The small not-dragon fluttered in the rafters, having hopped in through a small flaw in the rooftop opened up during ‘costal storm’ a few nights ago. I watched it from my perch of ‘Kitchen’s Counter’ taking advantage of high ground while in mother’s absence. It was doing what I could eventually, flying among the wooden beams crossing the ceiling though I hope I’d able to do it through clouds. Maybe I can fly through a ‘coastal storm’, it looked fun, all those flashes of light and sound, I’ll have to ask mother.

Its wings are weird, not like my own, or like mother’s, fathers maybe as I have not seen his. They looked soft, similar to the not-dragon sheep that father keeps out in the field, theirs fluffy while this smaller-not dragon was “plush?”, is that the right word? Like the innards of that of that pillow thing I hunted, a gift apparently from ‘neighbours’ I have not seen, only smelled. That was also fun. I wonder if all dogs’ inners are so much fun to spread around.

Best not find out, mother was mad at me when she found out, not sure why, should I ask why? Will asking get me to more trouble, will asking about asking get me into trouble? This socialising thing is hard, but father says I need to get better at it if I want to be a great steel dragon. Maybe father can help, he hasn’t been angry yet and I do want to be an Amazing Steel Dragon. I’m already great after all.

Wait where the little not-dragon go, it was in the corner a moment ago. Oh, maybe little not-dragon is one of those fae things father complains about, pretending to be invisible even though we can still see them. But then why can’t I see it then hmmm.

“Andaz how did you get a finch to sit on you and Why are you on my kitchen counter, again”, mothers voice jolts me, how did she get behind me, there’s no door in the kitchen, is mother part fae? But I thought we could see fae, I’m confused, fae are confusing I see why father complains. Also why does mother sound tired, I thought sleep was only when we felt like it.

I turn my head to face mother, very much aware of my position on ‘Mothers Kitchen’s Counter’. She’s in her ‘human’ form, arms crossed, standing tall over the counter at 5’8 feet, slight of build with long auburn hair has a single grey steel streak running through it’s length. Her facial features are sharp and angular giving her a somewhat stern, emotionless expression but carries herself a strong grace and poise even while wearing a plain brown cotton dress dirty with saw dust and shaving from outside labour.

Or that’s apparently how others would describe her, I don’t really get the feet thing, does everyone measure each by stepping on one another, counting the steps. And what’s poise? I don’t know but apparently mother carries a lot of it. I wonder if its that’s what mother hoards? I’ll have to figure how to get some, my hoard is lacking. She does look slightly angry, smells like it as well, she did say not to hop on the ‘kitchen’s Counter’ and she’s angry because I am, maybe best I hop off.

I jump down with true skill and power of a Grand Steel Dragon on to the wooden floor below, ignoring the ungainly flap of stone covered wings and the slight stumble as my growth plates catch on one another.

I turn to regard mother, ready to be praised for my grace and poise, Ah I think I get it now, to see her regarding the counter, mumbling about scuff marks and scratches. Wait did she mention a ‘finch’ earlier, what’s a ‘finch’ and why is it sitting on me, wait something is sitting on me. I immediately scan my body for the offender, ready to tear it apart for thinking I’m a stool or chair to sit on. I’m a Superior Steel dragon, treat me as such.

Wings still covered in ‘forge chitin’, even though I’m pretty sure it’s just rock I mustn’t break it as it’s helping my wings grow strong. And my horns, and my blades, and my spines, I even have some weighing down the end of my tall. The stuff is heavy, doesn’t move well and masks my majestic (ha I learned that word yesterday) appearance. Mother doesn’t have any so why do I, does father have it? I really need to ask him to show me his draconic form.

What was I doing again?

“Chirp”, Ceiling, somethings in the ceiling, it made a noise, a musical one as well. But Nothing is there, it’s confusing so it must be fae. Can I complain now?

“Chirp chirp”, I squawk startled, cough, growl in annoyance as I turn the face the source just slightly behind me, which again is Nothing but ‘Mothers kitchens table’. Complaining might not be enough, will eating it make it end, only one way to find out.

I start prowling around ‘Kitchen’s Table’, weaving between the artistically carved legs of the chairs, knocking only two out of the four down this time ,stopped for a break to admire a part of the carvings I haven’t seen yet before continuing on, seeking my preys scent in its last known location like a true master hunter that I am.

I turn to the fireplace, regarding the warm comfortable glowing coals in the stone alcove in the wall tempted to take a nap, no I’ll take a nap in it later (even though I feel like it) it’s time to hunt. Or I could take look, it might be hiding in there, fae like warm places right (another thing to ask), I bet there’s a bunch hiding in there, selfishly taking up the best spot in the house, ready to be found by a master hunter such as I.

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“Chirp”, Slowly, trying not to startle it through my fierce gaze turn my head back towards the ceiling eyeing it with the suspicion with all its nooks and crannies. No flutter of movement, no flea for safety. The ceiling remains motionless and uncaring to my glorious hunt, continuing to hide my quarry.

“’Sign’ Andaz what are you doing? And why does it require the stalking and eyeing of my house.” Mother must really feel like taking a nap, if she wants, she can have the fireplace, after I’m done with my nap that is.

“Hunting the Fae Finch that used me like a chair” It took me two days to get speaking in sentences right, mother says it’s good to practice so we don’t scare the humans with mind speech. “But it keeps pretending to be invisible so that I can’t see it, oh do I get to complain now?”. Got to learn this pretend invisibility trick, seems useful, mother wouldn’t be able to stop me from sitting on Kitchen Counter once I acquire it.

“Andaz, if you shake your head really fast, it’ll make this particular fae appear”. A small hint of amusement has entered her eyes, leaning on her freshly restored counter she must be enjoying the spectacle that is my glorious hunt. But does shaking my head really work, must be another ability of dragons, we seem to have a lot or is that just me.

Anyhow I brace myself, ready to pounce once my prey reveals itself. I shake myself like that time I got captured by the curtain, the fiendish creature, trying to rid myself of whatever is keeping me from my desired fae.

“Chirp”, sounding startled at the sudden brilliance of my dragonlly (is that a word, it should be) might the ‘finch’ flutters for the rafters. Trying to escape the status of prey, oh how foolish. I pounce high reaching out with claws extended, wings wide. But the ‘Fae finch’ was smart and tricky in its plans as it had moved the table without my knowing, clipping my wing. Ending my life sundering dive short, kitchen’s table tossed to the side before my astounding strength, sending myself crashing down into father’s ‘throne’ tearing its innards out in a beautiful flourish of white stuffing. Apparently, father’s throne was part ‘dog’.

The ‘Fae Finch’ squeezed through the hole it came through passing beyond my sight. Nodding my head at an admirable foe, displacing the fluffy innards of my landing pad.

Well played Fae Finch, well played.

A long drawn out sigh sounds out behind me.

“One week down, fifteen more years to go” mother exclaims from her countertop, any amusement gone, head laying low across its surface ready to take her nap, oh that’s why she didn’t want me on it.

What a weird choice for a napping spot. I’m going to ask why.

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Flickers of fire light and faint echoes of laughter. Odd for most old oaks to generate but for Yuman Fibshadow it was what he sought. Seeking shelter along with the provided creature comforts that was afforded upon those willingly to enter its aged hollowed trunk.

Standing in a glade of its own, the tree itself stood tall, reaching towards the evening moon with swirling branches of greenery. Deep folds and crevasses of rich brown bark dug shadowy lines across its body seemingly soaking up what little light that touched upon its surface.

Perched as the shape he took, Yuman waited for the moon to rise higher, watching as its light within the glade slowly intensified with the passing time.

Hours passed but as a Fibshadow he was patient and undisturbed, the local night-time predators learnt long ago to not to hunt things of this glade.

If only humans would learn the same.

As the Moon reached its zenith it shimmered within its own light before breaking apart into small glimmering sphere’s a fraction of its previous size. Hundred’s in number, each sphere lazily drifting against the backdrop of the night sky, leaving a faint glittering trail in their wake. Each going in their own direction, taking what little light they made with them, separating for now as the cycle of the Lunar Horde began once more.

Yuman fluttered from his perch with the parting of one of the great celestial bodies and the darkening of season nights, entered the heart of the glade, now glowing with a soft green light. Motes of this light drifted around the base of the old oak casting moving patterns of shadow upon its bark.

Alive and powerful it looked, ancient as it was mystifying.

Yuman was happy with the look.

He flew to the hallow of the oak, a gap within its centre and listened to the incoherent chatter within. His shape displaying his action with a curious head tilt toward the black interior. Glass broke, arguments were being had, names and insults called. The smell of spice and pollen drifted from its depth adding the much-needed feeling of homely nostalgia that Yuman needed.

Casting off his shape like a bed sheet in the wind, the outline of a finch drifting off into non-existence revealing his sharp pointed features crafted upon a dashing figure. With a hearty cheer he stepped into the dark confines of the tree only to step into the heated comforts of the Moon Carved Clave.

Many cheers and shouts of welcome greeted his entry followed shortly with an acorn of wine weighting nicely in his hand. He hoped on to one of the tables that lined the walls and gestured for the nearest fugal lamp to give him a spotlight he gazed upon the playful chaos of the fae inn. His kinsmen flittering amongst the multi-coloured spectrum of the fugal furnishing with an energy hard to replicate outside of fae society.

With a clap of his hands that carried with hands unseen to each individual in the room. With their limited attention on him, Yuman Fibshadow, greatest adventurer of his people spoke.

“Gather my brothers and sisters, fore I have a tale to tell. A tale that I’m sure will go down in the histories of the Circles. Of how I snuck into the lair of mighty dragons, rode on one within its own fearsome domain and escaped to carry this truly magnificent story to your very ears”.

Fae loved listening to good stories, almost as much as telling them. He hoped to get many more for his legacy. Just best not tell them that this particular dragon lived just over the hill, lair a farmhouse, dragon newly born. Less they try to verify his tale.

For exaggeration was the right of the teller.

Ignorance and bliss the right of the listener.