A Trophy Dragon's Trophy Treasure

A skittering city-
A wildlife reserve-
Nothing normal-
Dragons everywhere-
and a stag.


1. 1 - She

A sinking rope of scales curled past the trees,to slither among the bark and drag across the ground as the master of the tail jogged past with clicking ivory claws- a fleeting memory of white dragon with white sails raised and breaths quick and shallow.

A dragoness was searching for treasure to add to her lair.

The dragon’s love of shiny things stems from the fear of being stabbed in their ‘Achilles heel’, the unprotected belly famous for being slashing by knights in their quest of valour to save a maiden in distress (favourite of a desperate dragon because of the human’s tendency to wear jewels).The jewels stick to their soft skin, offering some protection from an invading substance such as a sword. And dragons are like magpies- clever and adept at taking gold from others, having grown to love the substances and the way they sheen and glitter in their eye.

They judge each other by the wealth they have stored away like humans, but they do not sell their treasures for other fancy flights- say, a satin dress partial to a vixen or a citrus for a sapphire envied by a drake, unless it is the month of trading ( July- August).

Her pulse in her neck could almost be seen, slight but throbbing as she swung her head back and forth to find the distinct metal scent of a gem worth keeping. But our dragoness was tiring, her pace slowing to a walk with a bowed head- she had already traveled many a mile in search of her goal and nothing had been sighted.

And in the climax of her unhappiness, the familiar glow in her chest alerted her to something....something she wanted;wanted to keep for herself. A trinket just over there by the two willows which was just waiting to be found and either eaten up or taken off with.

And it was alive.

And it was hers.

It would have been, if not for the black prince drake with the brown tipped scales standing over her prize. His eyes widened slightly when he saw her.

“I don’t fight females.”

“Well, now you shall.” she replied confidently.Her pebble scales rustled like the dying leaves in autumn.

Turning around to meet her fully,“If i lose you won’t gain anything,” he warned. “I don’t fight commoners.”

She thought about this, glancing away into the shadows of the trees. Why did she want to fight a larger dragon for a small treasure she hadn’t even seen?

Because she wanted it.

“If i win you won’t gain anything,” she said in the same tone,and her body lowered itself to the ground slightly.” you big leech.”

Like the young vixen wanted, the drake was very easily aggravated and leapt at her immediately, his paw outstretched and bat wings unfolded. Apparently the dragon was not used to being fought because of his high status and he was still young anyways, but our white dragoness was used to slashing viciously for her sustenance and made a motion with a finger- a ‘bring it on’. She sidestepped His Clumsiness, jumped to his open flank and drew back a paw to slap him hard upside the head which landed soundly.

He stared at her, astonished and waddled backwards with his wings now only half opened, his scales glittering like gems which did not appeal to her in the slightest. Unlike her own, neatly fitted and small, he had large triangular scales which overlapped each other and were slightly bent at the middle.

She was glad that she differed from this disgrace.

The young female judged males on their fighting skills and their honesty- and had such a highly raised bar that no drake had ever succeeded to reach past that level. Not that she was sought much- but the dragoness rebellioned hard against the stronger males and their status.

In short...no drake would have her.

When a female dragon slaps a male, it usually means a harsh refusal of a courtship act. This was a blow to the prince dragon for he had never been abused like this and had not ever had a determined imagination needed to win a battle to maintain a reputation when he grew to an adult drake- for he was much younger than the dragoness, almost a hatchling hidden by his size.

But he didn’t give up yet.

The female’s flaw was that she had thought she was the victor and had turned her head to which was rightfully hers, and then the prince, furious, leaned forward and used a paw feint to upend the now startled challenger, who uttered a loud, piercing shriek- loud enough to wake the dead.

The male, with his chest puffed out, glanced around, now wishing he had an audience to entertain- and with a heartbeat his ill wish, born of pride and unwatchfulness and his lax nature towards the prize he had struck unconscious and the vixen’s wail, came true.

A vibria’s (female dragon’s) cry of distress was as stimulating as a human maiden’s, as is their voice especially when they sing, like siren from the depths of the ocean with a glitter of hunger when they turn their heads to watch a ship rock past.

The drake stepped back three times, his head bobbing each time, and he cocooned his wings around himself to shield himself from the next hit. The dragoness’s wing had three scores of  dripping claw strokes, red as a poinsettia, and she kept rustling it as her green eyes glared hard into the prince’s golden ones.

The spines at the back of her head waved slightly in her malice as if touched by the wind and she suddenly tensed, her legs shifting to brace herself against the grass floor while her main wings (for she had four- a smaller pair behind the two front ones for balance like a butterfly or true fly) spread slightly.

In a fight for a prize, the two rivals exchange blows with perfect track of whom had hit whom. When one attacked, it waited for the the other to hit back before advancing unless a dragon was fleeing on either side. If one strikes the other multiple times in their rage the other will respond in kind and their morph into a untouchable bomb of barely contained energy, but it is in this way that they face more casualties.

But the enemy prince was saved the pain of being maimed by a large and very rather unsuspecting THWACK! to his side.

He rolled backwards once,dazed and in his terror writhed and twisted unelegantly to his twitching legs and bolted wobbling away from the thing which stuttered forward from the blow it cast, it’s huge rock arms still stuck in the same pose.

The vixen went back to it’s position when it had been freshly hit, with her shoulders leaning back and her back straight but now with wide, scared eyes- lying against a thick ancient tree’s rough trunk in a vulnerable and innocent position similar to a mother cat when she lies on her side to nurse her kittens, a paw cast over them- in this case it was a wing protecting her own side from it.

The terrible it.

And now it- Gullyinn forbid- turned around slowly, it’s arms reverting to limp and by it’s sides to Gala, whose wings shot out further in order to shield herself from this thing, her three scratches glittering in the dappled light as it shone a spotlight down on them.

A silent red tear rolled down from it’s end and glided down her thin stained membrane, lingering at the end like a man hanging on for life at a cliff end, then let go, rolling and then splattering silently against the ground as a small round splash bright against the green of the grasses around them.

It’s gaze slid from the vixen to her three long thin crimson wounds, eyes narrowing, which made her uncomfortable, as a wild animal does not like to advertise that it is in a weak state. She folded the appendages slowly and stared at it back.

The it leaned forwards a bit, and Gala tensed,leaning the opposite direction with her chin tucked in a bit to save her neck, and her legs slid under her body in preparation to lift it, while her wings unfolded slightly.


It appeared to have fainted,falling onto it’s back.

“What a relief”, she murmured, letting the words wash over the it. She hauled herself to her her feet, shivering as if with cold, and bowed her head down to touch the thing with the tip of her snout, inquisitive, unheeded how scared she was before.

It shivered in response.

Interesting, our vibria thought. ‘

She tilted her head this way and that, contemplating how to pick it up, then opened her jaws slightly as if to snap it up. She closed it again. The thought of such abhorred her- this thing she had won through some effort from the drake and she deduced that she was not stupid enough to eat a thing which was most likely poisonous to her well-being. And if she dragged it along by it’s big mechanical hand, it would possibly get all dirty and scratched and all that and much worth of a jewel to keep in her hoard.


She could, but just wouldn’t place it on her back or her head as if she was a trained thing to be controlled, as if she was rendered tame by a human. This was a human and no human would touch her.

Definitely not sit on her.

Her mouth opened a bit again, her tongue lolling, and she thought about hitting it to make it responsive. Then it could follow like a duckling....but no, there was always a chance that it would run off.

Or she could carry it using her tail.


Gala’s long tail crept through the air, the tip twitching all the while like a cat’s as she wound it around the thing she had gained like a bandage round a broken bone. It tensed the moment she touched it with her tail and she went stiff as well, wary of what it could do.

When it was all covered like a mummy or a doll or a gift of some sort, she lifted it and started back the way she came...having to walk many miles back to her cave lying in the mountains, the remains of a city.


So far.

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