Blinking at the bloodied reptile between his wagon wheels, Erik cursed his luck. The horses he’d stolen in Mar Dell were champing at their bits, pulling erratically against the brake he’d set, and generally whinnying their distress to any creature who might be watching from the forest. He glanced to the colorful foliage drifting on the breeze, expecting to see this creature’s parent crashing toward him.

A disheveled ruffian peered over the side of the wagon instead, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “What was that? D’you lose a wheel?”

Erik shrugged off his cloak, hoping the breeze would lift his muslin shirt suddenly sticking with sweat to unwashed skin. “I think it’s a dragon.”

His companion disagreed. “That’s not possible. The slayers hunted ’em all out a hundred winters ago. None left.”

Erik spread his arms wide to show the evidence before him. “What else would you call this?”

“By the gods, man! You ran over a dragon? How’d you not see—”

“It came out of nowhere.”

“You better drag its carcass to nowhere.”

Erik cringed against Jackore’s sarcasm and countered with, “You don’t think it’s good eatin’?”

Jackore pointed toward the cornfield behind Erik. “Hide it or the adult’s gonna find and eat you.”

Erik laid his cloak next to the fledgling. While he manuevered the child-sized creature onto it, he griped about Jackore’s culpability in this mess also making him a juicy meal for a dragon parent. “You could help me.”

“I’m not getting its blood on me. You think the mother won’t smell that when it comes to heal it?”

“Heal it? What are you on about?”

Jackore lowered the pitch of his voice almost an octave. “Bards in the pubs tell of the old wyrm mothers laying a hundred eggs and if even one went missing, they’d leave the ninety-nine to go find it. They could track and heal like nothing else in this world. Dragons were full of magic only the gods understand.” Returning his voice to his normal whine, he finished. “I want nothing to do with it.”

Erik paused to wipe his brow, wishing he’d stolen a sword while in Mar Dell’s marketplace. “Fine. You hide up there doing nothing.”

He grumbled some more while he pulled the makeshift gurney into the field. It took time and effort to drag the thing over felled stumps no farmer had removed and far enough into the vegetation that the crushed stalks left in his wake could be hidden from the roadway, too. The only good fortune in the whole situation was the unharvested crop rustled above his head as he hid his crime.

It should prove good cover.

The juvenile’s robust colors of orange and red mimicked the turning leaves of the forest, which Erik told himself was half the reason he didn’t see the thing dart in front of the horses in time to stop. The richness of the colors also made him worry about the efficacy of his lightweight cloak hiding the creature. He tucked its spiked tail under the fabric, cursing at a scale pricking his finger.

“This’ll have to do. There’s no time for diggin’ graves. I’ve gotta get further down the roadway before your momma comes ’round.”

He left the dragon — cloak and all — between rows of fresh-smelling corn and scurried back. The horses stood silently quivering under a lather of sweat with their nostrils flared and ears laid back, which he considered an improvement. Jackore’s lack of complaint was welcome, too.

He quickly kicked some of the roadway’s sand-and-pebble over the blood to conceal the accident and jumped to the driver’s board. “Good riddance,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The horses whinnied their unhappiness, but moved forward as directed. He drove them more quickly than before, keeping an eye on the forest to his left. If dragon’s fire were to accompany the breath of the wind, it would likely come from there.

One gnomon’s shadow later, his heart rate had returned to normal, the breeze was starting to bite, and he called to Jackore. “You can stop cowering under your blankets. We’re plenty far from the act and plenty safe.”

When Jackore didn’t respond, Erik grumbled under his breath and turned on the seat. The threadbare blankets Jackore had insisted on bringing instead of a cloak were missing. As was Jackore.

Erik yanked the reins to stop the horses. A twinge of lightning shot through him, searing his muscles. His heart rate began racing and he jumped from the wagon as a pair of winged reptiles dropped behind it—one the size of Erik’s favorite tavern.

When the dragons’ feet thudded on the ground, spraying sand and sound, the horses bolted.

The smaller of the two beasts had a mess of corn silks sticking to dried blood on its scales. It pointed at Erik, as if singling him out from among a host of men. The larger one lowered its head and bared its teeth.

With a shriek, Erik turned to run after the galloping horses and bouncing wagon. It was a useless reaction. Dragons are full of magic only the gods understand.

The End

(c)2024SandyLender

(This story takes place in the world of Onweald, which you can learn more about on The Choices Series page.)

Become a Supporter

Six days before Christmas, Winston the Eclectus parrot let out his "I see someone on our front porch" shrieks of dismay while I was working in the office/Florida room at the back of the house. No one knocked on the front door (or the window, which, if you've been following along at home, you know is an option with one of my neighbors) and I was not expecting a delivery that day, so I didn't hurry myself away from work to deal with the porch. About an hour later, I mosied into the front room, looked out the front window, and stared at a large jack-o-lantern style pumpkin sitting on my patio table.

Before I go any further, lemme offer a touch of backstory.

A few years ago, but while I lived here in Citrus County, an enterprising ring of burglars had been going around placing white stones in front of houses to determine which houses had humans coming and going during holidays and popular vacation times. If the stones were moved away from doorsteps or high traffic areas, it meant people were home. If you didn't notice the white stone and move it...you in danger, girl.

This "white stone burglary" concept didn't immediately occur to me as I stood looking out the window at the squash that would be clearly visible from the street as an odd and orange decoration in the middle of nothing else on my porch. Instead, I was pleased that someone had gifted me a pumpkin for Christmas. I bebopped outside to see who it was from.

It was from no one.

There was no tag.

There was no label.

The only sticker on the pumpkin was from the nursery where it had originated, and that had no name or greeting or indication that the person leaving this on my porch knew me or that I knew him/her. I looked around the porch for a minute to see if maybe a note had blown away? No. That's when the "white stone burglary" concept tugged at my brain. Had some enterprising group of thieves upped their game and placed pricy pumpkins on porches instead of rocks? That seemed like quite a financial investment to me...but...

Obviously, I'd have to take this pumpkin inside to let the burglars know, "Yes, the homeowner is here. Don't try to rob the place."

Then my paranoid brain told me to put on the brakes.

What if this pumpkin was laced with fentanyl or some other stupid drug and as soon as I wrapped my arms around it (I'm telling you guys, this squash was large), I succumbed to an overdose? What if the enterprising thugs were waiting in the park across the street to see me collapse...

So my stupid butt went back in the house, put on a long pair of dishwashing gloves, collected the pumpkin without hugging it, put it in the bathtub to wash it down, and, when there were no drug-induced incidents, I hacked it up for my chickens. Clyde and the Bonnies approached it with about the same trepidation I did, but enjoyed it thoroughly once they realized I wasn't trying to burglarize or poison them.

In fantastic news, my neighbor who uses the ladder to peek over the privacy fence texted me the following day. She wanted to tell me she'd left a pumpkin on my porch for my chickens. Bless her heart. I took her some cookies. But I elected not to tell her of my paranoid insanity handling the gift with gloves and disinfectant.

I hope everyone's New Year is off to a great start!

Become a Supporter

Whether it's on Instagram or TikTok, self-proclaimed nutritionists and lunch ladies in California are leading the charge for food equality. Or something. Rather than repost the videos from the Los Angeles school district and Kera Nyemb-diop that have gone viral as of late, expounding the virtues of chucking "good" and "bad" food choices out the window in favor of focusing on "approaching food with neutrality in mind," let's get personal.

A former friend of mine, who had alcohol "issues," shared with me clear back in 2013/2014, that individuals struggling with finances often become obese because they can't afford healthy food; they're forced to purchase and consume high-caloric, carb-heavy, processed foods from the cheaper areas of convenience stores.

While that concept may be valid in some insensitive ways, it brings us into the conversation.

Look at the position our society is in today. Everyone is struggling financially. The people promoting the concept of "food neutrality" and "judging others' food choices is based on a false health narrative" may be getting paid sponsorships from the high fructose corn syrup lobby, but they're also shilling for the government that's slowly bankrupting us. Families are taking out loans to afford groceries and gas money to get income-earners to work. If all the family can afford is the high-caloric, carb-heavy, processed food from the most convenient store on the corner, then having a marketing team jump up and down on social media screaming about how "equal" and "neutral" and "non-shaming" it is to feed that crap to your kids will make the parents feel better.

Food Neutrality is propaganda for the crisis we're in.

We need to stop listening to the propaganda. By succumbing to the tasty lies, we're only wandering down a dangerous path of poor health and misery. Let me get personal again.

Christmas 2021, my doctor was seeing high blood pressure readings for me. My weight was the highest it's ever been in my life. My sleep pattern was not a pattern at all. I felt like crap. My labwork returned distressing results including pre-diabetes numbers, which wasn't surprising considering I have diabetes coming at me from multiple family members on both sides of my family tree. I'm an idiot for failing to keep up with healthy eating and exercising practices and my idiocy was showing. Between Christmas and late-January, I managed to lose about 10 pounds and force myself to perform mild exercise, but I wasn't feeling great results yet. By the end of February, I was still at that same level of blah. It was time to get serious or find myself taking medication.

I got serious.

Starting March 7, I cut sugar and processed foods from my life. I started drinking 70 to 80 ounces of water a day. I put some mild exercise into my routine. Ladies and Gentlemen, I knocked an additional 43 pounds off my frame since then and now have a BMI of 19.4. My blood pressure is stellar. I sleep better. I move better. I can consume a piece of chocolate (or two) without clogging an artery and without feeling compelled to snarf an entire bag.

Why on Earth are we trying so hard to convince parents that it's okay to shove junk food down their children's throats? Why are we wasting time on social media campaigns to brainwash the masses into thinking it's a great idea to let children chow down on donuts? Folks, yes, there are bad choices in life. Listening to paid sugar lobbyists is one of those bad choices.

(Donut image courtesy of Alice Barcello.)