[FR] Counting Ripples
Here's another little bit of dragon fic. ^_^
Title: Counting Ripples
Fandom: Flight Rising
Length: 1080 words
Rating: Teen
Summary: Just two friends being friends together.
(This story is set a little before " Kyrszith's Price.")
The hatchling woke with a start when his chin hit the ground, and he jerked his head up with a half-sneeze, half-snort. Blinking, he looked around. Bright green, brighter blue-for a moment he was confused, and then he remembered. It was afternoon, he was on the river bank, and the sun was warm on his scales, glitter-dazzling on the water. He must have dozed off.
He stretched out his fore-toes, wiggling them and digging his claws into the tufty grass, then looked up at the other dragon beside him. The older hatchling was staring down into the stream, his pale eyes half open but focused, not sleepy at all. His leaf-green wings fanned slowly, like a resting butterfly’s but with a precise rhythm, like a beating heart.
At least, the younger hatchling thought, those wings were calmer than they’d been when the two of them had come down to the river side. He must have been right, to coax the other dragon to come out there with him.
“Are you still counting fish?” he wondered.
“Yeah.” The other dragon’s voice was flat; it sounded harsh and rude, but the hatchling knew it wasn’t meant to be. That was just the way his friend talked. Curious, he looked down into the water himself.
“How many have you counted?”
“Twenty-three.” The dragon’s whiskers twitched, restless and irritable. “But they keep moving around. So I can’t tell whether I’ve counted the same ones before or not.”
“Does that bother you?” the hatchling asked. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but it was better to ask.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” The hatchling thought for a moment, then scrambled to his feet. “Wait here-just a minute!” He trotted along the bank until he found a place where it sloped more gently toward the water, and he slid down to the narrow strip of silty land at the bottom. Both the bank and the river bottom were more sand and mud than anything else, but he finally found a clutch of water-smoothed pebbles. He scooped them up, rinsing the dirt from them carefully-and from his feet and legs and tail, while he was there in the water, until the white scales shone clean again.
How to get back up the bank was a puzzle, with one forefoot holding the stones, but finally he took a deep breath and launched himself into the air. He was only just learning to fly, but it wasn’t far, although the ground (or should that be water?) takeoff and the quick climb and turn made it hard. He dropped onto the grass a little short of his friend, panting but proud, and hopped forward on three legs to pour the stones onto the ground before the other’s claws. “There! You can count these, right? These are better than fish.”
The older hatchling stared at the pebbles, brow wrinkled, as if trying to figure out where they’d come from. Or maybe he didn’t like them. The younger dragon’s heart sank, but then another idea came to him. “Oh! Or like this.” Sinking into a belly-crouch next to his friend, he picked up one stone between his claw tips and flicked it into the river. Round ripples circled out and spread across the mostly quiet water. “You can count the ripples.”
For a long moment, the other dragon said nothing, did nothing, and the hatchling found himself holding his breath. Then one forefoot shifted, closed claws onto a moonwhite quartz pebble.
Plink.
The silence that followed the stone hitting the water stretched out like the ripples expanding outward from their center; like the ripples, it settled toward stillness, toward calm, and the hatchling released his held breath. “Is that good?” he asked softly.
“...yeah.”
Satisfied, the hatchling settled more comfortably at his friend’s side. In the distance, he could hear the constant rush and rumble of the waterfalls; close by, the liquid murmur of the slow current, the musical splash of another stone.
Plink.
Relaxing in the sun, he felt himself growing drowsy; he didn’t really want to doze off again, but the gentle tug was so strong. It made the world seem to shimmer like the sun-scaled stream before his eyes.
Ploonk.
A little daring, he wriggled the least bit to one side and leaned his head against his friend’s shoulder. “Is this all right?” he asked, feeling the other dragon go tense beneath him. After a thoughtful pause, that stiffness lessened, not vanishing entirely, but enough.
“Yeah.”
That was a gift; a much greater one than a claw full of pebbles. His heart beat warm, wide as the sky. And as he wondered if he could ever give back anything so precious-plip went another stone, that must have been a small one-a slow certainty rose up in him like a bubble of air, a knowing ascending from some dark deep toward the sun, true and sure.
“Suufu,” he said dreamily. “Your name is Suufu.”
And before his gaze shuttered closed, he saw his friend’s wild, white glance of surprise, as their eyes met directly for the first time.
The tiger-striped hatchling-Suufu, now-watched the last ripples fade. There were no more stones, but it was all right; it was fine. He felt calm enough, at least. The familiar prickling crawled beneath his scales where the other hatchling was leaning against him, asleep, but it was faint, just below the level of irritation, though he was constantly aware of it.
It was strange how little it bothered him, compared to the touch of most dragons.
Lifting his gaze from the slow, shadowed-but-clear water below him, he winced, scowling, then looked away from the painfully bright, shifting sun-dapples that silvered the rest of the river. Instead he glanced down at the smaller dragon by his side. The white hatchling’s whiskers stirred with each breath; his eyes were closed, and his green mane rumpled up against Suufu’s ivory-and-brown-striped shoulder. His smoke-patterned wings lay slack. Suufu studied his right foreleg, outstretched on the grass: the pale, cool iridescence of the scales, the subtle play of colors, fascinating but not too overpowering.
Just right.
And dipping his head closer, Suufu began counting the tiny scales, starting from the smallest, innermost toe-not from need, this time, because that driving impulse wasn’t there, but instead from a curious want-and he found in it an odd, tentative comfort, a sense of ease, and of wonder.
One.
Two.
Three....
Here's the white hatchling, who eventually chooses the name Hakukin. (Click through to see how he currently looks.)
And here's Suufu:
In my clan, dragons aren't typically named at birth by their parents. Instead, the name comes later on, usually either while they're a hatchling or just at the cusp of young adulthood, and the dragon can either find their name themselves or be named by someone else. It most often isn't a deliberate choice, either; more like a sudden inspiration striking, as happens here.
And wow, was it a pain writing a story where the two characters have no names for most of it....
Title: Counting Ripples
Fandom: Flight Rising
Length: 1080 words
Rating: Teen
Summary: Just two friends being friends together.
(This story is set a little before " Kyrszith's Price.")
The hatchling woke with a start when his chin hit the ground, and he jerked his head up with a half-sneeze, half-snort. Blinking, he looked around. Bright green, brighter blue-for a moment he was confused, and then he remembered. It was afternoon, he was on the river bank, and the sun was warm on his scales, glitter-dazzling on the water. He must have dozed off.
He stretched out his fore-toes, wiggling them and digging his claws into the tufty grass, then looked up at the other dragon beside him. The older hatchling was staring down into the stream, his pale eyes half open but focused, not sleepy at all. His leaf-green wings fanned slowly, like a resting butterfly’s but with a precise rhythm, like a beating heart.
At least, the younger hatchling thought, those wings were calmer than they’d been when the two of them had come down to the river side. He must have been right, to coax the other dragon to come out there with him.
“Are you still counting fish?” he wondered.
“Yeah.” The other dragon’s voice was flat; it sounded harsh and rude, but the hatchling knew it wasn’t meant to be. That was just the way his friend talked. Curious, he looked down into the water himself.
“How many have you counted?”
“Twenty-three.” The dragon’s whiskers twitched, restless and irritable. “But they keep moving around. So I can’t tell whether I’ve counted the same ones before or not.”
“Does that bother you?” the hatchling asked. He was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but it was better to ask.
“Yeah.”
“Hmm.” The hatchling thought for a moment, then scrambled to his feet. “Wait here-just a minute!” He trotted along the bank until he found a place where it sloped more gently toward the water, and he slid down to the narrow strip of silty land at the bottom. Both the bank and the river bottom were more sand and mud than anything else, but he finally found a clutch of water-smoothed pebbles. He scooped them up, rinsing the dirt from them carefully-and from his feet and legs and tail, while he was there in the water, until the white scales shone clean again.
How to get back up the bank was a puzzle, with one forefoot holding the stones, but finally he took a deep breath and launched himself into the air. He was only just learning to fly, but it wasn’t far, although the ground (or should that be water?) takeoff and the quick climb and turn made it hard. He dropped onto the grass a little short of his friend, panting but proud, and hopped forward on three legs to pour the stones onto the ground before the other’s claws. “There! You can count these, right? These are better than fish.”
The older hatchling stared at the pebbles, brow wrinkled, as if trying to figure out where they’d come from. Or maybe he didn’t like them. The younger dragon’s heart sank, but then another idea came to him. “Oh! Or like this.” Sinking into a belly-crouch next to his friend, he picked up one stone between his claw tips and flicked it into the river. Round ripples circled out and spread across the mostly quiet water. “You can count the ripples.”
For a long moment, the other dragon said nothing, did nothing, and the hatchling found himself holding his breath. Then one forefoot shifted, closed claws onto a moonwhite quartz pebble.
Plink.
The silence that followed the stone hitting the water stretched out like the ripples expanding outward from their center; like the ripples, it settled toward stillness, toward calm, and the hatchling released his held breath. “Is that good?” he asked softly.
“...yeah.”
Satisfied, the hatchling settled more comfortably at his friend’s side. In the distance, he could hear the constant rush and rumble of the waterfalls; close by, the liquid murmur of the slow current, the musical splash of another stone.
Plink.
Relaxing in the sun, he felt himself growing drowsy; he didn’t really want to doze off again, but the gentle tug was so strong. It made the world seem to shimmer like the sun-scaled stream before his eyes.
Ploonk.
A little daring, he wriggled the least bit to one side and leaned his head against his friend’s shoulder. “Is this all right?” he asked, feeling the other dragon go tense beneath him. After a thoughtful pause, that stiffness lessened, not vanishing entirely, but enough.
“Yeah.”
That was a gift; a much greater one than a claw full of pebbles. His heart beat warm, wide as the sky. And as he wondered if he could ever give back anything so precious-plip went another stone, that must have been a small one-a slow certainty rose up in him like a bubble of air, a knowing ascending from some dark deep toward the sun, true and sure.
“Suufu,” he said dreamily. “Your name is Suufu.”
And before his gaze shuttered closed, he saw his friend’s wild, white glance of surprise, as their eyes met directly for the first time.
The tiger-striped hatchling-Suufu, now-watched the last ripples fade. There were no more stones, but it was all right; it was fine. He felt calm enough, at least. The familiar prickling crawled beneath his scales where the other hatchling was leaning against him, asleep, but it was faint, just below the level of irritation, though he was constantly aware of it.
It was strange how little it bothered him, compared to the touch of most dragons.
Lifting his gaze from the slow, shadowed-but-clear water below him, he winced, scowling, then looked away from the painfully bright, shifting sun-dapples that silvered the rest of the river. Instead he glanced down at the smaller dragon by his side. The white hatchling’s whiskers stirred with each breath; his eyes were closed, and his green mane rumpled up against Suufu’s ivory-and-brown-striped shoulder. His smoke-patterned wings lay slack. Suufu studied his right foreleg, outstretched on the grass: the pale, cool iridescence of the scales, the subtle play of colors, fascinating but not too overpowering.
Just right.
And dipping his head closer, Suufu began counting the tiny scales, starting from the smallest, innermost toe-not from need, this time, because that driving impulse wasn’t there, but instead from a curious want-and he found in it an odd, tentative comfort, a sense of ease, and of wonder.
One.
Two.
Three....
Here's the white hatchling, who eventually chooses the name Hakukin. (Click through to see how he currently looks.)
And here's Suufu:
In my clan, dragons aren't typically named at birth by their parents. Instead, the name comes later on, usually either while they're a hatchling or just at the cusp of young adulthood, and the dragon can either find their name themselves or be named by someone else. It most often isn't a deliberate choice, either; more like a sudden inspiration striking, as happens here.
And wow, was it a pain writing a story where the two characters have no names for most of it....