~ 27 ~

The Last Ride Home

It didn't take an upward glance to assume Astria had done exactly as she had said. I felt her sitting in front of my biggest, longest spine. She saw the world from the top of my head, cross-legged, not minding the wind, the coldness, or even issues with heights.

And I took her silence to mean that she was at peace.

I figured that, after years without crying, shedding tears would take it out of Astria. She needed both the space and time to deal with internal things. It wasn't like she could break away from me—not until we reached the docks.

Astria had been like me for most of her life, able to think away her life, alone, in some room or place. Now she was tied to me without being able to retreat to her lonesome. All I could do was be there without being too much of a presence. To let her be alone despite having company.

And to be there in case she ever rang for me.

"When's the last time that you've cried, Cole?"

The question surprised me more than a surprise punch from As'gar's skeleton would. I fumbled, tilting the landscape of my back, forcing Astria to hold tighter to me. I took a moment to compose myself.

Then answered. "I... dunno, to be honest with you."

"So do dragons cry, then?"

That was a question. I thought about answering her honestly and truthfully, but I couldn't give her that answer without giving myself away. I supposed that's the trouble with hiding stuff from others. You can't fully express yourself to them. You're always limited.

"I'm disconnected from my kind for reasons that you can imagine," it seemed like half-truths were all that I could offer, "so I can't speak definitely on my kind. But there's something you should know about dragons and crying. It happens after an egg is hatched."

I felt the princess wiggle atop my head, and liked the sensation, for one reason or another. We'd hopped over the stone gate blocking the beach a few minutes back. Now, grass rose at my claws, and the tops of trees sprouted like bushes below my shoulders.

"The majority of dragons are strange as, despite our nobility and intelligence, we still base our worth on strength." I waded across the grassy field, looking into the distance, seeing the rise of my mountain. "And whatever is related to our strength. Even a father is proud when mauled by his son. It shows that he is still strong in some way."

I raised myself higher upon crossing into the forest, slowing myself, placing delicate steps through the openings between the foliage. I glanced down to ensure no life loomed beneath my claw's shadow. Moss-covered logs exploded and crunched beneath my weight.

"Dragons are careful when their eggs hatch," I said as an image stole my vision, a dried mountain side where I'd met the dying dragon. I spoke his words as though they were my own—a stolen identity. "They'll often hold their foot over their spawn, some because others are watching, or because it's a practice they truly believe in. But when a baby dragon is born, the first thing they'll often come to see is the underside of their parent's foot. Some dragons come out crying, and others do not."

I continued on with my walk, worried about the underside of my feet now, crushing life that I couldn't see. Would I ever have it in me to stomp another? I killed As'gar—and slashing him to bits felt good.

"If the baby looks up to the foot and continues on crying—the parent will stomp it." I stopped as even the words startled me. I closed my eyes and exhaled, unable to remove that history. "Many believe weakness begins at birth. You might as well stomp it out at the start."

I heard Astria scoff. "Must be easy for them to stomp children."

"Actually," I retorted, "it may very well be the hardest thing for a dragon to do." This part had surprised me when I first heard it as well. "Don't forget that, even though a dragon's life is a power struggle, most of our kind keep together—especially during migrations. A vast, common land of stone and lava. Strength is more than muscle to them."

I felt that I had her attention.

"The only time a dragon is caring is when it's for its egg." My claws splashed into light waters, and I debated cupping a pond for Astria and myself to drink from. But we would have a greater chance to replenish ourselves later. "Because it's a reflection of yourself. Dragons speak and encourage their eggs while coddling and keeping them warm. It's only then that a dragon ceases to be a beast. They have to step up if others attempt to endanger their eggs. It's a dragon's way of testing if someone has become too soft because of the process."

My mountain loomed closer, beyond the Forest of Wanyr, above the open fields of Wesnor. "So when a dragon has allowed itself to love and care for an egg, they infuse a lot into that love, because, to some, they've been holding a lot back during their lives. When the baby is born, and all are watching, if that baby cries, despite seeing death from above—a father or mother will stomp its son or daughter."

I wanted to stop moving, but knew I had to keep going—like those dragons in the story.

"Imagining repressing yourself your whole life to finally express it all to your baby... only to stomp it as it cries for you." I couldn't help but dryly chuckle. "Surely, there's a moral in that, somewhere. Others come to wonder why dragons are the way they are. Living in such a world would cause anyone to go hollow."

Astria hadn't spoken for a while, and I worried my story had a worse effect on her. I waited a few moments before hearing her voice. "I guess your words make a bit more sense."

I blinked at that.

She continued. "It makes sense why you left your kind—why you're so different from the rest of them. But when I was crying... the things you said. I guess if you were to speak about the unique pain of stomping your child, the one thing you truly allowed yourself to love: other dragons would mock you, having worse stories. The lack of confirmation, and the seeing of how others have dealt with it... disconnects you from yourself. To disregard all that you were feeling to fit in."

It wasn't the truth. I was this way even before my transportation and transformation. But the moral was close to the same. I felt somewhat accepted—but I also felt like a scam artist.

"You could say it's something close to that," I answered in kind. "But it's thanks to you that I'm feeling better now than I did a few days ago. So, please. Don't try to be strong in the way you think you have to be. Let yourself be. I'll always be there for you, talking or silently, whichever way you need."

The princess answered me in the most horrible way possible.

"And I'll always be the same to and for you, Cole."