The Great Dragon of Nenara

Wells remained unimpressed. "Given that I'm conversing with a hawk, the existence of dragons ought not to surprise me," he said, his voice heavy with skepticism. "And yet, it does. What was he like, this Great Dragon?"

"Big," Aria replied after a moment of consideration.

"'Big'?" Wells repeated. "Can you not offer more than that?"

"Very big," she insisted. "Immense. The word 'big' fails to capture the scale of him. He was the color of winter snow, save for his eyes. They were a startling, profound red."

"An albino, then?" Wells ventured.

"Yes! That is the word for it!" Aria chirped. "He had shimmering scales, a serpentine neck, and a long tail that ended in a cluster of spikes. His talons were much like my own. He was the first kithara, shaped by the Creator, and the progenitor of our kind. But he seldom left his mountain, and rarely moved at all. I doubt he even blinked."

She recalled his words, her voice mimicking a deep and tremendous rumble. "'You can go no higher, brave little sparrowhawk.'"

"I must go farther, Great Dragon," I had replied, a genuine modesty in my tone that surprised even me. "The Lord of the Crags has commanded me to reach the summit of Mount Nenara. Only then will he accept me as his pupil."

"Lord Hethrin commanded this?" The Great Dragon’s head moved for the first time as he rumbled. "He grows conceited in his old age. I, the Great Dragon, am the only being who can ascend higher than any bird."

His gaze softened. "What is your name, courageous sparrowhawk? And how did you come to the slopes of Nenara?" He seemed impressed as I recounted my journey. "You have traveled far to reach me, Aria Ashwing. I find myself moved by your spirit. I will teach you the ancient ways of the kithara myself."

Aria continued, "And so, for what must have been a decade, I trained under the Great Dragon himself. I mastered languages, learned the ways of magic, and came to understand the purpose that would eventually lead me to you. He even shared his true name—a secret few kithara know—and declared that I would be his heir, should he ever pass.

"One day, I resolved to return to The Crags. I vowed to the Dragon I would be back, a promise I suppose I can no longer keep. After a lengthy flight, I arrived, and this time, Lord Hethrin remembered. I was welcomed not as a petitioner, but as a dignitary.

"I remained at The Crags for several more years, helping to instruct the young kithara in their duties. I had just finished a lesson on magic with a clutch of robins when you pulled me from my world."

"So concludes my tale, Wells," Aria finished. He could hear the smile in her voice, even without seeing it.

Wells offered a sincere, quiet applause. "That's a remarkable life, Aria," he said. "Far more interesting than my own."

"Is that so?" she replied. "I'm relieved my history did not bore you."

With a flick of her wings, she launched from the branch and settled softly on his shoulder. "Hm," she mused, testing the new perch. "I believe I could grow accustomed to this."

Only then did Wells register the deep chill that had settled in his bones. He shivered, and Aria swayed unsteadily. "I won't get used to it if you continue to tremble like that," she snapped. "What is the matter?"

"I'm… freezing," Wells answered, his teeth chattering. "Look around us, we've been sitting here for hours." The sun had vanished, leaving them in the gloom of night. "We need a fire." Aria flew from his shoulder to a nearby stump as he knelt and began clearing a patch of ground of leaves and debris. "Can you make one?"

Aria snorted. "With what? These are wings, not hands."

Wells rolled his eyes. "I meant with magic, of course."

"As a matter of fact, I can," she said. "Except..."

"Except what?"

"I cannot work magic here unless you are also working it," she clarified. Wells stood, brushing dirt from his trousers, and Aria fluttered back to his shoulder. "Do you think you can manage fire magic?"

"The only magic I’ve ever managed was by accident," Wells admitted. For some reason, her abrasive personality didn't grate on him as it might have with another. He found himself, to his own surprise, enjoying her company. "Do you at least know the theory of it?"

"I believe so," Aria answered.

"Then how is it done?"

"The first thing—" Aria paused, frustrated. She shut her eyes for a second, then launched from his shoulder. She angled her wings, beating them once, twice, a third time. To his astonishment, a torrent of flame, the exact vibrant blue of the stone in his ring, erupted from beneath them, extinguishing itself before it touched the ground.

Wells's eyebrows shot up. "Impressive," he commented. "Can you do that again?"

"Yes," Aria nodded, landing back on his shoulder. "But perhaps you should arrange some logs first."

"Right. Come on," Wells said, heading out of the clearing and into the trees.

The woods were considerably darker, swallowing the faint light and deepening the cold. Wells could barely see a few feet ahead as he moved forward, his hands groping along the forest floor for dry, dead branches. When he had gathered a full armload, he returned to the clearing and arranged the wood in a crude pile on the bare earth. It was hardly a proper fire pit, but it would have to suffice.

"Alright, Aria," he said. "Light it up."

She flew toward the woodpile and released another jet of blue flame. The logs instantly caught, blazing with the same strange and beautiful azure light. Wells sat beside it, pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders. The fire crackled and popped like any other, yet it radiated a comforting heat that seemed to penetrate deeper than an ordinary flame. Aria landed on his arm, inching closer to the warmth.

"So you can do magic without me after all," Wells smiled.

"No," Aria corrected. "I had your help. That is why the fire is blue. Notice, however, how the color is already beginning to fade."

Wells watched as the blue hue slowly receded, giving way to the familiar dance of orange and yellow. He glanced at his ring, which glinted in the light. "Why does it do that?"

"Ask Cirus tomorrow," she replied.

They sat for another hour, talking quietly as they appreciated the fire's embrace. Wells leaned in, letting the heat seep into his bones, but Aria remained cautiously distant from the open flames.

As the fire began to die down, she announced, "If I were built for it, I would yawn."

Almost on cue, a massive yawn escaped Wells. Aria let out a small chuckle. "Let's get some sleep, Wells. We are both exhausted."

"We should put out the fire," Wells noted. He stood and kicked dirt over the glowing embers.

"Allow me," Aria offered. She swooped toward the fire pit, and as she angled her wings, a fine spray of water materialized from the air, dousing the flames. All that remained was a plume of smoke and a pile of sizzling, wet logs. "Satisfactory, wouldn't you say?"

"I should hope so," Wells replied. "I'd rather not wake up to a burning forest."

Aria chuckled again, then flew to a low-hanging branch on a nearby tree. "I shall sleep here," she announced. Seeing his puzzled look, she explained, "I find it easiest in a tree." When he continued to stare, she asked, "What is it?"

Wells broke eye contact, his gaze falling to his boots. "I've never told anyone this," he began, a flush of shame warming his cheeks, "but I'm… afraid of sleeping alone in the dark. At home, I usually leave a screen on. It's bright and loud. Since I came here, I've always had Cirus or my friends nearby at night."

Aria flew down from her perch. "Very well," she grumbled, though the usual sharp edge was absent from her voice. He thought he could detect a note of sympathy. "But don't you ever say I've never done anything for you, Wells Barlow. Now, break off that branch so I might at least have something familiar to sleep on."

A wide grin spread across Wells's face. "Thanks," he murmured, a wave of gratitude washing over him. Standing on his toes, he snapped off the branch Aria had occupied. He laid it on the ground beside him, then lay down, using his cloak as a blanket. Aria hopped onto the branch.

"Goodnight, Wells," she sighed.

"Goodnight, Aria," he replied. After a short pause, he added, "Aria?"

"What?" she whispered back.

"I'm glad you're my kithara," he murmured.

A soft rustle came from the branch. "And I, Wells, am glad you are my wizard."