Amongst Dragons. Kings. The Fourth and Final Part of This.
by Sini



Alele lay panting beneath the black fog. Damarcus was clapping his wings afront himself to concentrate the black fog between them into an opaque blob. Compressing gas was no everyday routine, not even for a wind dragon. But figuring out whether the gas was homogenous or heterogeneous based on tidbits of chemistry that had been acquired twenty-plus years ago from an Elder whose knowledge of chemistry there and then was already outdated and diminished? I’m turning into my mate, feeling things with my gut, Damarcus thought sourly. What had interested him in chemistry was its reliance on logic. Things had formulas. Things were objective. What he was doing he did on a whim. Hopefully that whim could be reasoned with—otherwise Venci was good as gone and Damarcus’ wings were good as giant fans tossing freezing cold air around: not at all. “Evaporation . . . Elements rise or descend depending on concentration.”

“Oh, Marcus! You’re resurrecting him, aren’t you?” said Alele.

‘Resurrection’ is an interesting take on chemistry, my Alele. Pressurizing the gas, Darcus supposed, would encourage the gas into some solid shape—preferably his son’s. If hot fire meant evaporation reflective reasoning suggested cold wind meant un-evaporation. What was the process called? Condamnation? “Pray I’ve the slightest clue what I’m doing right now. Pray my faith in the Chemist God is enough.” He’d happily endure eternal damnation in a dragon afterlife from a deity he’d in no faith later, for some condamnation now.

The gas was turning a lighter shade of black. And a sky-blue gas and a muddy-purple gas were separating from it. The three gases composed a single, swirling storm cloud. Then the sky-blue one pulsed pink and Damarcus touched his temple, groaning to a flash of headache. He forgot his wings. And so the gasses diverged and became three individual storm clouds. In each there came lightning-like flashes. And then suddenly from the clouds dribbled down misting drops of rain; and upon the ground three coagulating puddles grew. The puddles boiled and bubbled. Gouts of oozing liquid would weakly spurt up, wherein Damarcus would see glimpses of other colors beside the solid ones, reminding him of the way sea-creatures splashed out of the ocean for a second before crashing down. In the black puddle he had seen red; in the purple one black; and in the sky-blue one pink and mintgreen. Then the puddles stood up and became great, sweating mounds, opaque; and the complimentary colors ran free, painting the mounds; and a many subtle shades of them and whites and pinks skipped off the surface of each, splashing eyes and mouths onto what became skulls—skulls of dragon and lion, carven like blocks of wood into life. Off of black wings and sky-blue wings outstretching from sticky webs ran oozes. And smacking squelches were heard. And from formless stumps footpaws were stretched, and claws shot. And faces were melted to have muzzles, and dragon-horns molded. And then the sculptures one by one blinked their eyes open, and breaths were bore. Venci lived. Sini lived. Dooriki lived.

Alele burst into tears and shot into flight, tackling her son to the ground. Snapping her arms around him and nuzzling him up, she cried, “Oh! Mercy! My Vincent! Please say that it’s you, and not some carbon copy.”

Venci’s cheeks reddened. He looked bewildered. His sticky goop stuck to his mother’s arms and underside, and, when she kissed him, her snout. “ ‘Course, mother. ‘Course it’s me.” My mind’s all hazy. I was at Dragonflock with my friends at the fiesta, I think. But . . . then . . . He remembered drinking and turned tomato color. “I’m sorry, mother! I should’ve never have had that . . . I know, I know, I’ve a couple of years yet . . .”

“I’m alive!” Sini squeaked, and started to chase his tail. After the second round he grew tired of it, simply smiling off the victory.

Dooriki woke up. To the sight of the scaly bitch laughing and hugging her son up he felt like to barf. He looked over his lion body then took clumsy steps with his lion feet, assessing them with a stern expression. “Whatever happened? I am not the master-race anymore? Am I not a dragon?” First he voiced confusion, then hurt. Suddenly the realization struck him fully and he involuntarily moaned. Striking a claw in Alele’s direction he cried: “You. Scaly bitch! How dare you steal from me my dragonhood. You are a villain!”

The four dragons turned on him and started toward him, hatred in their eyes.

“I remember everything,” Sini said softly. His eyes were void and he was shaky and he with every step staggered. “I remember chancin’ upon the jungle World, Dooriki. Meetin’ ya. You were kind to me. Yeah, you put up a real good act until you took the power of dragons. I know it because I was conscious. All of it. I felt it. I felt when you stole Venci. When you almost stole Alele. Now all of it’s on my conscience cuz you commit those sins in my body.” The virulent glow of his violet venoms was returning to his belly and claws and horns. He stood before the lion then growled a hair from the lion’s face, “And I don’t reckon that’s how you address a dragoness, lion sir.”

The Flock dragons considered this new dragon then considered the lion.

“And how would you address the thief, dragon?” Dooriki hissed into Sini’s ear, a deadly undertone underlining the word ‘dragon’.

“I would address the thief as a thief and call the dragoness by her name: Alele.”

I can’t afford to put either of you at risk, thought Damarcus, sensing an approaching storm; and as if he had projected the thought to Venci and Alele they at once fell to the trees. Fwooshing backward he joined them.

Dooriki had opened his mouth to speak but Sini came too quick. The Flock dragons jumped in alarm as there came a crash, and Sini stood atop him.

A cry of hurt rang out from the lion flailing sporadically, which Sini unmoved responded to only with, “You used my venom wrong.” The lion screamed for forgiveness, for mercy, his face rapidly morphing from expression to expression, sometimes woeful and other times vengeful. His claws dug into Sini’s belly, emphasizing every cry. Blankly Sini looked down on him, almost with pity, and he said again: “You used my venom wrong. You used wrongly my venom.” Dooriki screamed bloodily, as if channeling negative emotions would re-bestow him his lost power. A blood-red aura ebbed off his fur. But Sini seized the aura between his fangs like a taffy rope, giving it a slurrrrrp then a neck-jerking gulp. Dooriki, denying the truth of it—even with his ear pressed to the dragon’s grumbling stomach—cried louder and begged! and begged! He glued his eyes shut, tears streaking down the ducts. He knew the time was come that dragonkind judged him mercilessly.

The dragon’s swelling stomach squashed the lion’s face between it and the ground. The lion heard the staccato smacks of the dragon licking his paws clean of excess “taffy”. Then the heat radiating and acids gurgling from the dragon’s stomach left the lion’s face and, whimpering, the lion looked up to see the shadowed maw open up; feel the slick appendage explore his muzzle to spotless acquaintance; hear an elated hiss filter out from the dragon’s throat. And the lion felt, It isn’t just . . . these wyrms were born with crowning horns and cloaking wings and kinging blood, with steely claws and glassy scales and fiery breaths. How cruel can you be to rob me of dragonhood? . . . of the feeling? . . . of Kinghood? My kingdom . . . Suddenly he felt hot tar scour down his backside. It was a bubbling, dribbling black-and-purple sludge. He cried again, at a whisper’s decibel, feeling Sini’s underside melting over him and little waterfalls of liquid scale down his fur.

“Your chakra didn’t give me this, just to clarify. When we were evaporated, I made sure to snatch a couple of your genes—okay, steal—for when I reformed. Hope you don’t mind. Not like you cared whether I minded or not when you absorbed us. Us dragons. Yeah?”

“Have you no sympathy for me?” Dooriki was sobbing, shaking. “Do you know my burden, the entrapment of a lion’s body? I am no lion in spirit. I am dragon! Dragon is who I am. The moment I met you I knew you were the escape to the Second. I am escaped. But in this body I’m still not free. Say what you will of me, dragon. Say me a lion! Say me a villain! I’m merely a dragon in spirit, in search of a kingdom.”

“Yeah yeah. I’ve met your type before Mister Wanna-Be-A-Dragon. You want a kingdom and you want to rule all the creatures within the kingdom. Venci. Damarcus. Alele. What’s the verdict?”

“Eat him,” Venci said.

“And be quick about it,” Damarcus growled.

“Don’t,” Alele said; “I—why—well—this is queer. The bastard ate my young and I but I can sympathize. Dear, whatever your name is, I don’t think he deserves to die. He did what most us dragons do, in his own way; he hoarded treasure. We just happened to be of value to him. I think the best solution would be to punish him just a slight, give him a time-out. Yes, I think we should do that. What do you say, boys?”

“I say he’d’ve never forgiven us the same,” Venci grumbled; “but you forgave me, mother, cuz all I did was drink what I wasn’t supposed to, and eating what you’re not supposed to isn’t too different from that, huh?”

“That’s coming from your mouths?” Damarcus gawked, condemning Alele and Venci with his eyes. “You’re suggesting ‘forgiveness’ for this, for this lion? Since when does a lion deserve a trial in the first place?” The New Age way of thinking has clouded their vision. “If you won’t eat him or kill him, step aside. I act without hesitation.” He left the shadows with fires in his eyes and fangs bared.

Sini looked at him, solemn. “I’ve got it under control, Marcus.” Then he took a diver’s breath and immersed himself.

A black and purple ooze melted over the lion like a mold. It froze the lion with his mouth open in a vocalless scream. Suddenly Sini’s form shot down his throat in a hydrant blast. Gallon after gallon of poison dragon surged with such speed, there came no breaks to swallow. For a full-on twenty-one seconds the air passage was sealed shut and the rippling neck inflated. And inflated. And inflated. Dooriki’s crotch tingled, his sludge-covered paws twitching. And oh! He felt a fullness in his inflating gut! He felt the ooze slip away from his tail, felt his tail curl, felt his arms spread. This girth! Again the poison dragon was his! his prey! Sini had thought he could defeat Dooriki, King of Kings, from within; or Sini had been willing; either way, Sini’s power—It is mine.

Lust reawakened.

The last of the ooze leaped into the lion’s mouth with a resounding schlurrrrrrrrrrrrup. Presently the lion lay stuffed, his furs radiating purple, his mane flaring up full of life. And he groaned and buckled and suckled on his claws for any excess goop.

The Flock dragons stared dumbstruck.

The lion’s paws convulsed and his limbs and chest puffed up with beefy muscle, shedding fur and inviting scale. Tooth and claw and horn and tail and muzzle at once turned draconic. In shadowy flames wings exploded from his back. Dooriki the dragon reborn roared! and the Flock dragons fell and pigeons flocked and, very far away, Dragonflock buckled. The ears of all rang—including Dooriki’s own. How he sang and danced!

The Flock dragons fled.

Dooriki laughed and spun. From his nostrils he shot a jet of venom at a tree trunk; and watching the cloud disperse then the bark turn black and rot dead he purred.

You wanna retain this power, don’t cha? the voice of Sini rang, and froze up the lion. You want poisonous dragon power. You want mine.

It is mine. You GAVE it to me. It is MINE, I am DRAGON again, and nothing can reverse the transformation.

The dragon-lion cut off Sini’s response with a monstrous belch, his gut vibrating furiously. Purple gas he huffed out, and clapped his stomach and laughed then said: Be QUIET, little dragon, and become fat! Stop resisting. Make permanent your bond with Dooriki. But even as he spoke he felt his stomach tighten up; and after ‘Dooriki’ he howled, and spun, and fell over, and curled in on himself with spasms. He tried kneading a belch out of himself to stop Sini—whatever Sini was up to—but the pangs of pain only worsened. He lay rolling and sprawling and, finally, burping up gas, but not by intention or fulfillingly of his intentions. Then he rolled to his feet and, groaning sickly, bent over and retched. A jet of liquid black-and-purple was spewed forth, and reformed into the poison dragon. Sini’s body and face seemed to shimmer with the melting candlewax effect; the dragon-lion was in awe. Suddenly goo-jaws drizzled open and Sini spoke:

“Dooriki,” looking back into the woods to ensure no one was near, “I’ve decided on something. Now adhere to me or I’ll remove my genes from you and destroy you.” And Dooriki studied himself, incredulously looking. His dragon-form was like Sini’s and yet Sini lived. “Whether you eat me again or not you’ll never have your absorption powers back. I’ve programmed a password into my genetic coding which’ll disallow it. Now! that you know not to bother fighting me, will you listen?”

The dragon-lion objected: “You will not tell me the meaning of this?”

“Well let me tell you what my human mother told me,” Sini said. “My human mother told me some criminals deserve forgiveness. If I’d’a stopped the story there you might’ve left in your dragon-form with all your powers, absorption and self-gooification included. But I had an adventure.

“On this adventure I met a lot of nice people, from kirin to kitsune to owls to White Wolves and etcetera. This kirin I met was not so nice. He wanted the power of dragons like you and just about nearly destroyed this world—the one you call ‘Second’. Well, I learned that some criminals are too dangerous for forgiveness, see, which is why I frisked ya of all that nasty power. You could’ve consumed all of Dragonflock, but I care a lot about the dragon-kind, see, so I couldn’t’ve let cha do that.

“But . . . I’ve come up with a way to get around you bein’ so dangerous. So really, I’m lettin’ ya off easy! You’ve just got to follow me and accept the terms and conditions within the agreement and, bam, you’ll get what you always wanted since the day before yesterday. Dragonhood.”

So the dragon-lion, curious as his feline half was, agreed to accompany the dragon.

The moon had finished its height. The two dragons burst up from the forest canopy, black silhouettes with wings outspread afront the moon full. So far they flew, the Flock spire became the size of a finger behind them, back south, and the forest-green of the lands was swapped with a green-blue very mysterious. Sweet arcane magic was in the air; Dooriki could taste it on his tongue and feel it kiss over his wings, a hearth-fire warmth eliciting from him a purr. Sini smiled. They came over eld trees encarved with spiraling walkways of sunny colors and bridges connecting them to other elds, whose limbs had held treehouses and trunkholes households. Goodness . . . I sure hope I haven’t sparked the next Dragistar War. Not every villain can become a virtuous redeemed, or an esteemed friend. Sini chuckled, and shook his head at the merrily soaring dragon-lion adjacent. “Alright, Door. We’re gonna drop down now.” ‘Door’ nodded; and together they angled for the elds.

One specific eld: the tallest one in an enclave of elds.

The spiraling walkway was size enough for a few dragons, like an internal airstrip; so with ease they landed upon it. Sini folding his wings started up the steep wind, and ‘Door’ followed.

“Now, the Baajafforjaw chawaajes are all a’ most asleep. They sense the world differently than we do, so we won’t even be able to wake them, yelling; well, not directly by yelling. A loud racket might spike our emotions, so thus the psychic, but really, when they’re unconscious the psychic is what sets them off. It’s kinda like a defense mechanism, too, in case a predator or a malicious one sneaks up on ‘em; the spike of emotion’ll alert them, and normally wake ‘em.”

“Tell me, Sini, who are these chawaajes and why must we see them?” said Dooriki and sighed, not entirely impatient but implying a tad bit.

“Anthro avians,” Sini said, the bend sliding moonlight over him and making his eyes glow; “bird-people who’ve dreamcatchers for tails and robes of feather and masks of slants for eyes, six eyes, laser-colored. But be patient, and the second part’ll be explained.”

Finishing the bend they stood on the lip of a trunkhole facing the giant, circle door of the household. It was a door of pale wood, its silvery bolts and hinges casting glows beneath the moonlight onto the visitors. So high it was, Sini and ‘Door’ only made eye-level with the bottom hinges. After an “ahem” ‘Door’ knocked politely, three knocks.

Sini complained: “Weren’t you paying attention? They won’t hear you. Now help me, and concentrate on sparking your emotions. Just think about Damarcus—Damarcus who wanted you dead—grr, Damarcus.”

What really grinds my gears is a dragon named Sini. But he never said that. He gave Sini a fleeting, malicious look, sure; but even that deplenished his ‘negative energy’ reserves. You returned to me my dragonhood. I cannot be mad. I do not feel ill even of Damarcus. Why is this? Blank eyes and apathy: they were all he’d left.

“Grr! GRR! Rawr! I want to fight you!”

But even more depressing were Sini’s attempts to rouse the bird-people from sleep, kindling some annoyance in him. Sini . . . that dim-wit dragon . . . how I’d like to sink these fangs of mine into him, drain him, reclaim mine skills, recover mine Kinghood . . .

There was a stir inside the household; a chawaaj who’d lain asleep in the comfort of his bunk—one of many bunks on shelves set along the household’s circumference—had jolted up, rustling his sheets. A nagging insect had been buzzing in his psychic; and it turned out such was so in the psychics of other now-waking chawaajes. Their language filled the household with quiet murmurs. Some asked their bunk-neighbors about what they had felt. After a while a chawaaj of shadowy blue featherrobes and mane-of-magenta pressed a talon to the door, sprung back then watched it silently labor open.

Moonlight swung in; there stood the shadowy shapes of dragons.

The language got louder, alarmed, hastened. Chawaajes were flocking to the doorway and stancing themselves to fight; ring-blades and magic-bolts and, with some, bare talons met the visitors, the unwelcome ones. And uneasy chakras ebbed off the chawaajes.

The individual hues lit up the night like 1,000 fireflies.

“Please, guys! Put your weapons away.” Sini backed off, his head bowed and forepaws up.

Dooriki got low, snarling; but when Sini threw a warning look at him and he caught it he hid his fangs and backpedalled.

A chawaaj of tawny featherrobes and a dark mane flowing as if by magic came up. “Sini, Dragon Aspect of Poison. Suspect I know your reason for coming. So do not worry about explaining yourself. We’ll leave to somewhere more secluded. Somewhere quite quiet. Come come. Don’t tarry now. Come come. Thisaway!” And the dragons, with only a second’s hesitation to look back at the shutting door, came-came.

Sini didn’t note how hurriedly the chawaajes acted; they were always a folk to tackle with swift efficiency the unimportant matters (or, at least, the ones they deemed unimportant) to get them done with.

The chawaaj led them to a treehouse on a grand bough of the eld then opened the door. “Come come!” They went in hastily. The door thwomped shut behind them; and they tiptoed into a room of parchment strewn about tables, pulled-out chairs and the rug amid a toss of books. The chawaaj stared hard at the middle table—slapped all the scrolls off it—smacked a new rolled-out scroll atop it, despite the ones he’d slapped off having seemingly been identical, and as blank. The dragon watched. The chawaaj plucked a feather off his robe, drew an ink-well close to the scroll, dabbed it then began scribing. A Baajafforjaw stylization shaped the chawaaj words skipping across from line to line in cursive. Ink dwindled. He dabbed again. Ink dwindled. Again. He then slashed on the page’s bottom an “X” and a line. Immediately the ink dried.

Thereafter the chawaaj rummaged through his breast, found two large pairs of spectacles then adjusted them on the dragons, without them ever asking to read; but instantly, they saw with awe the lettering become Common and all the words unravel. This was a document and the document began,

The Chrakaawbonj
a.k.a. Spellbound Contract

By signing this document I agree to the following terms and conditions:

I’ll remain dragon.

I’ll not kill dragons. I’ll not eat dragons. I’ll not intentionally harm dragons in any way, including, but not limited to, biting, burning, suffocating, poisoning, beating, and all other Physical forms of hurt, and all Spiritual forms of hurt. Mental forms of hurt are up for debate (see line beginning with “Herewith”). I’ll not attempt to absorb or steal the powers of any creature except by natural means for nutritional purposes, within reason. Herewith I relinquish myself to dragonkind jurisdiction: should whether or not I’ve broken any of these rules be a matter of debate, the kin of dragons and, especially if present, the King(s) of Dragons, shall have the authority to determine yay or nay. I have no authority to determine whether I’ve broken any of these rules, regardless of if I’ve dragonhood or Kinghood.

If ever this specific contract is damaged, including but not limited to, by means of shredding, incinerating, stabbing, disintegrating, into two splitting, in any way defacing, in any way harming this document to the extent that the words of the document lose, or are distorted in, meaning, or to the extent that the document loses words, I’ll have one hour wherein I may attempt to reconstruct the document to original condition, and at least original meaning. Should I fail to do so within the hour the document is considered destroyed, and the rules broken. Thus I shall relinquish my dragonhood.

By refusing these terms and conditions or breaking any of these rules, I’ll, once judged to have done so by the dragonkind, immediately lose my privilege of being dragon and revert to the miserable, low-life lion I once was, only this time without my absorption and gooification powers. And I’ll most likely cry.

Signed by: x____________________

Sini saw the dragon-lion sweating profusely. “See, Door guy, this is the only way you can stay in that form, kay? If you don’t sign it you’ll hate yourself. But also, if you don’t, and you’re really unsatisfied with life, consider becoming willing prey?”

Dooriki was cadaver-stiff. He’s trapped me. I cannot not sign the contract. If I do sign the document my conquest for Kinghood is said and done. The Second World will not be mine.

“I sense you’re conflicted. Say why,” the chawaaj said.

Must I explain myself? He gulped. “I have always been king. Even when Elder Ishiyohn was live I considered myself King of Cranes: for I was King of Jungles, the King of King of Crane and the King of King of Tigers, etcetera. Say why? I am no more. I am not Dooriki. I am key to no door!”

“I knew that already. I just wanted to hear your voice again. It is silky yet deep. Intriguing.”

“Damn chawaaj!”

“Be at ease. I think I see where you come from. There is a gate. The First World, yes?”

He went silent.

“Then you have already gone through. I think you mistake your name’s meaning.”

“Pardon?”

“You think you were the key to unlock many doors. This isn’t true. You, Dooriki, were the key to one door. Were. But you have seen new lands and you have taken new shapes and you have gone by innumerable titles and creature names. So yes, you are no longer Dooriki the Key to the Door; that’s because you finished what you were purposed for: you opened the way to the Second World. In truth you’ve not been Dooriki since you came to the Second World—this world. Now the only way to move on is to sign this document! Start afresh!”

The dragon-lion gulped. In some way he understood: he was no longer He.

The chawaaj gave him the quill.

He hesitated with the nib of the quill hovering over the “X” and the line. For a moment he watched his shadow drawn up the wall by candlelight shiver; it knew it would shortly undergo a makeover. Whatever could he pen into the page with what little knowledge of who he’d become? A speculative guess of his future self? An updated version of his former self?

No. He cared not to go back to the First World. He cared not to guess.

He only knew he had a choice. And he wanted change.

He wanted to change.

He signed the Chrakaawbonj:

Signed by: x___Draliyohn________

“Have you signed any paperwork in the Second World before under any other name?” asked the chawaaj.

“No,” said the dragon-lion.

“Then you are born, Draliyohn. Behold: your second life.”

Draliyohn leaped in surprise: for his horns which had once curved up were slicked down; and his neck-spikes and tail-spikes were done away; and on the tip of his tail sprouted an arrowhead blade; and the blade became a pale-sunshine color, as well as his eyes and claws; and his claws grew slimmer. Purple was gone. He turned round and saw his shadow drawing back up. Besides adjusting to these physical transformations something else had been changed about it; but what that was he could not lay his claw on, exactly.

Poison is in my blood still. He felt the paralysis venom, the sleep venom, the killing poison come deployed to his arrowhead blade, the giant barb, whenever he focused on it. Yet Sini is a poisonous dragon and he is not despised by the Dragonflock dragons . . . except for showing mercy to Dooriki. Draliyohn shivered. He . . . he did show mercy.

Sini and the chawaaj glanced at each other then addressed the newborn dragon simultaneously:

“How d’ya feel?” Sini asked, his big eyes curious.

“I shall go now.” The chawaaj bowed then made for the door without ever turning his back to Draliyohn, hands behind his back.

“Wait.” Draliyohn hesitated, a paw outheld.

The chawaaj stopped at the door and cocked his head, tried by the dragon’s curious act to comprehend fully even with his eyes of six. Perhaps because not even Draliyohn knew why.

“The shake thing I’ve seen other creatures do before in introduction,” Draliyohn began, and began blushing.

The chawaaj’s eyes narrowed. But then he crooked a smile, if ever a beaked bird could do such a thing. He reached out, and he and Draliyohn shook paw and talons. Then great joy lit up Draliyohn’s face. Awkwardly he kept on shaking and shaking and, to free his talons, the chawaaj loosed a quick screech, making the dragon tumble over a stack of tomes that, like him, came spilling to the palewood. “I advise taking your contract with you, Draliyohn: not just as a keepsake, but as a reminder, and as a safe-keeping against yourself and others who may try to destroy it.”

Draliyohn considered these words then gave a nod of his head. Then the chawaaj went and Draliyohn when the door fixed shut turned to Sini, and gave Sini a terrifying smile of dragon’s teeth. It made Sini blink. But then Draliyohn laughed a booming laugh; so Sini’s forgot his puzzled look, and laughed with him. Hugs were exchanged.

“I’ve never had a dragon friend before,” Draliyohn whispered.

The smile on Sini softened, then Sini leaned into his ear and said something, something the newborn promised himself he’d do: “Prove yourself to us.”

* * *

The sun was up, the birds were up, the bees were abuzz. This was morning time. Sini and Draliyohn awoke at exactly the same time with very similar stretches proceeding yawns. They wiped the sleep from their eyes, took in their surrounds—cliffbelly, sageflowers, willowtrees, rabbit-hole—then really suddenly stood. Sini studied the ebon mane of Drali: the risen sun beams made it glow with realized health.

Sini was off; the black backs of his wings fwooshed over the forest canopy, whipping up a puff of treetopleaves. Draliyohn grinned. He arched his hinds then sprang. Together they soared over the Baajafforjaw elds then soared over the sage woods thereafter, angling to drag skim their wing-claws across the canopy surface like skis; and behind leaves jetted up. Then abruptly they broke up, and swirled around each other: a seven o’clock sheen flashed across their scale-hides. The wind carried laughs.

Very far ahead, jutting over the woods, was Dragonflock. Very far for a non-dragon, that is: but Draliyohn was dragonkind, now, so worrying over distances was superficial.

“Now remember what we discussed,” Sini shouted to him sternly, “about amending your mistakes and keeping the megalomania to a minimum.”

Drali just laughed. “Megalo! Nonsense, Sini.” And he laughed a hearty laugh, one that made Sini cheery, and gave no suspicion.

Upon the Dragonflock spire a many dragons were sleeping and snoring; and the majority of those dragons awake were still with eyes shut to the evil morning sun, or up and hung over, a few going for round-two on their 1,000 ounce bottles. But many early “birds”, so to speak, had already early left. Those dragons (who a many called queer, but not so queer as to not know the human jokes), were out hunting for deer and bear and boar and/or human breakfasts. All in all, this was an eight o’clock flock, so to speak. And anyone up earlier was weird.

Sini and Draliyohn drew up.

“We’re a tad early,” said Sini, peeking around the corner to see where all dragons slept, under the spire’s arch. He referred to his wrist; his imaginary watch said the same. “Drali . . . we’ve one hour. How’s about we wash out that flavor of dragon in your palette with something, oh, a little more dragon diet-y?”

Drali bared his fangs (which were unique to him; not Sini’s). He purred, “What have you in mind . . . my friend?”



Breakfast with the drakeling. How exciting, Sini thought, dipping into the sunlit woods before Drali. He lightly padded down to the forest floor and ambled to a halt. A fence was in front of them. Drali, drawing up, looked with him beyond the fence; with their eyes followed a trail that winded with the fence to a cluster of stone of arcing hay roofs on a mound the shape of a bean. The homes were two-story, tall enough to pass as fortifications; and from one smoke chimneyed up. And seeing Draliyohn’s felinelike ears flare up he snickered. “Ya like that?”

Nod nod.

“Like whatcha see?”

“Sini, why must you insist on repeating yourself so? Yes! My stomach roils, empty. Let us go!” And swift as a hare he hopped over the fence, a low BOOM stirring some of the awake humans in their straw beds.

Chuckling Sini bounded after him.

From a peephole on a second story a man watched with fear, the shiver of his chainmail fit for temperatures fifty degrees less than what they were.

Running down the stone stairway he began to shout off his ears, waving his hands; and the son and daughter in the room below started awake, startled. “Family!” he bawled, at the doorway, jumpy. “Dragons come! Get your travel bags and your trinkets and, Sam, get your teddy; and let’s go!”

They gasped and in cold sweats jumped out of their beds, put on their day clothes and travel hoods and bags and forgot the trinkets, but got the teddy.

Outside the man ran from door to door (all twenty-two) cupping his hands and crying “dragons!” Everybody made like squirrels, so bodies of families scattered from the mound. Gold, jewels and heirlooms were abandoned. Fleeing men were still zipping up their trousers; women were still buttoning their bodices. But Seventeen dumbfucks, self-proclaimed “Dragonslayers in Case of Emergencies”, stood abreast atop the mound with impenetrable confidence, awaiting the dragons, in patchwork greaves and tin helmets and mismatched spaulders, plus their day clothes; with sharp iron skewers and chipped-end dirks and rusty pitchforks (and one shield: a trashcan with a fire-breathing dragon’s head painted on it). “Yah, yah!” they battlecried. “Yah, yah! Slay the wyrms! Scrap their scales!”

Sini and Drali charged.

So fierce was the charge, one of the dumbfucks gulped and broke from the lines, northbound. Presently other shaken dumbfucks broke away and made for the mound’s slopes.

The man with the trashcan shield reached a hand into his pants, gave a determining squeeze then said, “Nope, not big enough.” He joined the rest.

The purple leathers of Sini’s wings exploded over the sky, parachute fashion. The dumbfucks cried, with their arms shielding their faces from the racing dragon-shadow, until a gout of flame shot down, torching the perimeter. Shadows sank away. The dumbfucks moaned terrible moans; for fiery walls the hue of the dragon surged up, engulfing all escape routes. A roar fierce as fire rang through the air. And the dumbfucks bent with their wills; bent to their knees with their hands clapped to their ears, sobbing. Sini swirled down.

THOOOOOMF . . . Dragon feet in craters, dragon’s claws uncurling.

THOOOOOM. Drali landing.

A hair-raising, throaty crackle rolled over the humans. It became a set of crackles—the dragons’ two blisses combined. The dragons backed the humans into a building. Black lips smacked open, and revealed jagged rows of chomps. Sini’s nose got so close to a human, he snorted a faint gust, and the human fainted, and with a moan fell seated against the building.

“You dare challenge dragons . . . to duels?” Sini grinned with a growl.

Draliyohn’s tongue rolled over a trio of humans, eliciting moans from either party: one of bliss, and thrice that of dread. The taste of leather and steel didn’t turn him off, considering the salt of the skin and the skin of the humans itself was so . . . pleasing. “Shall we make them cooperate, Sini?”

“Indeed we shall . . . Little meatballs! Who d’you think you are? Coming before DRAGONS in scrap metal, waving knives and forks—kitchen utensils—at us? You displeeeeease Sini Dragon Aspect of Poison—tsk tsk!”

Drali hissed, “Indeed. Draliyohn the Maned and Venomous is very displeeeeeeeeeased. Humans shaking thereabouts, compose yourself when you’re amongst dragons. Kings.”

Damfrey the Dickhead (who was, according to blood, a distant cousin of Squire) suddenly shouted his name, his high-held dirk shining in the 7:30 sunlight. Wyrms, scoundrels, cousins of darkness, snakes-with-wings: he covered all the insults within two breaths and five sentences regarding his personal vendetta against dragonkind; Sini looked thoroughly impressed!

Damfrey was the one he ate first.

Sini lay on his belly with his elbow on the mound and his paw under his chin and a particularly bored luster (or lack thereof) in his eyes, as he slurped down the man’s hairy feet. The dumbfucks screamed. They hugged the building. Then Sini gulped. The purple bulge of a frisky man kicked and elbowed, screamed and cried all the way down the length of neck. Sini scowled, scratching down his neck-plates. The sodium of Damfrey’s boiled leather irritated Sini’s throat raw from the gout of flame. Then Damfrey settled in the pit of his gut, and Sini picked up another morsel by the back of the shirt collar. He flung the morsel up (the morsel screaming), stole another off his feet and flung him up, and in two consecutive snaps of his neck gulped them down.

“Mm. Sushi,” Sini mumbled, sucking flavor off his claws. “Imagine if they made humans in little rice balls that you could chew on. Add seaweed. Sprinkle pepper. That’d be lovely.”

“Well,” said Draliyohn, tossing a human up, “I think”—gulp—“think the gear they wear compliments them nicely. Doesn’t take away from the man’s composition too much, but gives the man some personality.”

Well—were men really men without clothing?

Sini stared hard, trying to remember of a time a man hadn’t worn his breeches or his jerkin or his bootsy-boots. Except, once, he caught one showering, and another time caught a beloved one committing the mating process on a male specimen, rocking the featherbed . . . shuddered, and shut the door. All humans did when they were naked was scrub themselves and hum, or caress themselves and other humans. When Sini thought of it that way he agreed. Humans were much more sociable with clothes on—and what were they without other humans to socialize with, to interact with, except for beasts without lore or language? Would they’ve no personality whatsoever?

As he was philosophizing Drali had been devouring both of their human shares.

“Aw. You tricked me,” said Sini, suddenly noticing.

Drali lay on his back and his stomach, warbling and wobbling, was swollen as a water balloon that should pop, should anyone poke it too rashly. There came wet, bubbly croaks that made Sini’s nose cringe up and his ears flatten; and now he really wished he hadn’t philosophized so much. Still—there was a certain attraction to Draliyohn he had: the way he made the building shudder when he slapped his gut; the way his jaws opened up, black-lipped like a lion’s, with the toothy advantages of a dragon’s; the way he casually belched up acid-covered gear and scrap metal no longer recognizable as weaponry. Careful now, Sini. Infatuation led to no good.

“Burrrrrrrrrrrrrup,” Drali said. He started a chain reaction of ripples across his gut with a beefy smack. “Come on, Sini! I see you eying me over there. You know you want a piece of this. Moreover—don’t forget! I had access to your memories before. Don’t think I don’t know your greatest fetish.”

Sini’s ears shooting up and cheeks going red, He knows it. I know he knows it, he thought. Whatever he concluded about infatuation a second ago was forgotten; and at once he nodded furiously then paced shakily towards the other. Drali’s hindlegs spread and tail happily flexed. Drali purred like a 15,000-pound kitten as Sini crept onto his fussing stomach, put his paws on his fur-scale shoulders, snuggled against him. They rolled, snuggled, nuzzled, licked on another’s muzzles. Sini damn near transformed a lick into a kiss, but some voice deep in his consciousness he’d been suppressing increasingly since yesterday told him “No”; and, though he knew not what or why this voice was, it broke through to him. Before they shared their saliva he turned a blushing cheek. He knows he’s got me where he wants me, and somehow that troubles me.

Without deciding to consciously, Sini found his paws trekking down the smooth scales and lush fur of Drali’s chest . . . then stomach. Drali began to huff-huff, Sini too, as Sini began kneading into the warbling mass. Hearts thumping, the dragons generated such heat; Sini felt that he was that single exposure-to-his-greatest-fetish away from melting away and never reforming. Already the gooification skill he’d inherited from Dooriki was making his scales sweat down his hide in steaming black drops. Sini stuck a claw in Drali’s belly button then corked it and drove it deep. Drali groaned, sounding pleased. Then Sini snickered and jerked out, making the belly ripple, then gave the stomach a firm shake with his ear pressed against it. When he listened carefully enough he could hear the squirms and cries of the few humans still alive, hanging onto their last reserves of oxygen.

Then he looked up to see Drali’s jaws hung open over his other ear. Sini whimpered, wriggling a little. Then Drali leaned in closer, clutched his gut, and ground out a moist and bassy belch, Sini’s ears and whskers were blown thatway and a half-digested greave flew out, and smacked him in the face; and tears of joy leaked down his cherry-red cheeks. Halfway in Sini, afraid Drali was losing steam, knifed his hindfeet into the bottom of the gut, and flopped on it; and without a pause for breath Drali literally lurched over Sini’s ear, cannoning out a belch even more foul than the first: a monstrous evolved form. Well, now Sini’s ears and whiskers were flapping very crazy and eye-sockets were starting to stretch away from the maw, revealing some of his eyeflesh; so when he blinked he couldn’t quite blink his ears shut. Then Draliyohn finished and leaned back. Sini blinked his eyeflesh back into place, and looked at Drali with some dizziness and toothy infatuation.

“Oh? Did you enjoy that, dear Sini?”

“Mhm,” Sini mumbled stupidly.

“I told you I knew it.” Draliyohn snickered. “You can get me back, if you’d like. I wouldn’t mind.”

But already Sini was lost in his thoughts with a troubled look. He knows things Dooriki knew, speaks how Dooriki spoke, acts how Dooriki acted. That suppressed voice of consciousness suddenly broke free, and got through: Is this not Dooriki with a makeover?

“Actually,” said Sini, checking his imaginary watch, “it’s about 7:55 now. We can make back for Dragonflock.”

Sini got up and shook his wings awake then shot into the sky. Draliyohn frowned.

For the first time Sini wondered, “What’ll the Flock dragons think?”

FIN