Misadventures of a Dragon Scribe

Chapter 1

"Flitt! You're distracting me!"

Arlen swiped at the air, as the tiny winged creature zipped and dodged, holding one of her precious paintbrushes just out of reach. Little Flitt was supposed to be her Muse. Like her father before her, and countless ancestors before him, Arlen had been given the (supposedly) humbling honor of being a Dragon Scribe. It was her duty to bring to life the wordless, shapeless language of the dragons by painting their messages for all to see. A hatchling chooses a Scribe on the day it turns one year old. When it does, they're bound to each other for life from that day forward.

Arlen was the youngest of five sisters and four brothers. That made her number ten. Each of them was an "accomplished" artist in one way or another, and there was a good deal of talk in the town as to which one of them the bright-eyed hatchling would choose to be his voice in the world. Surely it would be Kayla; her mastery of the human language would transform the dragon's speech into clear and beautiful poetry like the world had never seen. Though, some would argue that the twins, Daniel and Draco, would be a wiser choice. With the dragon inspiring the design of their wonderful machines, surely it would revolutionize the kingdom! If Hilda were chosen, she and the dragon could have crafted the most beautiful armor and weaponry to be bestowed upon the royal knights. That would surely have brought the kingdom's favor upon the little town. Then again, it would also have been amusing for the "Full House", as they'd been affectionately nicknamed, to have been given the honor. The group of five, Mira, Aura, Flayva, Oks, and Tak, could have been inspired to produce such clever plays! Alas, none of it was to be.

Instead, Arlen got him. The little brat who'd been nearly caught twice (and got away clean dozens of times more) gracing the walls of shops, and the sides of wagons with her unsolicited artistic talents. The whole town gave a collective groan.

The truth is, the diminutive Dragon Scribe cheated. Nobody but the mother is supposed to go near the hatchling before it comes of age, but that's not exactly a rule that Arlen followed. When Flitt was tiny, she would sneak into the den in the mountainside beside her family's cottage, and visit the scaly little beast. She quickly figured out a way to amuse the protective mother by painting the glass case of a lantern, and lighting a candle inside to shine its colors on the wall. Pleased by Arlen's pretty little gift, her father's dragon, Thaine, would allow the scrappy human girl to play with the tiny baby dragon. She spent hours secretly poking around the den, watching the gangley little tyke learn to fly, and letting it eat little bits of chicken fat out of her hand. When it came time for the yearling dragon to choose his Scribe, he naturally flew straight into the arms of the human he knew and loved best.

Arlen thought her trick was clever enough, and it all seemed to work out swimmingly at first. She thoroughly enjoyed the shocked looks on her siblings' faces when they realized what they just saw. It worked! She had gotten away with it! She couldn't wait to lord it over all those stuffy townsfolk who were always scrubbing her paintings off the walls. As Dragon Scribe, she could paint whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted! Oh, excuse me... whatever and wherever "the dragon" wanted. But who would know the difference? It was the perfect plan.

It turns out it wasn't that easy. Once Arlen and Flitt were officially a pair, something strange started to happen. People started expecting things from her! This time it was Arlen's turn to be shocked. Nobody payed any attention to her before, but now, people were suddenly showing an interest. At least a dozen times that week, people from town had stopped by the cottage to come and see what she had painted. A few even asked her for advice. Her! For advice! No... they were asking the dragon for advice. She was just the interpreter. It was her duty to speak to Flitt for them, and express his answers, spoken in his formless language, with her art. How was she going to do that? Nobody ever told her that she would have to be responsible!

At the end of the week, Arlen locked herself in her room with Flitt, sat down, and tried to talk to the dragon. Well! Was she Dragon Scribe or wasn't she? She guessed it should be easy for her to figure out, considering she had been talking to the little guy for a whole year now. Then again, he had never exactly talked back. That was before he was officially her Muse, though, so things would surely be different now.

The conversation went something like this:

"Hello, Flitt! You know me! It's your old buddy, Arlen! How you doing, huh, little fella?"

"......."

"C'mere, now, don't be shy! C'mon, sit here with me. Talk to me. I've got some of your favorite fooood~"

"......."

"Yeah! You like chicken, don't you, boy! Eat up! Say, Flitt, um... you know Abby was over here a few days ago. You know Abby! Taaaalk, taaaalk, taaaaaalk... You wanna' know one of the things she talked about, though?"

"......."

"She talked about how her sister was getting married, and she didn't know what to give them for their wedding gift. It has to really mean something, I guess. Has to be kind of special, you know? Anyway, she kind of wanted us to help her figure it out! Sounds fun, right? So, you got any ideas?"

"......."

"No pressure! Take your time!"

"......."

"......."

"......."

"Well, I mean, you can still bounce some thoughts of me if you want. Ask questions, right? There's no such thing as a stupid question!"

"......."

"....right??"

"........"

"Heh.... okay. Heheh... heh....."

"......."

".....................I'm doomed."

This was all wrong! Why couldn't Arlen hear anything? Or sense anything? Or be inspired by anything? Was she doing it wrong? She was afraid to ask, for fear that her problem might have been caused by the fact that she cheated in the first place, and made Flitt choose the wrong person. If she told her father that she didn't know how to talk to her Muse, then he might find out that she really wasn't supposed to be a Scribe in the first place. Maybe he would take Flitt away! She just couldn't let him do that! The thought of her precious little dragon being given to one of her know-it-all siblings made her almost too sad to think about it.

Arlen gave up trying to have a conversation with Flitt, and trudged over to her desk. She dragged out a stack of long-unused paper, and a well-traveled pouch of paint brushes, and sat staring at the blank page as if she expected it to paint itself. One of Daniel and Draco's cunning little clocks ticked away merrily on the wall, as the candle in her lantern melted down to a waxy little nub. It was almost midnight. Arlen was tired and frustrated, and mischievous little Flitt was being no help at all. The winged little brat had upset her paint bottles twice while trying to play a game of keep-away with her favorite brushes. He was impeding progress, and being annoying, but she couldn't really stay mad at him. Eventually, she decided to call it quits.

Cupping her two hands, Arlen caught Flitt out of the air as if he were no more than a lightning bug. It was like holding a small fire that was glowing warmly, but not burning hotly enough to hurt her. She flopped down on the bed with all her clothes and boots and shawl still on, and bed covers askew beneath her. Rolling to her side, exhausted, she opened her hands up to deposit a tiny, curled-up dragon on the pillow beside her. In a little while, both were snoring contentedly.