I

The dragon smiled.

Balto, no longer than ten feet from tail-tip to nose, swooped through the air, nearly nosediving straight into the wheat field below, before pulling his wings back and soaring back into the sky just as quickly as he had descended. As he swooped over, the young dragon ran his clawed fingers lazily through the crops, enjoying the ticklish feeling they gave his paw.

 Working his wings a little harder, the young drake propelled forward, thoroughly enjoying how the cool, morning air flowed over his wings and each of his exposed scales. The young dragon searched his mind for a word to describe how he was flying. He felt content in that moment, like he could simply glide forever.

I wonder how high I could go?

There was a pinch at his side from the straps and buckles of his carrying harness that brought the poor creature back to reality. Using one of his hind claws, he reached up and pulled the chafing material at his side, relieving it somewhat. He needed to make a proper adjustment, he knew, but it would have to wait until his route was finished and he was home again.

Not far ahead of him, on the road leading to Carville, Balto spotted a familiar red truck with a man and his son looking under the hood. Careful of the electrical lines running parallel to the road, Balto circled just above them and called out a kind greeting and good morning.

“Good mornin’, Balto!” Junior called back, waving his whole body with his wave. 

“Mornin’,” Mr. Bunsen replied, shielding his eyes from the early morning glare.

Balto looked into the bed of the truck and spotted their small haul of vegetables and, by the smell of it, butchered meats. The scent of it wafting upwards into his nostrils gave the dragon a rumbling stomach that distracted him for a second. 

He had skipped breakfast to start his route on time. It wasn’t the first time he had slept in too late, not even the first time that week, but he was working on it. He was saving up his occasional penny-tips for one of the fancy clocks that his brother Harry had in his room that made noise when you wanted.

I want a blue one just like Harry's.

Except this one would be Balto’s.

Shaking his head and recovering a steadily declining altitude, Balto asked, “Is there something I can do for you?”

Mr. Bunsen nodded. “Can ya tell tha missus that the truck broke down? Won’t be long to fix, just don’t want her worryin’.” He mumbled something under his breath about spark plugs.

“Aye aye!” Balto cried, saluting playfully before flitting off towards Carville.

Truck broke down. Didn’t want you to worry. Truck broke down…

+++

Carville’s flight balcony occupied an entire acre of land at the edge of town. The structure was shaped like a large wooden triangle, the sides of which had been muraled by passing artists and graffiti enthusiasts. The town’s nearby powerlines took sharp turns around the block of land, giving Balto easy coming and going from the village. He still eyed the hanging wires nervously, though, like they might--through a series of events only possible in his young mind--fall onto him or attack him with their electrical tendrils. 

He always shuddered at those thoughts.

Balto landed on the flight balcony landing platform with a heavy thump and made his way down the oversized staircase that made up the majority of the flight balcony’s shape. It was always slow going and Balto never quite got the hang of going down stairs. The angle of his body and head when going down was disorienting and sometimes it felt like he might simply tip forward and stumble the rest of the way down.

He felt like the building was built for older, bigger dragons.

Stumbling dizzily from the end of the stairs, Balto took a dizzied moment to grab a stack of letters from the pouch pressing against his left ribs. He cycled through them quickly to ensure their correct order for his route, and slipped them back into his pouch before heading into town.

Toothy smiles and happy waves from porch lounging humans and their playing children gave Balto a swell of happiness in his chest. He waved back with his tail each time, smiling the whole time.

He was careful not to show any teeth, though. He knew that it scared some people or their dogs. Dogs especially didn’t like it when he smiled.

Stopping at his first house, a beige thing with far too many windows, he was greeted by Mrs. Bunsen, who patted him on the head before giving him a cookie shaped like a bone. He swallowed the tart treat down quickly, and placed a set of three envelopes into the woman’s hand.

“Thank you, handsome boy,” she told him as she rubbed his cheek and behind his ear. He leaned into the touch, purring at it. It had been a long time since someone rubbed his head.

Suddenly the dragon jerked out of his purring trance, startling the woman slightly, and said, “Mr. Bunsen is on his way. He said that his truck broke down and didn’t want you to worry.”

Mrs. Bunsen rolled her eyes and said, “Tut tut. I told that man to get it looked at yesterday, but he thought I was hearing things. I bet it was those damned spark plugs he pulled outta Jim Herrington’s truck the other week. I knew they would be bad.”

“How did you know?” 

She blinked at the dragon repeatedly. Balto recognized confusion but wasn't sure how she could be confused by his question. 

“Well...you know…” She simply shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand. Go on along and get back to work.”

He frowned at Mrs. Bunsen as she turned on her heel and trotted back towards her front door. 

How did she know though?

The young drake made his way deeper into the village, delivering letters to Mr. Henderson, Ms. Jackson, Mr. and Mrs. Herrington, all of whom thanked Balto for his service and sent him on his way with a chest bubbly with pride.

The Herringtons, however, seemed quite lovely and didn’t give off any sign that their spark plugs would be bad. They were new to Carville, so maybe Mrs. Henson just didn't know them very well.

Balto had no idea what a spark plug even was.

Balto gobbled up another cookie from Mrs. Herrington, this one shaped like a square and smelled like canned meat, and hurried back in a trot of his own across the village to the flight balcony. The young dragon made giant strides upwards towards the platform, finally launching himself over the edge with unfurled wings and a steady incline. 

He pointed himself east for Newman.

+++

From the backyard of his home, digging a new hole for additions to his garden, a man glared up at Balto as the drake’s shadow passed over him. He sneered momentarily and continued digging.

He didn’t notice that Balto had waved at him, hoping for a wave back and smiling as he did, and Balto hadn't noticed the disgust in the man's expression.

He probably didn't see. 

Newman didn’t have a proper flight balcony like Carville. There had been one before, from what Balto’s older sister Susie had told him, but the residents of Newman had it torn down a few years before the dragon had started his daily routes. When Balto had asked why, his sister hadn’t had an answer at the time. All she said was, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

Well, he was older now, but no one would explain why he had to land on the rough gravel road running parallel to Newman, or when he needed to depart he had to climb to the top of a tree or ask for permission to use someone’s roof, which was more often than naught laughed at entirely. 

Balto decided after a while to only use the tree he found at the edge of town. It wasn’t very tall, but at least it gave him safe access to the sky and a little starting altitude.

It seemed simply much more convenient for everyone if they just built a flight balcony for him. It’d be much easier for him to deliver their mail and his paws wouldn't ache so much after landing.

Also it'd be a nice place to rest. I'm getting kinda tired...

Balto danced for a moment on the road before leaping into the dewy grass nearby, soothing the pain in his paws. He spent a few moments inspecting his paws for stabbing pebbles or stuck rocks. He massaged the painful bruises he had accumulated from his recent routes, wincing at the most tender spots. Satisfied with the safety of his feet from the treacherous gravel road, the young dragon hopped towards town.

It wasn’t a far trek to the town’s post office from the outside of town, maybe fifteen minutes, but the town of Newman made Balto anxious. He had noticed fairly early on that the people of Newman were not very excited to receive their mail. He had two pouches full of letters for them but no one ever smiled and waved at him, let alone offer little cookies like Mrs. Herrington or Mrs. Bunsen did.

He still put on a smile, though. It was fake, but Balto knew smiling helped put people at ease. It always helped him, at least, when people smiled back. 

Maybe they don't like smiling at strangers. Maybe it's rude to them...

The Newman Post Office was a squat brick building that had only two windows on either side of the front entrance. Sloppily painted block letter told the business hours as well as a “no shirt, no shoes, no service” warning. There was dragon-shaped silhouette with a big star on its chest on the sign, too, but Balto wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean. He remembered hearing something about stars on the news radio when he was younger, but it was boring and Balto decided to play outside instead of listen.

Parked on the curb was a rusty car that Balto couldn’t hope to name. He could name the owner of it, however, and it made the dragon rumble unhappily: Mr. Fitzgerald, an elderly man that liked to flick Balto’s nose whenever the drake spoke. Balto didn’t like him very much, but knew that Mr. Fitzgerald was a former marine and Father had been very explicit about respecting past and current servicemen. 

The young dragon pressed on the door hurriedly, pushing inside. 

Except he didn’t go inside. The door didn't budge, if only jiggled in place. The dragon felt his snout press harshly into the glass before he recoiled in pain. He rubbed his snout a little and jostled the glass door a few times in confusion.

Locked? It should never be locked at this time.

Looking through the door, Balto eyed the hands of a hanging clock just above a grouping of PO boxes. He was early by a few minutes, and knocked on the glass pane twice impatiently. Mr. Fitzgerald must have forgotten to unlock the door.

…

…

…

Peering inside, eyeing this way and that, he couldn’t see Mr. Fitzgerald at the front counter where he was normally, but squinting, the young dragon spotted the man’s smooth top behind some boxes just past the counter. He knocked again and called out, a little louder this time, hoping his voice would reach the old man.

“Hey! I have your mail!” Balto cried after yet another long pause. He reached into both of his chest pouches and held a stack of letters in both paws; they were neatly bundled together with crisscrossing red strings. “Mr. Fitzgerald? Hello?!”

Balto’s eyes darted to the clock again, but resigned himself to knowing he was on time.

“What?!” 

Balto yelped and jolted in place, dropping the stacks of letters onto the concrete pavement. He yelped again and scrambled to pick up the letters and clutch them to his chest.

Mr. Fitzgerald had appeared in the door, almost magically, and began undoing the door's locks. 

“You’re late,” he snapped, snatching a stack of letters from the dragon’s outstretched paw.

Balto cocked his head and told the old man, “But I’ve been here for a couple of minutes now. I was calling for you…”

Just as he feared, the man snapped a finger onto his nostril, making him recoil and whine. 

Ow...why do you do that?

“You were late,” Mr. Fitzgerald repeated, this time angrily. “I’m going to have to call your…‘father’ about this.”

Balto leapt up a few feet away from the man, but remained in his submissive, head-down, flat-eared stance. The dragon whined audibly and muttered, “No, please don’t! I’ve been doing so good! He’s going to take my stamps again!”

The old man rolled his eyes and snarled, “I don’t have a choice, dragon…” The man’s face softened greatly and he turned a sympathetic eye onto the dragon. “...unless…” he added.

Oh no...

“Unless?” Balto echoed. The dragon let himself smile a little. 

“I need you to take something somewhere for me.”

The dragon’s ears flattened again and he began stumbling over his words. “I...I...I can’t do that. Father said it was my number one rule. Everything has to be sent through the appropriate channels…”

Balto’s mind traveled back in time and he shuddered.

The old man rolled his eyes some more and said, “You do this for me and I won’t tell your ‘father’ that you were late or that you did this little favor for me. You’re heading to Clifford next, aren’t you?”

Balto nodded and flexed his paws on the concrete while his tail curled around his own back ankle.

“Good, that’s where my daughter lives.” Retreating inside for a moment, the old man returned with a thickly stuffed envelope. Balto stared at it for a moment as the man held it out for him to take.

“I...I really...I really shouldn’t.”

“I will call him right now,” the man snarled, pulling his arm back a little.

Balto’s eyes watered and his chest heaved as he reached forward, taking the envelope from the man. The dragon felt ready to collapse with terror and shame. “F-fine. I-I’ll do it...j-just don’t tell my dad…please?” 

Balto looked at the front of the envelope and noticed a problem.

“There’s...there isn’t an address.”

“Yes, she lives on Four-One...no, two...no, it’s one. Four-One-Seven Wood Street, and she needs this today. It is very important. Four-One-Seven Wood Street. Now repeat that.”

“Four-One-Seven Wood Street…”

“Now again.”

“Four…” Balto sighed. “Four-One-Seven Wood Street...”

“Good dragon. I know you lizards have bad memories…”

That wasn’t true at all. Balto was rather proud of the times he beat Harry in Match Up.

“Actually, I have a really…” Balto explained. Almost instantly, a finger inflicted pain to his snout. It made him yelp irately. 

Stop that!

“I don’t care what you have. Get going!”

Stuffing the envelope into an empty chest pouch during a three legged run away from the Newman Post office, the young drake repeated the address to himself over and over again until he was panting from the run.

Within minutes, Balto was scaling a large, claw scratched tree at the edge of town and was in the air, crying to himself and full of shame and worry.

+++

Balto’s eyes had dried long before he reached Clifford, but his chest still ached and felt heavy from the weight of his newly acquired contraband. It felt like lying.

With his mind still racing with possibilities and probablies, Balto landed awkwardly on the rundown remains of Clifford’s flight balcony, a rickety, lean structure held together with little more than faith and lack of consistent use. The structure rumbled and groaned at the drake’s harsh, fumbled landing. Balto waited a few seconds before heading down, feeling claustrophobic in the stair corridor leading to ground level.

The young dragon was feeling every awful thing he could think of, and it still felt like the walls were getting closer. He sniffled, kept his head down, and looked at each individual stair he touched.

Four-One-Seven Wood Street...Four-One-Seven Wood Street…

“Four-One-Seven Wood Street,” he said aloud again and again until he noticed that he was back on soft earth again, safe from the constricting maw of the flight balcony. 

He checked his final pouch and found the letters he was meant to deliver. He rifled through them a few times, losing track of his thoughts and actions a few times and having to restart. 

Father won’t know. Plus...plus she really needs her mail today. She’ll be so happy…

Taking a deep breath, Balto forced another smile.

Father probably won’t even be mad if he found out…

The young dragon remembered how much mail he had agreed to take from people to deliver on his very first route and how it had left him stranded, crying in a cornfield for a few hours. Balto's smile became softer, realer, suddenly realizing Father had simply been worried for Balto’s safety when he had enacted the rule. 

One isn’t bad. No one has to know.

Mr. and Mrs. Holman were playing with their children in their backyard when Balto arrived at their gated, chain-link fence. Instead of bothering the family to notify them, he slipped their envelope into their mailbox, lifted the little red flag on the side, and went on his merry way down the street, repeating the process whenever someone wasn’t already waiting for him. The people of Clifford didn’t like to sit on their porches as much as the people of Carville or Newman did, but Balto always recognized that the people of Clifford didn’t have many fancy patios with wire mesh walls to keep bugs out or swings to rock back and forth in.

Balto knew he wouldn’t want to sit somewhere that he would be bit by mosquitoes or bothered by gnats, so he understood why they weren’t waiting for him very often like other places did.

At Mr. Spooner’s home, the aging, liver spotted man came out of his lovely two-story home, limping on his cane with a smile on his face. He accepted a duo of envelopes before frowning at one of them.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes, yes…” He grimaced before walking back inside. “Thank you, Bradley.”

“It’s…” the dragon started, but fell short as the man closed his front door. The dragon’s ears flattened as he said his name out loud quietly.

He touched his chest pouch again and said to himself, “Four-One-Seven Wood Street.” He was only a block away, so he hurried there, stopping just long enough to be startled, and to startle, a young woman walking her dog, which started barking at him angrily. The woman shooed Balto away after regaining her composure.

Apologizing profusely for scaring them, the dragon continued his rush, a little slower now, to Mr. Fitzgerald’s daughter’s home. He knew better than to run in town. Running always scared people.

Arriving at Four-One-Seven Wood Street, Balto looked up and down the street in confusion. There were only a handful of houses on the street, but most of them looked abandoned, unlived in, and unsafe to live in at that. He noticed on the house directly across from Four-One-Seven the roof had collapsed from where a fire had been. 

Cocking his head anxiously back to his destination, he eyed the windows and porch. There was a garden of dead or dying flowers on either side of the porch steps and a black mailbox to match it. The paint was peeling off the exterior and the concrete foundation had a large crack in it. A window shutter banged loudly and rhythmically and made the dragon flinch slightly each time, waves of fear forming from deep in him.

The shutter slammed loudly again and again...

Eyeing the front door for a few minutes, Balto thought he saw the curtain move in his periphery, but he couldn’t be sure once he snapped his eyes at it. A breeze blew lightly over his head, but it was cold and unwelcoming even though it was nice and warm outside.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

...and again...

“Ms. Fitzgerald?” Balto called out, lifting the gate latch and slipping into the property. “I have something for you! It’s from your dad!” The dragon rummaged through his pouches, forgetting which one he had kept the envelope in. He held it up in full view of the windows. “I...I’ll put it in your mailbox.”

...and again...

Sliding the envelope in, Balto stared hopefully at the windows and front door. 

...and…

The shutter had stopped.

And it made Balto tense and tremble in place. He had been counting the shutter slams.

His mind raced to scary stories Harry had told him when he was little.

He remembered one about a woman eating young drakes for getting close to her home.

He remembered that the story ended with someone finding their bones in her backyard.

Balto stared at the corner of the house as he started backing away. He jolted in place when his tail brushed against the fence blocking his way out.

...the shutter returned with its friends.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The front door cracked open.

The dragon, letting out a frightened yelp, scrambled through the gate and took massive leaps and bounds in his panic, nearly flying down the road at random just to escape the monster behind him.

He felt something tickle the tip of his tail. The wind and his blood roared in his ear, but that didn't muffle the roar of whatever was behind him.

When he was a safe distance away, he cowered behind a tree in someone’s front yard. It was hardly thick enough to conceal him, but still he let himself relax when he found that nothing had followed him; nothing came close to nipping off the tip of his tail or to putting his bones in their backyard.

Balto felt a fresh, cool breeze sending refreshing shudders down his back and through his wings. He touched his tail to a side pouch instinctively, feeling for the remaining few letters left, and looked towards Baker Street not far from his hiding spot.

A screen door behind him shrieked to life and slammed shut, sounding like shutters.

“Get off my lawn, you stupid animal!”

Balto didn’t look back at the approaching voice. Instead, he leapt forward, scraping up some dirt, and ran towards his usual route.

+++

Balto slipped envelope after envelope into people’s mailboxes: some on posts at the edge of their property, some hung from porch railings. He came to his last envelope and house. It was a small home, smaller than all the others. It had no upper floor, but the front lawn was huge with small patches of flowers scattered seemingly at random. It was simply brimming with colors, almost an intoxicating amount of them. 

The house had been painted a soft blue color, almost like Balto’s scales, and the patio (which was little more than a large rectangle of concrete) had the usual outside chair and table like other houses but looked distinctly handmade and unique. There was a fence and a garage, of course, but they were generic, pragmatic, and had a little notice at the end letting the world know who had built it. 

In his curiosity, Balto always wanted to meet whoever lived there, but had never actually delivered anything to the house before. 

Until now...

He looked at the name addressed on the envelope and read it aloud: “L. Watson…”

There wasn’t a mailbox that he could see, but on the front door, there was a metal slot that Balto had seen only at home or on post office boxes.

The dragon stepped through the gate and followed the flagstone pathway to the porch, clutching the envelope to his chest and making the walk on three legs. He looked around slowly as he made his way up to the stranger’s front door. 

Something was different though. 

The sun shined differently there. It felt brighter, but in a softer...kinder way, and was warmer, but not uncomfortably so...like it was perfect to bask in…

I haven’t basked in...in a long time...

Balto took a moment to inspect some of the random assortment of flowers sprouting near the walkway, sniffing them curiously and sneezing when the pollen irritated his nose a little too much. He was smiling and laughing at himself when the front door opened, and a man came out onto his porch.

“May I help you?” he asked. 

Balto jerked sideways away from Mr. Watson, lowered himself into a submissive form, and held out the envelope for the man to see. The man watched curiously.

“I’m sorry…” Balto mumbled. “I...I got distracted…”

After a moment of looking down, the man waved his hand and shook his head. “Forget about it. Come here.”

Balto obeyed the request, rushing over to the porch and presenting the envelope to the man like it was a precious gem. The man took it and immediately tossed it to the table, which Balto now saw was topped with something like a mural but burned into the wooden top.

“What’s your name?” the man asked, taking a seat in the solitary chair on the porch.

“Uhm...Balto, sir.”

“Balto?” The man smirked. “I’m assuming after the dog…”

“Dog?”

“Yeah, the sled dog up in Alaska.”

“I don’t know anything about a dog, but I’m named after Balto the Serum-driver.” Balto’s eyes lit up as he spoke. “He took a huge, really big shipment of medicine from anchorage to this little place in Nome all by himself.”

Smiling at the young dragon, the man exclaimed, “I didn’t know that. Surely there’s more to that story.”

He doesn’t know!

Balto nodded rapidly, hopping forward and planting himself before the table.

“He was told that due to a giant snowstorm coming in, they had no one that was willing to take the medicine. Everyone was awfully scared of getting frozen out there…”

“Except for Balto?” Mr. Watson finished.

“Yes! He knew he couldn’t make the whole trip himself, though, so he coordinated with another dragon who would meet him halfway and he set out into the blizzard, covered in the thickest pelts and coats they could make for him.” The dragon propped himself up on the table with his front paws, and despite his excitement, he was careful not to scratch the pretty-looking table. “Through endless ice and wind and many close calls like being blown into a ice cavern and climbing out with only his claws and being chased by a pack of bears, Balto made it to the hand-off point but…”

“But?”

“But the other dragon wasn’t there!”

“That’s horrible! What happened?” Mr. Watson’s faux sincerity was lost on Balto. He was too busy telling the story of his namesake.

“The dragon--Cooper was his name--got lost in the storm and fell into ice water when he landed. No one had heard from him for days! But Balto didn’t know that. He waited for exactly two days, huddled in the abandoned cave of another pack of bears, with nothing but his own fire to keep him warm after having lost all of his pelts and coats.

“He waited for two days, counting out each hour, before he knew what he needed to do. He was going to make the rest of the trip himself. He was low on supplies and the satchels were beginning to fail...the threads coming loose before his very eyes. He had to carry the load with his paws now or it might have fallen in the blistering wind!

“He made his way, starving and freezing, the rest of the way to Nome where they found him just outside of town, nearly dead. After delivering the medicine to those that needed it, Balto was nursed back to health and given a hero's welcome when he returned home the following spring. He did lose a leg though. Frostbite got it. They had to amputerate…”

“Amputate,” Mr. Watson corrected.

Dummy. You knew that...

“Yeah. They had to amputate it but it was one of his hinds so he could still deliver all the mail they needed him too.”

“That was a fascinating story, Balto. You have some pretty big shoes to fill, huh?”

The young drake nodded. “My dad told me that story and even showed me headlines about it that he found in one of his old books. It was a long time ago, a long time before I was even an egg.”

Mr. Watson smiled at the dragon’s whimsical mood.

“I’ve never seen you before,” Balto stated. “Did you just move here? This place has always been really pretty though.”

“No, no, I’ve lived here for quite a while now. I just prefer to come out later in the day, probably after you’re gone. Oh, I’m being rude,” Mr. Watson stated, and before Balto could reject the notion for him, he added, “My name is Lee Watson.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Watson.”

“Oh, it’s alright if you just call me Lee. I haven’t been ‘Mr. Watson’ in about half a decade or so.”

Cocking his head curiously, Balto chirped for an answer to his unspoken question.

“I used to be a teacher,” he answered. “An English teacher, specifically, and when I retired, I stopped having people call me Mr. Watson. Additionally, being called Lee is quite nice after twenty years of ‘Mr., Mr., Mr.’.”

“I like ‘Lee’. Are you named after someone?”

“I don’t think so. Lee is actually fairly common where my family is from.”

“So you’re not named after a famous teacher?”

“Not everyone is named after someone, let alone after someone they look up to like you.”

Balto let the thought ruminate in his mind for a moment, but decided he liked where his name came from.

“What’s teaching like?” he asked instead.

Lee was caught off guard how quickly the dragon moved from subject to subject. He made a nostalgic face, looking right past Balto for a moment.

“Well...I enjoyed it, even if I wasn’t as appreciated as I wanted to be…”

“Is that why you quit?” Balto met Lee’s eyes for a few seconds, innocent curiosity shining towards the man. 

Lee swallowed, smirked, and said, “No, it was something a bit more personal than that. Would you like something to drink?”

Balto smacked his lips a few times, noting how dry they and his throat felt. He nodded.

Maybe I should ask about a pillow too? I need a nap.

The man stood up and approached his front door. “Okay then. Do you like tea, or would you prefer some lemonade?”

“Tea?”

“Yes, tea.”

“What is that?”

Lee furrowed his brow at the dragon. “Tea? You’ve never heard of tea before?”

Balto shook his head. “Well, actually, Mother has guests over for tea sometimes but I’m supposed to stay in my shed when they come over. She says it for adults…”

Lee decided against asking about Balto’s “shed”, and instead said, “Well, I can assure you that anyone can have tea. It’s essentially just a powder in a bag that you dip into hot water. I’ll go set a pot on so we can try some together. I just bought a new box.”

Balto watched intently as the man returned inside, glimpsing inside. The whole of it was dimly lit and difficult to make out any details. There was a bookshelf but that was only a blurry outline, and he couldn’t make out any of the titles before the door shut again.

The young dragon’s toes flexed again and again on the concrete patio. He stared at the strange art on the table, and looked around the yard, enjoying the view of so many pretty colors and floral arrangements. The closest thing home had to something like Mr. Wat...Lee’s yard were the bushes in front of the house, but those were all green and ugly.

The door squeaked open and Lee came out with a large volume under his armpit and a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

“Can you read, Balto?”

“Well, of course I can. I can’t deliver mail without being able to.”

“No, I mean…” Lee set the book onto the table and flipped to a random page. He placed his finger on a spot in the book and asked, “Can you read this for me?”

Spinning it around, Balto eyed the text and grimaced: “Every...one...in the...room...was now looking at him. ‘A song’ showed...no, shouted...one of the...the...I don’t know what a…” He squinted again. “Hubbits?”

“Hobbits,” Lee corrected, shutting the book. 

“I’m sorry.” The dragon’s ears flattened in dejection at the sound the book made as it snapped shut. “I guess I’m not very good at reading, huh?”

“It takes practice to be fast at it. Would you like to practice?”

The drake gave another curious chirp and head cock. 

“Take it home with you,” Lee said, gesturing to the book on the table. “I’m not going to read it for a while, if ever. I don’t like rereading books.”

Balto looked from the book to Lee again and again, eventually touching the cover with a paw, pulling it closer to himself. He shuffled in place nervously.

“I...I can’t…” he finally answered, pushing it back. “I’m not allowed to accept gifts from people I deliver too.” Balto thought about the cookies and pennies he was given sometimes, but figured snacks and pennies didn’t quite count.

“Well, it’s a good thing it isn’t a gift,” Lee replied quickly, putting his hand over Balto’s paw and pushing the book towards him again. “I’m lending it to you to read. I’m going to want it back eventually.”

Balto glanced between the two again. “Are you wanting me to do something for you? Like take something somewhere...”

“No favors. Just bring it back one day. Preferably all in one piece.”

The dragon looked at the book for a moment, turning it over in his paws again and again. Balto brought the book up to his chest, and purred deeply, really smiling. 

“I’ll take good care of it,” Balto mumbled, sliding the book into one of his front pouches.

There was a sharp continuous whistle from inside the house that startled the young drake.

“That was fast. That’s the tea. Let’s try some before you head out.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lee,” Balto mumbled, leaving a paw on the pouch containing the book. Lee didn’t bother correcting the young dragon. Instead he went inside and prepared their tea.

+++

Balto returned home with the taste of tea still on his mind. It was strange, but not unpleasant. He wondered the whole way home if he should have accepted Mr. Watson’s offer of sugar or milk, and resigned himself to asking the next time he made it into Clifford.

After losing track of time, thinking about tea, milk, and sugar in no particularly coherent train of thought, Balto saw the top of home peaking over the horizon, just as the sun was hitting its highest point. He could feel the heat beating down on his back and wings, and with the cool breeze of air over his wings, the warmth felt like freedom and happiness…

...while the sight of home brought worry and anxiety.

He couldn’t decide which he should feel more.

The young drake approached the estate, flying over the brick and mortar wall enclosing the property, over the double-storied house itself, over Balto’s own personal shed, and towards the dishevelled flight balcony near the back of the estate. 

Balto set down lightly, requiring a semicircle turn to land the right direction. The building, about half as tall as the one in Carville, was new but poorly constructed. He was still waiting for one of Father’s friends to come finish putting it together so he wouldn’t be worried about it falling apart under him.

Touching the book through the pouch again, the dragon smiled excitedly and began a mad rush down a u-shaped staircase, tripping at the very bottom and rolling. He shook his head dizzily and resumed his sprint towards home. He slapped his paws against yards and yards of lawn, passing his shed, and jumped to a halt at the rear entrance of home.

Balto tapped his tail on the door twice and waited.

Within moments a large woman in an apron waddled to the door and began cursing at Balto in a different language. The dragon simply smiled and waited until Mrs. García gestured for him to come in.

“You don’t have to knock on the door, mi pequeño diablo. You live here.” Balto simply nodded to her, smiling to himself. Seeing his smirk, she turned away and added under her breath, “Voy a poner pasas en tu sándwich, pequeña mierda.”

Balto followed Mrs. García away from the backdoor into the adjacent laundry room where she was folding clothes. “Is Father home? I didn’t see his car out front.”

“Yes, he let Harry borrow the car to go pick up a friend for the weekend.” The woman smiled at Balto, patted him on the head, and sent him out of the laundry room.

Prancing down the hall running through the whole house like an artery, Balto passed the dining room, the kitchen, and downstairs bathroom before coming to the living room. He spotted Mother’s red curls over the couch and leapt into her field of view excitedly, hardly able to wait to show her Mr. Watson’s book, but as soon as she saw him, she held up a finger for him to be quiet, eyes fear-widened.

Balto looked at the infant, Leslie, cradled in her arms, noticing finally that she was feeding and calmly resting as she did so. He smiled and went a little closer to inspect his new sister, but was immediately pushed back with a foot against his chest.

Mother shook her head. “When she’s older, Balto, we don’t want to scare her.”

The drake nodded sadly but quickly remembered, “Do you still think that I’ll get to eat dinner with the family tonight?”

Mother smiled and nodded. “As long as you’re home in time, I don’t see why not. You’ve been a good boy lately, even if you’ve been a little lazy with sleeping in.”

Balto smiled, chirped happily--and quietly, and went to the stairs.

Awkwardly making his way up the steps, trying his best not to catch his claws in the carpeting as he went, he pranced down the hall, lifting each leg as high as it could go with each and every step. Reaching Father’s office door and hearing the deep voice inside, Balto twisted his tail around the doorknob and pushed his way in excitedly, book retrieved from his pouch and held tightly to his chest.

“I didn’t hear a knock!” snapped Father as he placed a mighty hand over the receiver of his office phone.

Balto, with a yelp, stumbled backwards, pulling the door closed. He patted his tail against the door a few times before entering again…

“And I did not give permission to enter, dragon,” Father added coldly before Balto’s head was even fully through the door.

“I’m sorry…” Balto murmured, once again pulling the door shut. 

It wasn’t a conscious effort to listen to what Father was saying behind his door, but Balto caught a few words: “Susie”, “nurse”, and “...brother is a good boy”. Balto’s tail-tip wagged rapidly behind himself. The rest of the conversation was a muffled mess of noises that lasted little longer than a few minutes.

“You may enter,” Father called.

Balto reentered with a smile, forepaw clutching the book to his chest. Father eyed him curiously as he approached the desk on three legs and looked confusedly at the tome when Balto set it gently on top of his paperwork.

“Mr. Watson gave it to me…”

“Balto,” Father started, shaking his head and putting his face into his hands. “Why do you keep doing this?”

The young dragon looked down at himself, looking for patches of mud that he might have brought inside.

“I don’t understand, sir…” he responded when he found nothing trailing behind him.

Father picked up the book and began gesturing to the dragon with it. 

“I’ve told you countless times not to accept mail when on route. Everything needs to go through the appropriate channels!” 

Balto’s ears flattened as Father rose from behind his desk, but that wasn’t what made Balto cower. It was how Father’s voice rose with each passing word. Balto let out a submissive whimper and tried to correct Father…

“No, don’t speak!” Father snapped, making his way around, book still in hand. “I just got off the phone with Fitzgerald from Newman. He says you were late! Again!”

“But...but I...he said…”

All of Balto’s shame and fear returned.

“And now you come in here with someone’s trash to have mailed! I didn’t spend a decade fighting to have you break the rules I set over and over again.”

“It’s not trash…” Balto mumbled, avoid direct eye contact.

Father stepped directly in front of the dragon and stared down at the creature. Balto was no more than four feet tall when properly standing, let alone when he was cowering as he was, and Father’s terrifying eyes loomed overhead like approaching meteors. Balto felt himself start crying, little droplets of tears rolling off him and onto the carpet.

“I’m sorry…” 

“What did you say?”

“I’m sorry…” he repeated.

“What did you say?!”

“It…”

“Sit up!”

Balto threw himself upwards, sitting like a begging dog.

“Now answer me,” Father demanded.

“It’s...it’s not t...trash, s...sir,” Balto squeaked out, trembling, tail forming a circle around himself. “Mr. Watson said that I could read it and bring it back…”

Father rolled his eyes and waved his hand at the dragon. “I’m going to give this Mr. Watson a call, and I swear to baby Christ if I find out you just lied to me, your punishment for being late is going to be a whole hell of a lot worse.” The towering man took huge steps back to his chair, dropped the book at the half-empty bookshelf behind the desk, and sat back down.

“I’m...I’m sorry...I’m sorry, sir.” Balto, still unable to make eye contact, ran both front paws over his cheeks, wiping tears away.

“Dismissed,” Father snapped, waving towards the door. The dragon pirouette-lunged towards the door without hesitation, not even to contemplate retrieving his book. “Oh,” the man continued, halting Balto mid-stride through the doorway, “and stop your sniveling. You’re a damn dragon, so stop crying so much.”

“Y...yes, sir,” Balto replied, hurrying the rest of the way out and shutting the door quietly.

Balto’s heavy steps could be heard from the laundry room, disturbing Mrs. García’s attention from her radio shows and little Leslie from her nap, beckoning her to sob just like Balto did as he rushed past. Mother did not attempt to stop the poor drake, partly because she was irritated that he had woken Leslie, but instead closed her eyes and tried to make the infant rest with her again.

Mrs. García hardly had time to react to Balto darting past, a gust of wind behind him.

She leaned out the back door and called out worriedly to the dragon, but he was sobbing too loudly and was well on his way to the safety of his shed.

+++

Balto fell asleep crying, napping away the few hours of rest he was given between routes. He awoke calmly, partially splayed out over the edge of his nest of old blankets and ripped up hand-me-downs, and went to work organizing the next days deliveries. Afterwards, he began slipping stacks of envelopes into his pouches.

The dragon, ready to fly off again, stopped himself at the door, paw tightly holding the latch. He looked back towards his nest at the opposite end of the shed, eyeing the album protruding from underneath his nest, right under where his head always laid.

Removing the album to his worktable, Balto ran a paw over the tattered cover. He remembered the day he found Mother throwing the thing out, but the dragon, much younger than he was then, demanded he be allowed to keep it for his own uses. No one bothered asking what it was; they knew about his collection.

Balto turned the cover and smiled at his stamps, flipping through page after page until the end was abruptly cut off part way down. His collection was unfinished, but he knew it would never be. He didn’t think about that though; the young drake thought about how nice the art looked, and the little stories each one of them told. 

He ran a paw over their plastic covering, shut his eyes, and felt...at ease. 

Everything’s gunna be okay...

Shutting his collection and clutching it protectively against his chest, Balto sighed to himself. Briefly looking around his shed, he spotted a spot high up, stood only on his hinds, and placed the collection in the rafters, nestled between the slanted ceiling and the wooden support beam. Eyeing it until he was certain it wouldn’t be easily noticed, Balto readjusted his mail harness and pouches once more and left the comfortable safety of his shed, ready, more or less, for his next route.