Tarlin had a problem. Not the sort of problem that could be solved by swinging a sword or hurling a spear. Nor was it the sort of problem that could be solved by gritting one’s teeth and pushing onwards.

No, his was a much more personal sort of problem.

“How’s your little bit o’ practice going, Tarl?” his aging mentor called out upon entering the dimly lit workshop.

Doing his best to suppress his frustration, he let out a silent hiss before turning to answer, “It’s coming along ma’am. Just a few more days and I think I’ll be ready for the real deal.” He just hoped it would be in time before Rozna returned. He was doing it for her after all.

A small tsk sounded out from the far end of the room, filled with disappointment and…sympathy?

Weaving her way through the many piles of stone and other supplies, it didn’t take long before Citer reached him. “Tarl, how many times have I told you? You’re either ready or not, there’s no in between. Now, show me what you have.”

Her words had all the give of solid granite as she practically loomed over him. He knew better than to delay the inevitable and took a half-step to the side to reveal his progress. Or rather, his lack thereof.

Where there had once been a block of gray limestone as thick around as an outstretched hand and twice as tall, there was a blocky figure one could charitably compare to a standing female dragonette.

“Hmm, not terrible…you took too little off of the wings and ears and too much off the hands. You should be much further along.” Citer stated coldly, analyzing his work as she had many times before.

“I- I know.”

“You know what shape the stone should take, so why isn’t it?” she pressed, examining his work area and taking in the large piles of rock chips.

Tarlin could only wring his hands in nervousness as he tried to find the words to answer his mentor. Long moments passed before she turned her gaze onto him, tilting her head slightly in thought.

“Tarl, this isn’t the same stone blank I gave you, is it?” Citer asserted while raising an eyeridge.

A hesitant shake of the head followed from the younger dragonette. “No, ma’am. I know I can do this, I just…I wanted to know where I’d gone wrong.” he explained, eyes firmly fixed on the floor in shame and embarrassment.

“Hmm, and where did you get the extra stone blanks from? Do they hold some hidden wisdom that I do not?”

He flinched at the questions but answered all the same, “F-from Arlent’s b-blanks, the ones she said w-were useless.”

Silence descended upon the workshop as Citer considered his words, examining him with the same intensity as any of his work. After several seconds of waiting she turned and gestured to the piles of rock chips, “I want to see what wisdom you’ve gleaned from those rocks…there may be hope for you yet.”

Her muttered words struck him dumb for a moment before he immediately moved to obey her. Reaching underneath his workbench where the lantern light didn’t quite reach, he pulled out a trio of stone sculptures.

Hovering over his shoulder, Citer took each of them in as only a master of the craft could as he laid them upright. Each of them seemed nearly complete, showing a female dragonette dressed for the coming winter with her wings and tail tucked close for warmth.

That was where the similarities ended however, as each of them sported small cracks or missing pieces around their extremities. The wings and hands held the dragon’s share of the damages, much to Tarlin’s continued frustration. He knew those features all too well from his time with Rozna.

Running a finger over the edges of each piece, it didn’t take long for Citer to reach a decision. “Go home, Tarl.”

“Wait, w-what?” His ears shot up in surprise.

“Go home, rest, do something outside of my workshop for a while,” her words were kinder than before but never lost their stern edge, “An exhausted apprentice makes for poor work, it’s a lesson you’ll pass down one day as well.”

“But-” he began, only for Citer to interrupt.

“I gave you an order, Tarlin. Go home.” Her dour expression grew more severe as she looked him up and down again. “And take a bath while you’re at it. You’re about as gray as I am nowadays.”

Not wanting to earn any further ire from his mentor, he was quick to give a respectful bow before making his way outside. The dark night sky that greeted him was a rather unpleasant surprise and only further cemented Citer’s point.

Thoughts of broken stone and measurements still plagued Tarlin, but he forcefully set them aside as he began to build up speed to take off. A cloud of gray dust trailed after him as he took to the skies above.

______________________________________________________________________________

The doors to the workshop opened, letting the barely risen sun shine on the stone sculptures within. Pausing for just a moment, Tarlin took a deep breath as he let his wings catch the warm rays.

He had taken Citer’s words to heart and gone straight home to rest. But, sleep had been a fleeting thing for him with worries and doubts hounding him every time he closed his eyes.

There was only so much time left for him to get it right.

Stepping in, he carefully shut the door behind him and began getting the shop ready for the day. Little things that should have been taken care of by the other apprentices, but were left abandoned for one reason or another.

Little things that Tarlin inevitably took care of.

But, he wasn’t going to complain about it. Far from it. To work for a master of stonework and sculpting like Citer was a once in a lifetime opportunity, if not rarer than that. If it meant cleaning up after those who knew better, then that was that.

Shaking his head at the introspective thought, he turned his attention back to the last bit of cleaning he needed to do. Short strokes of the broom made quick work of the remaining piles of rock chips in the shop as he tossed them into the ever growing pile of gravel out back.

The sun hadn’t yet risen enough to be seen above the nearby buildings, but it had already begun the slow process of waking the city. Various shouts and cries heralded the start of the day in the Capital as Tarlin returned to the shop’s interior.

Just as he had begun brushing off his tools and his clay reference, the door to the shop opened and several familiar voices filled the air. Sighing deeply, Tarlin tried his best to ignore his fellow apprentices while returning to where he had left off on his sculpture. Where he had left off on his gift.

His chiseling soon gained a chorus as everyone else began working on their own projects. The regular rhythm of taps was punctuated by short pauses as he readjusted his grip or position to shape the stone just so. He double checked every little detail with the clay model he had made, making sure he never took off too much or too little.

His stomach soon began to growl at the absence of breakfast, but it didn’t slow him much as he pared the sculpture’s wings and ears back. Taking a deep breath, Tarlin dropped his chisel and hammer onto the bench as his hands began to shake suddenly.

“I’ve made it further than this, I can do it again,” he whispered to himself as he shuffled his wings and tail to bleed off the bout of nervous energy.

Taking up his tools again, he took another deep breath before setting his chisel against the barely rough stone and readied his hammer. A consistent and light tap was paramount for this step of the project, and he knew it in his bones he could do it.

The clink of metal on stone sounded out into the near empty shop as he worked through lunch, taking great pains to get every little detail right. Nothing registered to him outside of the sculpture and the tools in his hands. Not even the returning apprentices could breach his focus as he worked.

Maneuvering carefully around the already overdone hands was an exercise in patience as he applied the final details to the sculpture.

The ever so thin creases of the fingers, the sharp edges of the claws, the flexing of the tendons and muscle beneath the skin, the ears that were perked in happiness all seemed to come to life as he worked.

Crack.

The clasped hands he had spent so much time on had fractured, sending small fragments of stone to the bench below. And with them, so too did Tarlin’s hopes.

“No…no…” he muttered to himself, barely holding back tears of frustration. Rozna would be returning any day now, he didn’t have enough time to try again.

His hands hovered over the jagged stumps of each arm, as though there was some chance he could fix it. Yet, as the seconds slowly crawled by he had to admit defeat with yet another attempt.

“Tarl, you still in here?” Citer called out from elsewhere in the shop.

The clatter of chisel and hammer meeting the benchtop was answer enough to the aging dragonette. With a long suffering sigh, she quickly began walking over.

“Tarl, what did I tell you-” she began, only to stop herself upon seeing his distraught expression and the ruined sculpture.

“Tarl?”

“Y-yes, m-ma’am,” he answered uncertainly, his wings slowly beginning to shake.

“Barring the missing hands…” she trailed off as she stepped closer to his workbench, eyes focused on the ruined stone.

Even without his mentor finishing her sentence, he knew he had failed. All that was left were the mistakes he knew he had missed.

“Tarl, I think you owe Arlent an apology.”

“M-ma’am?”

Rolling her eyes at the universal constant of foolish apprentices, she explained, “Arlent refused those blanks for good reason. Reason that you chose to ignore, and have paid the price for.”

With each condemnation, Tarlin could only shrink in on himself. That he had been so foolish to believe he knew better than an experienced apprentice or even a master of the craft herself. He had been a fool worthy of legend.

“But,” Citer continued. “The remainder of your work…it is more than acceptable.”

Tarlin could only blink in shock and surprise at the sudden turnabout by his mentor, “But I ruined it!”

“You did. Your wisdom betrayed you, not your skill.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Wait, you mean…” he began with a sliver of hope.

“Have I ever been known to lie or speak anything other than the gods’ honest truth?” Citer asked rhetorically, an almost offended note to her voice.

“N-no ma’am!” Tarlin answered automatically.

“Precisely. Learn from your mistakes and you will fly high. For now, take a nap. You’re making me feel tired with how much you’re working.” She added before gesturing to a pile of packing straw someone had failed to clean up. “Use that if you like, I’d rather you not crash going home.”

Before he could utter a single question, Citer was already making her way towards another apprentice’s work to inspect it. The disappointed mutterings he overheard were more than enough to cow him into obeying before they were turned onto him.

Using the same broom as he had that morning, the straw was gathered into a small pile. The odd yawn and exhausted stumble punctuated his task as he worked. But, with a comfortable bit of bedding laid out under his bench it didn’t take Tarlin more than a few moments to crawl into the space and get comfortable.

It took even less time for sleep to claim him once he settled in.

______________________________________________________________________________

The clatter of a nail hitting a plate startled Tarlin awake.

A hearty thud sounded out followed by a pained hiss as he crawled out from under the workbench. “Ow…” ‘What was that?’

Rising unsteadily and rubbing at a knot on his forehead, Tarlin looked around the utterly silent workshop. Long shadows were cast over the many piles of stone blanks and sculptures that stood amidst the space, though a peculiar flicker to them made him turn around.

Sitting on his bench was a lit candle with a few nails stuck in the wax, and one sitting on the metal holder beneath. A relatively crude alarm clock that worked well enough for most purposes. But, that left another question entirely.

“Who set this?”

Silence was his only answer.

Picking up the candle revealed a small piece of folded parchment sitting underneath it. Curiosity piqued, he set the candle off to the side before opening the note.

Tarl,

There’s a marble blank that’s yours. You’ve earned it.

You’re ready for it.

Citer

If you’re reading this before that nail falls, get back to sleeping you idiot.

If you are reading this after that nail falls, I left you something to nibble on as well.

The last lines were completely overlooked as Tarlin read the rest of the note over and over again, scarcely believing his eyes. A simple limestone blank was not a cheap thing to practice on, but to give him a marble blank to finish?

His hands began to shake somewhat in growing nervousness as he stood there, frozen to the spot like just another stone statue. What broke him free of his hesitation was not something so grand as an epiphany or sudden realization. No, it was the loud and almost echoing growl of his empty stomach.

Tarlin could only kick himself for having missed every meal of the day and then some. Before he could get too far into punishing himself for his mistakes, a familiar scent began to tickle at his nose.

Absently picking up the candle, he followed it to Citer’s corner of the shop. Among the several statues of nobles and other carved sculptures she had been working on was a flawless marble blank. And sitting atop it was a cloth covered plate.

Hesitantly, he uncovered the plate to reveal several pieces of jerky and even an apple. It wasn’t a feast by any means, but to his empty stomach it might as well have been.

Thanking the gods and Citer for the bounty before him, he quickly set to eating the meal. And, by the time he was done, his stomach felt fuller than it had been in quite some time.

With his need for food taken care of it didn’t take more than a few moments for Tarlin’s attention to return to the marble blank that was now his. Under the flickering candlelight it had a brilliance all unto itself from how pure its white coloration was.

Long moments were spent just looking at the rock, not examining it for flaws, or strategizing how to begin carving it. No, those moments were spent appreciating the gift he had been given. A gift he intended to pay forward, for Rozna.

Slowly, and with an abundance of care, Tarlin wrapped his hands around the stone and hefted it over one shoulder and began to carry it back to his work bench. In his off hand the candle continued to shine merrily as he made his way across the shop.

Setting the stone down beside his latest attempt brought with it a wave of hesitation. What if he messed up again? What if there was another hidden flaw in the stone?

He didn’t have an answer to them, not one that would satisfy them anyways. All he could do was trust Citer’s judgment that he was ready.

He began rooting around the neighboring benches for lanterns to better see with. The candle provided enough light to move about, but not nearly enough for carving.

With a satisfied grunt he pulled a pair of lanterns out from under Trillon’s bench and lit them from the candle. The addition of even more brilliant light only made the marble shine all the brighter as Tarlin grabbed his tools to begin shaping the stone.

Turning to the clay sculpture he had made so many days ago he took a breath, letting all the details come into focus. Determination slowly began to well up within him as he stood there. And with it, a promise to himself.

‘I will finish this and present it to Rozna. Then… Then I will ask her to be my mate.’

The thought sent a nervous shiver down his spine and tail. So many ‘what ifs’ were ready to run circles around his mind, but not one of them was able to move. He knew Rozna would love the gesture, and he knew in his heart she would say yes. He had to believe.

Chipping away the larger pieces of stone was easy, but he knew better by now than to get complacent. Each hammer blow to the chisel was controlled and precise, taking off only as much stone as needed and never a speck more.

The block of stone quickly began to take on a more familiar shape, the outline of a tail, wings, and horns quickly arose. Switching to a finer chisel, those features took on even greater detail. The head gained a recognizable face, the legs gaining feet, and even the wings gaining their fingers.

Hints of doubt slowly rose within Tarlin as he started working on the hands. Like venomous snakes they raised their ugly heads as he worked, reminding him of all his failed attempts. Yet he persevered.

With painstaking effort and patience the pure white marble had turned into a female dragonette, hands clasped before her as though in prayer. But his work was not yet finished.

Setting hammer and chisel down, Tarlin reached for a thin piece of shaped steel. Its edge was not sharp like that of a knife, but it was no less fine as he set to work bringing the stone to life.

Where before he had managed the finest of details with a normal chisel, Tarlin had left this task to the very end.

Rather than the resounding clink of metal on stone, this new tool was far quieter as he used it to shave pieces by ever thinner margins. His focus was so absolute that he never questioned how he was working so quickly or effortlessly.

The hands gained fingers, talons, and the worn creases of a dragonette who worked hard. Wings slowly gained folds in the membrane as the horns gained their growth rings.

The face of the dragonette came into view as he took a breath to steady his hands. He already knew every feature of the face he was carving, every little scar and blemish that he cherished. The first time they’d met, the first time they’d gone on a date. Wonderful memories that spurred him on to continue his work.

Each little motion he made only brought the stone closer and closer to the reality he knew. The clothes he carved would not have looked out of place among the finest tailors in the Capital as he put care into every stitch and seam.

The slight glow within his green eyes went by entirely unnoticed as he worked, as did the gentle pull of energy from him. Never once did he err in his carving, never once did the stone become something he did not intend it to be.

With one final pass of the sculpture he paused for a moment in a tired sort of confusion.

“I’m…done?” he asked himself, a wave of exhaustion threatening to take him off of his feet.

The answer to his question stood before him in all its resplendent glory. Each flicker of lantern light seemed to make the sculpture move all on its own, all the little shadows and reflections making it seem alive.

The tip of his tail twitched in excitement as the realization settled in that he had done it. Through all of his effort and many mistakes he had managed to finish it. He couldn’t wait to show Citer what he had done with her blessing, and then show it to Rozna when she arrived.

He just needed to rest his eyes for a moment now that he was done.

______________________________________________________________________________

Somewhere within the capital, a rooster crowed its lungs out as it joined the dawn chorus. Another day had begun and among the early risers were members of a dragon trader’s crew. A late night arrival had seen them sequestered at the landing field rather than at an inn or tavern serving beer by the mug.

A most unfortunate fate for many of them, but they were quick to make up for lost time. One of the crew, however, had a different interest entirely.

Rozna’s wings worked hard to keep her warm in the cool morning air as she made good time. The skies above the Capital were quickly filled with other dragonettes and dragons.

She smirked as a pair of dragonettes narrowly missed each other in their headlong rush, their shouts of indignation fading as she carried on. Not all that long ago she’d been in almost the same position as them, just another faceless messenger within the Capital.

For as thankless as that job had been, it had given her the blessing of meeting Tarlin. A smile crept onto her face as she recalled that day.

Not much more than a couple letters from nobles filled her satchel as she entered Citer’s workshop. The pounding of metal on stone was almost deafening with how many apprentices she could see working for the aging master of the place.

Spending only a moment on looking around, it quickly became apparent where Citer was at. All she needed to do was follow the disappointed scolding that moved among the apprentices. It was an all too familiar scene for her, and one that reminded her of why she worked so hard to move up in the world.

“Tarl, if you can’t keep a chisel straight I’ll find someone who can- What do you want?” Citer’s admonitions came to a halt as she turned to question her.

“Letters for you, ma’am.”

Citer rolled her eyes in annoyance but accepted the proffered letters all the same before going on to torment some other poor apprentice. The latest victim turned to regard her somewhat cautiously, as though expecting further hounding.

“Uh…Hi there, I’m Rozna,” she said, eyeing the poor dragonette.

“T-Tarlin, nice to meet you,” he said, ears still pinned back.

“What are…what are you working on? If it's alright for me to ask?” After getting such an earful she halfway expected him to shut down as many apprentice types would. But, he did the opposite.

For a moment he seemed to perk up, eyes raising from the ground as he spoke, “It’s a decorative column, solid granite with a noble’s heraldry all along it. It’s been difficult, but I…I”m learning a lot thanks to Master Citer.” He gestured to the column standing beside him, its surface covered in layers of scrollwork and other ornamentation.

The amount of effort that must have gone into such a thing was mind boggling to her. “And you did all that yourself?”

He nodded, “I did…but I misaligned some of it, so I’ll need to redo all of it.” His words had an eagerness to them, as though he wanted to try again.

There was something about his desire to improve that spoke to a part of her. A part of her that wanted to do much the same, even if the end goals were a little different.

From there she had seen him every so often when delivering letters to Citer. A comfortable pattern for the both of them when she was able to drop by. Though, they had eventually moved their meetings elsewhere. If nothing else than to spend more time together.

Joining a trader’s crew had made it difficult to spend much time like that with him, but with winter coming soon that issue would be a moot point. She was also looking forward to the surprise Tarlin had been talking about the last time she’d seen him.

Her smile grew even wider as she reached a neighborhood full of artisanal places and began to descend to a familiar workshop.

Alighting just before the door, she tucked her wings and quickly smoothed out her new clothes. While she wasn’t wearing a dress fit for a ball, her clothes were on the much finer side of things. Something she had picked up at Bartelion before the return leg of her journey.

With one final deep breath she reached out to give the doorknob a try. No sooner had she begun twisting it than the door suddenly opened, revealing the owner of the shop and the gods’ personally appointed grouch, Citer.

“Ah, I was wondering when you’d turn up,” Citer grumbled, eyes narrowing as she examined her visitor.

Rozna’s smile quickly grew thinner than a blade as she replied, “We got in late last night, only just got out of the way of a large storm.”

“Hmm, next time smell the roses a bit along the way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rozna demanded, regretting her words almost immediately.

Much to her surprise, Citer began to laugh. It was a harsh sound, like an ancient hinge that was nearly rusted beyond use.

“The things people do for love,” Citer nearly cackled before gesturing to the back of the workshop. “Tarl’s waiting for you, and it seems he finished his surprise just in the nick of time, too.”

Rozna eyed the older dragonette in suspicion, but after a moment entered the building. With little reason to stick around her prickly elder she carefully made her way back to Tarlin’s workspace.

A single lantern’s glow guided her straight to him, though the sight that greeted her was one she would always remember. Tarlin was slumped over on his bench, asleep and snoring away as only he could. It was adorable enough it made her heart ache, but what sat on the bench took her breath away.

Even from a modest distance it was practically a mirror image of her, dressed for winter in impeccable clothes. And as she carefully stepped closer it never once wavered in its wealth of details. Had the statue suddenly decided to spring to life and move on its own she wouldn’t have been surprised.

Words failed her as she soon stood beside Tarlin, her breath becoming unsteady from a flood of emotions. To see something so wonderfully made by Tarlin…

With nary a thought Rozna quickly wrapped her arms and wings around the still sleeping Tarlin, tears slowly leaking from her eyes. His snores quickly faded in favor of the quiet grumblings of someone freshly awakened.

“Huh…oh, morning– Rozna!”

“Morning Tarlin!”