests into the canyon wall with the sound of a cactus-fruit underhoof.
Hot desert air whipped through the shaggy hair of the three frozen buffalo remaining. The dragon let its huge eye sink closed with a long exhale through its nose. Lungs were slow to remember how to take in air as the youngest of the brothers, Dry-Cloud, took off into the desert, never again to be seen. Featherstep felt his legs give way, falling to the ground in a cloud of dirt. Flinthhorn, the only brother that Featherstep wasn't fond of, yawned loudly and, without much care, kicked a back hoof into his younger brothers ribs.
"Nows no time for fear, runt. Get yourself up," he said over his brother’s coughing. Flinthorn was the meanest and most thick-headed of his brothers. He was so sure of his own intelligence and brawn that anyone else's opinion didn't matter in the slightest unless it was the same as his. Featherstep looked up at his brother with unintentionally fearful eyes, earning him a scoff of disgust.
"You’re hopeless. You never had a chance of becoming chief. You wait and see, my way of getting rid of this dragon is foolproof," Flinthorn stated proudly as he strolled away from Featherstep and to a shaded rock outcropping. Featherstep watched with held breath as he watched his brother begin his plan. Yawning again, Flinthorn curled himself up in the shade and was quickly asleep.
After several minutes of staring Featherstep was fairly certain his brother wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.
Featherstep was the only one of his brothers that remained - and intended to do something before a nap. Sickly from birth, and only recently managing to avoid draining bouts of sickness long enough to actually grow and put on some weight, Featherstep wasn't a very promising candidate. How could someone as small and as weak as he do anything to get such a ferocious and merciless beast to move?
Featherstep couldn't recall when he had returned to his hooves. He knew he had at some point during his several minutes of self-reflection prior. He also knew that he would not be returning to the village today. He wouldn't survive no matter what he tried, he knew that well - and strangely, he was somewhat relieved that he would not die to some sort of terrible rattlesnake incident. With what small amount of courage he could muster, he propelled himself forward on wobbly legs.
The least he could do was to try, and the most he could hope for was a more interesting story for Flint to tell to the village.
Pebbles bounced down the canyon path as he descended on barely-functioning limbs, approaching faster than he would have preferred. By the time the young bison had remembered how to stop his legs and come to a standstill, he was closer to the dragon than either of his eldest brothers had gotten. Fighting the sickening urge to turn and look to where they had collided, Featherstep looked over his opponent, feeling even more outclassed that he previously had. The dragons scales were black as night and matte, shining dully in the desert sun. Each scale had to be the size of Featherstep's head, if not bigger. He couldn't tell where one part of the dragon started and another part ended. Featherstep turned his head slightly to gaze at the enormous head of the dragon, thoughts flashing through his head of how painful it would be if it were to snatch him up and devour him.
His heart began to race as he exhaled, knowing that he was wasting his time. The longer he stood there without even attempting anything the more chances there were of the dragon waking and ending him then and there.
Though, he wasn't really sure what to do really. What could a feeble young buffalo do to get a dragon to move? A small, hysterical giggle escaped his mouth as a preposterous thought crossed his mind. Taking a moment more to think about it, Featherstep realized that despite its absurdity, his last idea would be the best someone like him could do. Spreading his stance and holding it tightly Featherstep took a fast and deep breath.
"Heeeeeeeeeeyyy!" He shouted as loud and as long as his weak lungs could muster. He panted after he finished, surprised in his own voice and in the fact that he had actually done it. A light smile spread across his face as he realized that there was at least something that he could do without messing it up. His smile vanished faster than it had appeared as the great black mass in front of him shifted and the massive head lifted far above his own.
"I, uh, I um... Well, you’re sort of in the way. And I uh..." Featherstep said quickly and loudly, hoping it could hear him - and also that it would pause long enough before killing him that he could finish. The dragon open its eyes lazily, turning to look at him. The expression that looked like a mix of amusement and annoyance sent a chill down Featherstep's spine. He cleared his throat and started again.
"Mr., um, Dragon... We need to go through here in a few days... for our Stampede, and uh..." Featherstep trailed off a little, eyes dropping down. Shaking his head to clearing his mind of all the gruesome ways that this dragon could surely murder him, he looked back up at the large gold eye that was studying him. "So if you could move... we would be so grateful... and um... yeah..."
Finishing with a gulp, Featherstep cowered under his hooves, waiting for the dragon to decide how he would mangle him. A noise emanated from the dragon that the cowardly bison could only attribute to laughter, which causing him to curl up tighter under his hooves as the sound rumbled around the canyon.
"You are by far the bravest desert walker I have ever seen, small one," came a deep and entertained voice, causing Featherstep to peek out from under his front hooves tentatively. "Yes, small one, I shall leave your path, if you promise me one thing."
Featherstep got to his feet once again, eyes hopeful, but remaining cautious. "What... what would you ask of me? Our tribe has a lot o-of turquoise we can um give you some if... if you’re hungry..." His voice was barely audible at the last word.
"Nothing like that small one, though turquoise has a wonderful flavor. I ask that tomorrow, before sister-rise - oh, right, your people just refer to it as sunrise. Well, regardless, I ask that tomorrow, you climb the mountain that shadows your village, and meet me in the cave there..."
"... As a proof of faith," came a deep and raspy voice that echoed off the rough walls of the cave. Chief Longsight's face grew into a crinkled smile, drawing across a familiar scar along his cheek.
"I believe thats how you said it, yes," said the Chief, dark eyes gazing forward. The cave was lit by the mystical glow of the small horde of gemstones that twinkled and shimmered through their many rough facets. Against the far wall of the cave was a large, flat platform where a familiar, greying figure rested. The sound of stone grinding against stone emitted quietly as the figure raised its head shakily, gold eyes flashing in the light despite their cloudiness.
"Well, I can't say I would have phrased it any differently, knowing what I do now," the dragon uttered with a rattling chuckle. Shifting his front legs slightly, the dragon winched painfully. Longsight looked the dragon over with a brimming sadness. He had known this would happen from their first meeting, but it still didn't change the fact that it hurt to see his friend like this. From the tip of the greyed dragon's tail, to just behind his shoulders, his scales had turned to a grainy seeming stone.
"I would prefer if you didn't look at me like I'm so feeble. Did I ever look at you like that, Chief Featherstep?" spoke the dragon quietly, with playful venom. The dragon knew that Longsight looked upon his childhood name with a sorrow for his own weakness. Longsight settled near the dragon with a sigh.
"And how I became chief has to be some sort of dragon magic, because that 'small one' that faced up to you that day could never be a powerful and merciful chief today." Longsight sighed again, eyes focused on the stone portion of the dragon, hoof reaching up to trace the long scar across his face. "How could I have possibly thought that your plan would work?"
"Ah, but magic is not limited to those who know how to harness it. You should know by now that no creature is devoid of magic. Even young Featherstep had his share. Magic just shows itself in subtle ways. You are the young bison who yelled at a dragon and made him move, leaving with only a scratch. Isn't that a legend amongst your people now? 'Featherstep the Dragon Slayer'? "
Longsight scrunched his face, rather put out by that legend, but unable to bring himself to douse the stories. "I've tried to bestow upon my people the respect for dragons that I have for you, but it is slow going, and your kind rarely pass this way. Its the least I could do, since I-"
"Stop. Nothing occurring now is your fault. This is of my own volition." The dragon almost growled at him, gesturing mildly to his stone body. "This is what happens when dragons die, this is what happens when dragons settle down at old age. We return to the earth we came from in the beginning. In no way are your visits be to blame."
There was a silence that filled the cave, one that the cavern hadn't seen in decades. Neither wanted to end this in an argument.
"Tell me again... why you wanted me to visit," said the Chief, slowly, eyes downcast.
"You know full well - and since this is our last visit, why don't you tell me that story." The dragon settled his head on his claws, watching the bison with drowsy eyes. The buffalo could have sworn he saw the stone creep over the dragons shoulders before his eyes. Shaking his head and closing his eyes, the buffalo sighed.
“Well, Featherstep assumed that you wanted him to come because you would eat him there, where there would be less evidence, because thats how the fears affected the young bison. Nevertheless, he scaled the mountain the very next morning, only really hesitating at the cave entrance. Only after a bellowing voice told him to enter did he move forward again. The cave was brightly lit with the massive horde of gems that littered it. You were younger then, and larger, too, but not by much. There was only a hint of grey in your scales, and you could move freely from the cave.”
A misstep by new-Chief Featherstep made the quietest of audible tinkling noises, but when gems are involved, a dragon’s hearing is impeccable. The dragon opened its eye ominously and lifted its head with a open mouth of razor teeth that would have been sure to eviscerate anything, even another dragon, harshly. Featherstep dropped flat on his belly and shut his eyes tightly, sure that this was the end.
"Why are you scared of me now, small one?" asked the dragon, finishing his yawn. His tail flicking idly, the dragon was quiet, amused at the small creature cowering before him. "I am still not intending to eat you."
"If not, then why?" The young bison stood slowly, eyeing the dragon. "What could come of me coming up here?"
"A wise and powerful chief," stated the dragon with a flat tone, looking the small bison over. "I am old. Old enough that everything seems small, everything seems to go too quickly. Speech gives people the ability to give advice, but age gives them the right."
"So, is this the dying wish of a dragon then? To give advice to someone like me?" the young chief was confused. "I'm not worth it."
"A creatures worth is not gauged by their own perspective."
"Are you only going to speak in advice?" asked Featherstep, annoyed.
"Are you going to continue asking pointless questions?"
For the first of only two times, the cave was silent. After a moment though, both of the unlikely conversationalists began to chuckle, and then to laugh, echoing off the cave walls back at themselves.
"I have been benevolent and uninvolved my entire existence, which makes the entire life you will lead seem like a long winter," the dragon stated after the laughter had died down.
"So, you’re trying to make a difference?" Featherstep said - then, "That um... wasn't a question...?"
The dragon looked at him quizzically before shaking his head once. "No. I don't care much for making a difference, that will just be a side effect. I simply... Well, I guess I just enjoy giving advice, though that seems like too simple of an answer. I really wonder what it is. Perhaps it’s just the innate nature of creatures to seek interaction, or it’s the want to - ah, ranting. Thats something you will see me do a lot. I apologize."
"...Apology accepted?"
"Another question, and I thought we'd moved past that." The dragon shook his head with a smile, "After all, we are partners in crime, lying to your tribe like that and all. Shouldn't we be able to move past pleasantries and talk like equals?"
Featherstep opened his mouth several times, trying to find the proper words without success. This was new to him, someone who thought of him as an equal, someone who simply wanted... Well at least to be around him.
"...Yes, I'd um... I'd like that. But... um... What’s your name? I can't really call you ‘Dragon’ whenever we meet."
"And why not? Do names really make the being who they are? If so, you should not be named Featherstep. Dragon is fine - names only make things complicated. And besides, we will know who we are talking to, since it is just us two."
"And from there... well, the young bison visited the dragon every day since." The chief exhaled and raised his dark eyes to look at the dragon, whose eyes were hardly open. His heart sunk deep in his chest when he saw that stone had traveled up to the middle of his neck.
"Every day...?" asked the dragon quietly, almost as if he was partially asleep. "I seem to recall that after that first day there was a week in which you didn't get past the cave mouth."
"I'll revise it then: nearly every day. Happy?" The chief said with a chuckle, shaking his head.
"More than I have been in eons." The dragon sighed and let his eyes sink closed. "You have been a great friend."
"Friend?" asked the chief, face fallen to the stone.
"You should know by now that I can tell when you’re sad. What, do you not like being my friend?" the dragon said without moving or opening his eyes.
"No, its just... I thought..." Longsight floundered, unable to speak again.
"...Ah," The dragon said, opening his golden eye one more time. "I know what you might think of me as, but truly, it was never like that. I was never, and could never, have taken that role in your life. No matter how much it seemed like it, I'm not who you think I am."
Chief Longsight stood up shakily, eyes closed tightly to prevent himself from allowing himself to waiver. "And why not? Why not, at this last time in your life, could we call each other that? That one thing that would have made this a reasonable thing to do in my life."
"Because I'm just a greedy dragon, wanting something I could never have. And now, I'm paying the price for my greed and lack of sense." The dragon said breathily, clearly having difficulty.
Slowly, with purpose in his steps, the aged bison took pained steps towards the cave mouth. He couldn't let it end like this, he couldn't have him say what he knew what he was going to, not this time. Not this very last time. The cave was darkening with the rising sun, the gems catching much less light than before. A chuckle echoed out from the back of the cave.
"I never regret the outcome of a decision I've made myself. Everything that comes of it stems from me and me alone..." started the dragon, voice shaking and pained.
"... And I alone am to blame for the consequences."
The sun was high in the sky, and the desert heat was as unquenchable as ever. The sound of stone on hooves echoed off the mountain as Featherstep the Dragonslayer descended the incline, returning to his village with a visible scar, and a weight in his chest.
