6.1: Dragon thoughts
There was a boy who realised that speaking with a dragon through his mind was not as easy as he thought it would be. For one, it kind of hurt.
Ugh, the Circus Dragon bemoaned, I am to be painted white today. There was a wave of bitterness that crashed into him like a cold wave. White, with little red hearts, groaned the dragon, and the groan shook Noah to his core. The boy had to grit his teeth.
Noah also felt slightly dizzy, with a peculiar ringing bouncing off the walls of his skull. It ached, just a little, but he forced himself to answer anyway. Are you sad? Do you not like it?
There was a moment of silence as the dragon considered his words. I don’t. She replied finally. I don’t like it. Her emotions filled his head, along with her words. He felt her disdain, her shame—that a creature like her could be coerced into receiving coat after coat of ridiculous paints—they felt like a sourness, like a fruit that had a rot in it, which she was handing over to him to see, to touch, to taste. This manner of shared emotions was not too bad. He preferred it when the dragon’s feelings were more contained. Like this.
There were other moments when they were intense, spilling over. Like when she knocked over a pot of paint while stepping out of the river. There came a shout from one of the Keepers. Some sort of commotion. Then, rage. Her yowl filled the air, and her fierce anger poured into him, as did the sharp sting from where one of her Keepers had dug an unpoisoned spear underneath one of her scales, twisting it deep. In that brief moment Noah was overwhelmed; he forgot who he was, his mind one with the dragon in her pain and her fury.
Eventually when he came to, his teeth were bared in a wild snarl, braced against a wall of gums and ivory.… It was very unlike himself, and that scared him. But only just a little, he told himself. Just a little.
He told himself that he had to be brave. That he was embarking on a great adventure, and alongside a dragon! Sure, it was a Red dragon instead of a Green, and her scales were a dull, muddy brown. Sure, she was pocked with scars all over. And her wings… She had twisted meat-stubs where they were supposed to be… But a dragon was a dragon, he told himself. He very much wanted to be like the heroes that he had read about in the books, speaking to their dragon-companion through thoughts rather than words. It made him feel special. Unique, but in a good way. Not the way the gap in his lip made him feel.
So he held on to the mental connection. It was, to him, sort of like clinging to his mother’s hand when she was rushing off somewhere and dragging him along behind her. Except now he was doing the clinging with his brain, while physically he sat on the floor of the dragon’s mouth.
I like hearts. I think you’ll look pretty. The boy tried to reassure the dragon, the way he wished his mother would reassure him more about the way he looked.
In return he received a snort, and the saliva-coated muscles within the dragon’s maw contracted briefly with the sound. I look hideous, she replied, though her words were less sour. He could sense her stretching her body out and leaning into the cool water, and wondered if it was because of this given glimpse of freedom that caused her to relax a little.
Does your mother have a shard, Hatchling? came her voice. I’ve seen all elves with a shard. Not so the humans.
Noah hesitated. A shard would be… That quartz crystal that his mother had obtained just a few days ago, if he recalled correctly. Yes…? He still was not sure.
Excellent. Show me. I may be able to sense its resonance and guide you better, the dragon said.
The boy frowned. How do I… Show you stuff? He stiffened, feeling her presence envelope him.
Have you ever held it before in your hands?
Yes.
Good. Try to remember how it felt, while it was in your hands.
Noah tried. Noah focused. It was somehow easy to recall all the elements of it, even though it was such a small thing that had fit easily in his hand. He remembered its shape, despite the fact that he had held it only briefly. Here, Noah, hold this for me. Nana is going out to get us some dinner. He remembered his mother’s words before she shoved the shard into his open palms and slipped out into the night.
He thought of the way the irregular edges pressed into his skin as he closed his fist around it. How it had felt cool at first, and then warm as a consciousness seemed to stir in a place far, far away, regarding him briefly, only momentarily curious at the change of hands. Then the consciousness, together with the warmth that it brought, winked out. The resulting silence made him realise that there had been a string of very soft murmurings that rode along with that consciousness, as though a thousand voices were speaking all at once.
It is there, in the silence, said the dragon in his mind. What did the silence sound like?
The silence was like… Noah did not have the words to describe it. It was a ringing, but it was not. It was like a hum, but it was not. But there was a note that echoed through the recesses of his mind, the strength of it ebbing and flowing like a tide.
There was a rumble of triumph. I have it, said the dragon. The floor beneath the boy listed this way and that as the dragon turned and tilted her head, as though searching.
Are you looking for my Na-na? The boy found himself getting up to stand, unable to contain his excitement.
© June 2026, Leira Loong AKA the Circus Dragon. All rights reserved.
I love this. Your writing makes me FEEL the dragon.