The Last of Her Life

The wind is no mere whisper as the scales slide through the air, rich with water vapor and lacking considerably in oxygen itself. That weak air slides along the thick, armored scales, but a small portion of it enters into the body in the air. Inside, it invades the long nostrils, flared, and enters the lungs. Part of the air is put to use for cellular respiration, but the other undergoes a special process to produce a fiery substance, lingering in the secondary stomach.

As a result, a thin trail of smoke exits the great maw of the jeweled creature, its air making a running cloud in the cooler air. The sun reflects the ruby of its scales as it settles into a gentle glide, wings making small adjustments as needed. Four limbs are tucked tightly beneath, into the softer tones of red and marked the softer leather plating below. Difficult to pierce, but less formidable than the neverending sea of armored scales that branches from it.

Many men had hunted for the creature with the wings of the bat and body of a lizard, wicked horns resembled those of stag, but with no more than one standing spike each, three rows along the back of the head. The ivory white to the claws matched the teeth and the teeth, menacing instruments of death.

The creature itself attempted to keep the peace between it and its enemies, rather its opposers. Its enemies were limited to those that could truly hurt it, those worth the fight they would threaten it with. Long and docile, the flights eased its harsh feelings towards the mortals who would never understand it.

How could they? They lived no more than-

The dragon snapped her eyes open, the amber iris landing on the struggling bushes across the wide clearing. Her body, weak with age, had been curled much like a snake under the shade of a great oak, located on the opposite end of the shivering bush. Distance no bother, her eyesight remained sharp as a curious figure moved forward from its viewing.

Recognition flashed, the dragon's slits of her eyes narrowing as a weak growl erupted from her torn throat, signaling the man to lock eyes with the beast. Their gazes held each other, each a hunter challenging the other. The man did not move. The dragon remained still.

At once, the man moved forward with a pounce, a long sword swinging out for the exposed neck, the exposed soft plating of her underbelly. A simple roll onto her stomach region. The sword clanged.

"Human, you are making a folly in this moment."

"A person attempting for his survival makes no folly," the man said, a puff of breath emitting from him, even as a trail of smoke began to leak from her mouth.

Cool altitudes, high above the clouds...

"When have I made a move towards you, mortal?" The dragon questioned.

The man thought. "You have not."

"Why would I hurt you now, when I would have killed you the moment I heard you among the bees?"

"Bees?"

"Not all creatures are deaf, mortal." The dragon settled, one eye coming to a close.

The open eye tracked the movement of the man, a weary soul as he dared to near her. She made no move. The man edged closer, causing the light wind to swerve around his body, the slight strengthening of the breeze calling her to her memories.

Strong wind, slithering through her scales and cooling her hot body...

"Why do you stay?"

"I am dying." The dragon let forth a gravelly chuckle at the human's surprise, the contorted face he makes. "You thought me immortal? No creature in this land is truly immortal, little one. We all face Death and his reaping scythe soon enough. Some only have the luxury of extra time."