The Wandering God

53 To Make A Long Story Short

長話短說
Cháng huà duǎn shuō
To make a long story short.
*~*~*~*~*~*

My story is actually very simple.

My earliest memory was the sea, in a storm. Some say dragons are born from the ocean. I liked to imagine I was born from lightning, when a single bolt of bright white plunged into the waves below.

However my birth, my early memories were all of the sea. Of the water and the different shades of it, of the way the currents moved. Carrying me to land or far away, or deep down where no light came.

In those days I did not know that my six claws were unusual. I never met another dragon, so I never had the chance to realize I was different.

I remained in my true form for my earliest life, as I had never met a human either. It was just me and the smooth sea against my scales and the fish that I preyed upon.

The first time I saw a human, I wondered what it was. I saw it's strange legs kicking below the surface, heard the words shouted from its mouth. The sky above was black, the wind howling. The creature's brown arms thrashed as it tried to hold what seemed to be its head above the water.

I did not know what the animal was, but I knew it was in distress.

Gently, I nudged my nose against the animal's torso. I was still young, and my form much smaller than it would be one day, but when the desperately drowning man turned and wrapped his arms around my muzzle, he could barely reach around it.

Carefully, the creature clinging on, I swam toward the closest land I could detect.

When we grew close enough, the man let go, and swam the last few feet to a wooden pier that stuck out into the wild water. He turned, and looked at me, eyes widening when he realized what it was that had saved him.

I raised my head above the water, watched him for a moment, then sank below the storm and left.

Weeks later, I returned to the pier, out of curiosity. At the end was a small statue of carved wood, and around it were offerings of fruit and pounded flatbreads and salted fish. The fruit was fresh, so I knew it had been placed there that day before the strong sun could wilt it.

The carved statue was of me.

I started to return regularly after that. Eventually the residents of the small island caught sight of me. At first they stared, fearfully, from a distance. Gradually, they started to venture further and further out onto the pier, until one day I surfaced and a small girl was waiting for me.

She shrieked, and fell backwards, but her terror lasted only momentarily. When I made no move toward her, just watched her, my long neck bent, the girl giggled in surprise. She picked herself back up, pointed at me and said "Nawa". Then she ran off back up the pier, her bare feet slapping against the weathered boards.

That night, I swam around the small island to a beach I knew the islanders never visited. I pulled my long body out onto the sand, and I tried, again and again, to picture that girl in my mind's eye. Her arms, her legs, her small twig like fingers. The long dark hair that fell down her back, and her skin, roasted brown like the color of a coconut shell.

A week later, when the girl returned to the pier, she found me, sitting and eating a fruit from my offerings. I was in a form not unlike her own, save for the fact that I had much sharper features, and six digits on each hand instead of five.

The girl looked at me, confused, until I pointed at myself and said "Nawa."

Her eyes widened. Then she took my six fingered hand, and led me into the village.