The Caller and the Dragon

There once lived a strong and powerful dragon named Rathor. He breathed fire through his mouth and through his wings, and all of his skin was hot like a burning furnace. He could sense when any person drew near to his lair. If they did not have any light of fire within them, he would burn them to ash if they did not run fast enough and far enough.

Now Nira, the Caller, decided that this state of things must end, so she took her dark hair and braided it tightly, and took her bright, golden skin and worked in a lotion that would not let her burn, and took her dark eyes and let them call to fire.

She had no light of fire within her (she was brave). She called with her eyes and could only call one thing at a time (she was reckless). She stood on the shore of her lake, ready, and impervious to flame (she was wise). And Rathor came.

The dragon came with a roar and with fire burning from his lips and cast her way. He hung in the air above her and blew and blew a mighty gale of fire through his outstretched wings. Nira’s skin grew hot and her eyes stung, but she did not burn to ash. Rathor blew and blew, but she stood beneath him, unharmed and waiting.

Rathor bellowed his frustration and flew downward to the earth to fight her directly, for her call held him fast and he would not leave until she had been destroyed.

But when he fell, she glanced away. Her dark eyes called to fire. She turned them toward the storm.

Rathor could not see what she was about, but he struck her with his wing and she fell against the darkly scorched and barren earth. Still, she called. He raked her with his claws, and she gasped, bleeding brightly, but still, she called. He opened his mouth and burned her blood where the impervious skin had broken, and she wailed with the pain.

But there.

The clouds began to boil. The waters of the lake began to seethe. The dragon, too caught up with his prey and intent to destroy, did not heed what Nira had wrought. The waters rose and the thunder met their roaring, and lightning and furious wave mingled to cast Rathor to the darkly scorched and barren earth. Nira stood, and again it struck. She lifted her arm, and again it struck, and there was lightning in her eyes.

At last, the dragon lay dead. Nira knelt beside him, panting and ragged with blood, for he had hurt her terribly. She turned her dark eyes and let go of the storm, the wind, the water, and lay down on the shore to sleep.