My problems are twofold, well threefold; I can’t fly but I need to travel, and I can’t hunt but I need to eat.

My third problem, is the fact that the only person I have to help me with my previous two problems, is Mr. Owl over here, and he apparently does not understand the concept of a catch-22, because the ass has just gotten the “brilliant” idea to solve both my not knowing how to fly problem, and my hunger problem, by teaching me how to hunt... which, of course, requires that I know how to fly.

‘Wait, hold on, why can’t you just bring me something to eat?’ I ask.

‘Because you need the motivation,’ the owl replies.

‘What motivation?’

‘Of an empty stomach.’

‘But if you just brought me something to eat, I wouldn’t have to do anything on an empty stomach. Hell, I won’t even have to hunt at all. We could simply move on to the flying lesson.’

The owl exhales slowly. ‘Listen, dragonling...’ he begins, then pauses.

‘You don’t have a name yet, do you?’ he asks after a few seconds, and I begin to tell him that ‘of course I have a name’ before I rethink it.

I do have a name, one from my old life back on Earth, but I don’t think I want to use it anymore.

And it’s not because of any bullcrap like ‘starting over’, or ‘accepting my new reality’ or some shit. No, it’s because what the fuck kind of name is Paul for a dragon?

Like, seriously, I’m supposed to call myself Paul the Dragon? Fuck no.

Taking my silence for a negative response, the owl says: ‘No, I suppose you wouldn’t.’

‘Mom never gave me one,’ I say. ‘Wasn’t really the talking type, that woman.’

‘Well, as I understand it dragons name themselves after awakening true intelligence,’ the owl says. ‘Although you seem to have managed that already for some reason. Why don’t you give yourself a name?’

Three words from the owl’s last comment light up in my brain like a neon sign on a dark night.

‘What do you mean ‘awaken true intelligence?’’ I ask.

The owl seems to consider how best to explain what he wants to say for several seconds, before finally speaking: ‘Your mother wasn’t like you, was she? She couldn’t speak. Acted more like...’

‘A dumb animal,’ I finish for him.

The owl hummed in agreement. ‘Dragons are that way for the first quarter century or so of their lives. But after that their minds awaken... or their souls. I don’t know, I’m not an expert.

‘Regardless, they become truly intelligent; become capable of thought, of speech.’

‘They become sapient,’ I say, my mind distant.

Mom would have been... somebody, someday. Something, no, someone more than the raging beast of instinct I knew.

I could have known her, the real her, in time. In a few years. Maybe even a few months.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I’ll never get that now.

While I think my thoughts, the owl, unaware of my distraction, keeps speaking, and I tune back in halfway through a sentence.

‘—name for yourself?’

I blink. ‘Huh.’

‘I asked if you need more time to think of a name,’ the owl says.

‘Right. Name. That’s what we were talking about,’ I say, then realise something: ‘Wait, what’s your name? I don’t think you ever told me.’

‘I didn’t.’

A moment passes. Then two.

‘You trying to be mysterious, or something?’ I ask finally, completely unimpressed.

‘Longtail,’ the owl says. ‘Longtail of Great Oak.’

‘Great Oak? Is that where you’re from?’

‘Yes, it’s my home.’

‘Huh. And why are you called Longtail? Because I’m hoping there’s a very good reason why you’re called Longtail.’

‘Tradition. Owlets are usually named for a unique feature they possess,’ the owl, Longtail, explains. ‘I had long tail feathers.’

I steal a quick glance of Longtail’s tail feathers, a rather easy feat, seeing as his body has been facing away from me this entire time and he’s just been doing that weird 360° spin thing owl’s do with their heads.

Anyway, his tail feathers look completely average to me, but before I can mention it, Longtail, having seen my glance, explains; ‘I grew into them.’

Dafuq?

‘So, let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re called Longtail, because your tail used to be long when you were a baby?’

‘Yes. And?’

‘And you can’t change the name?’

The owl sounds confused as he asks; ‘Why would I want to?’

I look at the bird like he’s singing reggae at a jazz club. ‘Because... you know what? Never mind.’

After all, who the fuck am I to talk the man out of it if “HERE RESTS LONGTAIL” is what he wants on his tombstone.

‘Wait. What about children who aren’t born with any special features?’ I ask. ‘What do they name those?’

Longtail looks irritated with my questions, but he still answers. ‘Well, sometimes they’re named for something memorable they do as hatchlings.’

I take a long look at the dark grey owl before me, a million jokes about names like ‘scratch-balls-a-lot,’ ‘eat-booger,’ and ‘pee-on-grandpa’ on the tip of my tongue.

But no. No, I have standards.

‘Now, if you’re quite done,’ Long tail says, ‘we have a hunt to get to.’

‘Dude, you’re still on about that? What the fuck, man? It’s late, it’s dark.’

And I’m not making it up either; it is dark. The sun set a while back and there’s no moonlight, the forest is as near to pitch dark as it can be without actually being pitch dark.

At least I think it is, as I wouldn’t really know, seeing as I’ve got pretty ducking good night vision.

Unfortunately, my totally logical argument just makes Perfectly Average Tail more determined.

‘Exactly, now is the best time. The prey won’t see you coming.’

Is he fucking serious right now?

You know what? Fuck it, all in.

‘Yeah, great, they can’t see us. But I really don’t see how that’s much of an advantage, considering I can’t see them either.’

Longtail looks at me. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, that unlike some people, I can’t see in the dark.’

Yeah, I’m lying through my teeth. But he doesn’t know that, does he?

‘Dragons have perfect night vision,’ Longtail says.

Goddammit!

Okay, so he does know that I’m lying, but fuck me if I’m not willing to die with this lie.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say. ‘I mean, I can’t even see you right now, and you’re right in front of me.’

‘Can’t even see me standing right in front of you?’ Longtail asks, voice dripping skepticism.

‘You calling me a liar?’

I expect the owl to say yes, and force the issue.

He doesn’t. What he says instead is arguably worse.

‘Very well then, we can’t hunt if you can’t see. Go to bed. We’ll do it in the morning.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, then pause: ‘Wait, what do you mean go to bed?’

‘I mean go to bed,’ Longtail says. ‘It’s your first hunt in the morning, you should reserve your strength.’

‘Reserve my—what do you mean reserve my strength? I’m hungry now.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Longtail says, ‘but look on the bright side; a hunt is more successful when motivated by an empty stomach, so I’m sure that by tomorrow the prey might as well be lining up at your feet.’

And with that the bastard flies up to a much higher branch on a different tree, effectively keeping me from following him.

It doesn’t stop me from calling him names though. Asshole.

In the end, for the first time in this life, I go to bed hungry.

On the bright side though, right before I fall asleep, I realise what I want my name to be.

Kilgharah. I’m gonna be Kilgharah the Dragon.

Fuck, that’s so much better than Paul.