It’s raining outside the cave. Maybe this rain that washes the mountainside is more real than I, but it could just as well be part of the Dragon’s dream. Real or not, water could destroy this book, and that would be another catastrophic loss to me. If you are reading, though, this passage makes no sense: the book, or part of it, has survived and reached your hands. I am happy for that.

Then I’d let you know that, in the days that followed that wondrous night, I spent my precious moments of being in the company of the couple. I would appear to them during daytime, while Dariel practiced his craft in his workshop or Orphela went around doing chores or buying supplies. In Dariel’s case, I would shower him with questions regarding the working of the wood, the neighbors, or dogs. The man knew his dogs. One day, while he was carefully sanding a wood plank, I decided to ask him about it.

“So, Dariel, why are dogs? Why do people keep them and feed them?” I asked after he finished explaining to me that, unlike rough skinned dragons, men needed to guard their delicate skin from splinters, and so used gloves.

“Since time immemorial dogs have been companions of men. Legends say gods gifted us the first pups to help humanity survive in a world unbecoming to both us and them., and thus an unbreakable bond was born between the two species. I know they appear like wolves to you, but they couldn’t be more different.”

Uneased by his question, I shifted all around the workshop, staring at the tools and benches as I formulated my next inquiry.

“Do you have need of the small ones? Not the ones who hunt rats, as I could see a use for it, but the small, woolly dogs: what are they for?”

“They descend of working breeds: some for hunting, others for shepherding. The breeders choose the cutest and smallest ones to make them city dogs able to live without needing as much food as their working cousins.”

I approached him, caressed the plank a bit, got a splinter stuck in my finger, and then willed it out of my flesh.

“Is there any wound that lasts longer than a few seconds on you?”

I shook my head in negation.

“They either kill me or I shrug them off. My wounds, just like my deaths, are very minor inconveniences.”

“It’s just weird working by you by my side, Terus. Having to care only for myself when there is someone else in the workshop is a very unintuitive idea.” There was a certain sadness gathering in his face, in his stare.

“Is an apology owed?” I asked.

“No, it isn’t that. Do you reckon you have a soul, Terus?” he dropped, averting his gaze.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Despite a small doubt on my part, I’d say no, I am not a being with a soul. The man stashed in the back of Cirruin’s mind, he whose visage I don, for sure had one. But I? that’s like asking if a portrait of a king holds said king’s soul. Would you ask statue for its soul? Would you ask a painting, Dariel?”

He shook his head and turned to the board where his tools hung, looking for one in particular. “And where would you go if the dragon stops dreaming?”

I laughed a little “Nowhere. And I am at peace with that. You, friend, may have eternal life, heavens to visit after your demise. This world is my paradise, the promised land where I can frolic and enjoy until… well, until it ends.”

I sat on the floor and let my head fall in front of me. I watched the fuzzy threads of my hair fall before my face. Empty shell that I was, but lamenting would not solve anything.

Dariel finally spotted the drill, on the table in front of the board, half buried under a saw and a hammer, and grabbed it. With deftness and precision, he began spinning the brace, making holes in the plank.

“What is the plank for? What is the purpose of the holes.”

“I am building some shelving for a neighbor. Nothing exciting or challenging, but it puts food on the table.”

“I see. We have shelves in Ludlun. They appear in houses sometimes.”

“Nobody builds them?”

“As I have never hatched from the egg I am supposed to.”

He dedicated me a long stare, smiled and then walked along the plank to drill on the other extreme.

“It’s no joke, I have never hatched.”

“People are not born from eggs, silly!” he managed to convey between burst of laughter and burst of laughter.

“Even some dragons are born from eggs,” I argued.

Breathing in deeply to drown the laughter, he reached for the chairs across the room, and brought them to where I was.

Sitting in front of me, he began rubbing his hands, probably looking for a way to continue the conversation.

“Human babies are born from the bellies of their mothers, Terus. You should now that.”

“No way you spawn like rats!”

“If you don’t believe me, look up pregnancy on the dictionary or ask for a book about the human body on the city library.”

Silence settled between us. My dragon’s honor made it difficult to admit the humiliating truth.

“I am… not versed in the art of interpreting books.”

Dariel joined his hands in front of his mouth.

“Are you telling me that you don’t know how to read?”

I nodded without much enthusiasm. “What else can you expect from a fake giant rat.”

“Don’t go telling people they are giant rats, Terus, we men don’t take it kindly. We are at odds with the rodents.” He then placed a hand atop my head. “And, fellow, I will ask my wife about teaching you how to read, if you promise me to keep her company and defend her from harm in my absence. Of course, when you exist and can be by her side, I am not asking for miracles.”

I pushed his hand aside and stood. “You only ask for a little retribution of so much kindness you two have fostered towards me. I don’t know if, as a dream, my promises are worth more than a shadow on the dark night. But trust I will try to take care of Orphela to the best of my capacity.”

He scratched his chin twice and then extended his hirsute arm. “This is a deal, then.”

I refused to reciprocate the gesture. “A deal with a dragon, technically.”

“If I am not my father, you are not your dreamer.”

“Are you your father?” I asked, out of innocence and confusion due to the voids in my understanding of human reproduction.

“Forget it, we have a deal, that’s all. Bring me another plank from there, will you?”

“Yes, friend.”

The rest of that evening wasn’t worth recording. A bit of small talk, a few lessons on woodworking.