The Heart of the Matter

Once upon a time, when the world was still full of magic,
dragon falling by Mark DeLura there was a girl who was small and quick and very clever. Having reached
that adventuresome age, she decided to set off on a quest for her utmost desire. She announced her
plans to her parents who asked, “Where will you go? What will you do?” And she answered, “I will
go to the Dragon Mountains and there I will learn to fly.”

Now the Dragon Mountains was a
fierce and wild land of towering peaks and narrow valleys. The few humans who
lived there clung like barnacles to rocky ledges and eked out a meager living
hunting the least of the dragons–the ones whose wings had failed them. But it
was a place of powerful magic where impossible things could happen.

“Yes, well . . . But how will you earn your living until you learn to fly?” her parents asked.

“I will be a dragon slayer,” the girl replied as if this had been a topic of conversation for months.

The girl’s parents were no fools. They had been young once, too, and knew that no protest of theirs was
likely to dissuade their daughter from her foolish quest. So her father gave her his old sword (though it
was a bit rusty and the blade dull) and her mother gave her her shield (which was a tad large for her and
the strap loose) and the girl set off on the adventure that would be her life.

She made her way past familiar fields, beyond the badlands, high into the mountains. The nights
were the best. Every evening, as the sun set, the sky came alive with the dance of dragons. They
etched delicate patterns in the air before sailing away to hunt for their evening meal. Exquisite,
the girl sighed to herself. She closed her eyes and, for just a moment, imagined the feeling of weightless ease.
The hard stone beneath her reminded her that she was not up in the air, but stuck down on the ground. She was
not a dragon, would never be a dragon, and would not even care to be a dragon. Giant dangerous lizards, she
reminded herself. But to fly, her thoughts continued, that would be something.

In time she came to the place she sought where a jagged, narrow gorge split the mountains like a
knife wound. It was a place of great danger for humans and dragons alike with erratic, coursing
winds that could sweep a human from the rock or plunge a dragon to the depths. But the surrounding
peaks were pocked with breeding caves and where there were dragons there was certain to be treasure
and treasure would surely be needed to convince a wizard to give the girl wings to fly and how else
could she hope to make her dream come true? The ability to fly would be well worth any danger, the girl thought.

A shallow cave halfway up the side of the tallest peak served as shelter while the girl spent day after day
watching the flutter of dragons in the air. There would be plenty of time for hunting later, she told herself.
It was a wonder to see the grace of these creatures once they spread their wings. They were so unlike the
wingless dragons of the flatlands.
Wingless dragons were not uncommon in the girl’s land. She had seen them from time to time in her youth.
They were huge and fierce with terrible scars along their backs where their wings should have been but
without flight or flame, for they lost their fire when they lost their wings. Many a countryman made a good
living from the gems the dragons carried embedded in their scales. The scales themselves made fine roof
tiles and useful shields against the more powerful and dangerous dragons above. One way or another, dragons were a profitable risk.

One day the air seemed particularly full of young dragons. Four of them had launched into the air, flailing their
wings until they caught the current and rose in elegant grace up and over the highest peak. A fifth young dragon came
into view. He wobbled and swooped and swayed in the air. The girl forgot that she was a hunter and the dragon her prey.
She let her heart ride the wings of the beast. And it was her heart rather than her eyes that first noticed when
something went wrong. The dragon missed an updraft, or perhaps the fickle wind turned against him. His wings fought
frantically for air but it was too late. He spiraled helplessly downward and crashed onto the jagged rocks below.

For a moment, the girl was as stunned as if she herself had fallen. She slipped and slid down the side of the ravine.
On the way down, her head came clear of the clouds and she remembered why she had come to the mountains: to hunt dragons,
not to help them.

The dragon crouched like a cat, his wings, still translucent with youth, slightly open as if they hurt.
His eyes were closed. A slender stream of smoke escaped his nostrils. The girl approached cautiously with her
sword at the ready. As she neared the head, one great eye opened. A hard lump that might have been fear caught
in the girl’s throat as she became aware of the litter of bones on the chasm floor. They were not all dragon bones.

“Well what are you waiting for?” the dragon rumbled. “Either kill me or leave me in peace. I will die soon enough
in either case, but I would prefer to do it without you gaping at me.” He released a sigh of smoke and let his eyelids droop closed.

The girl leaned on her sword and wrinkled her brow. She had never seen a dragon this close before. They were not, then,
simply oversized lizards as everyone said. The long supple neck lent a dignity that lowly lizards lacked. But it was their
wings, with their combination of grace and strength, that spoke to the girl’s heart. This dragon was three to four
times the girl’s height in length and that length again across the wings when they were fully extended. The scales were of
a great many colors which combined to create a greenish sheen. She had been marveling thus for quite some time when
the nearest eye opened once more.

“Go away.”

“Perhaps I should,” the girl agreed. “It wouldn’t be right to attack you if you are already injured.
I mean that would be taking unfair advantage. Perhaps I should come back later when you feel better . . . ”

Tiny bursts of flame accompanied the dragon’s laughter. When he finally settled into silence, he sat up on
his haunches and glared down at the girl. “Go away or I will have you for supper.”

“I thought you were dying,” the girl said, shrinking away a bit.

“And I will. It will simply take a bit of time.” As this seemed to make no impression on the girl,
he continued, his voice changing from huffy to pitiful. “I have no other choice. Look up there,” he said nodding
up toward the peaks. “My wings are not strong enough to carry me up there and the only other way out of this
grave is through that narrow arch at the end. I would have to strip my wings to slither through.” He shuddered. “I would rather die.”

“But surely you knew your wings weren’t strong enough. Why didn’t you wait?”

“You really are a very ignorant girl, aren’t you?” He sighed. “There is no waiting with dragons. When you
reach a certain age you fly or fall. My siblings flew and I fell. It is as simple as that.”

It was quite the saddest thing the girl had ever heard. “Perhaps if you . . . ”

“No!” the dragon snapped underscoring the word with flame. “There is no ‘perhaps’ about it. Now go away!”

And the girl did go away but the dragon preyed on her mind. Late in the day, she stumbled out of the ravine
and found herself at the door of an odd little hovel. It was roofed with dragon scales and sported a placard
announcing a wizard within. She knocked at the door.

To find out what happens next
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hand-bound copy of The Heart of the Matter or send an email request for the text.

Heart of the Matter by
Lisa Wright

© 1996