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"Tairn?"
I call for him, but it’s silent out here and in my head. I’ve been wandering these flight fields for what feels like hours just for any glimpse of him, but to no avail.
His shields are firmly in place.
Without his steady presence, I feel unmoored. Stranded in a sea of green.
It feels just like the day Dad brought me to the farmers' market. We were on the hunt for fresh carrots and even fresher beef. Though I wasn’t much help. Like a little wolf cub, I was too distracted by the sights and sounds to pay much attention to the chase.
It didn’t matter, anyway. Dad knew exactly where to go.
Before I could nibble through my first wad of cotton candy, he brought me to the butcher’s storefront; touting slabs of meat that seemed pinker and sweeter than the sugar dissolving on my tongue.
He offered me a napkin to wipe my hands clean, before nudging the door open and patting my back in gentle encouragement.
“Go on, Violet. You first,” he said.
Cautiously, I stepped inside and took my first breath; a whiff of crisp blood and stagnant water. Chasing the source of the stench led me to a row of skinned cows hanging by their legs along a ceiling rack. I wriggled my hand in Dad’s grip with no intention to leave, but every intention to express my fear.
"Don't go anywhere, sweetheart. I don't want you to get lost," Dad said as he held my hand tighter.
“…mmkay,” I mumbled, though my grip remained as flimsy as my response.
Dad and the butcher exchanged a few words. Words I could hardly understand. Something about the best cuts and freshness. There was an obsession with it; this freshness. To consume the meat just as it was slaughtered. Almost as if they were chasing the sensation of eating it alive.
And fresh it was, alright. The cut the butcher procured was so fresh I could nearly see it writhing beneath his knife, so fresh I was afraid it'd spring to life and curse me for my appetite.
The butcher looked down at me with the kindest of smiles as he pinned the order beneath his fingers. He must’ve seen my blight; the fear and ignorance of a little child, because he held my gaze and brought his cleaver down in a single, sure, strike.
“It’s alright,” he said, “she died a gentle death.”
Those were choice words of comfort, I suppose.
I shrank away, hiding my face behind Dad’s arm. But the stench was there; that putrid tang. I could close my eyes but I couldn’t stop myself from breathing. So as Dad fished for a handful of coins and loosened his grip on mine, I ripped my hand out of his and ran for the stalls, afraid to remain in the space of a slab of meat with a motive for vengeance.
I got lost. Of course I did. I ran for a haven, not for a destination.
Mercy, then, were the multicoloured stalls; speckled with glittering flags flapping in the wind, and an endless crowd of sundresses topped off by straw hats.
But here, in these flight fields, there’s nothing but a flat plain of greenery. Nothing to see. If only it were winter rather than summer, then at least I’d have footprints to place and tracks to follow.
“Tairn? Are you there?” I try again.
There's no response.
It takes another half hour of directionless meandering, but I find him eventually with his head beneath a tree that barely shades his head. He’s not alone; accompanied by Sgaeyl, resting her head upon a stone.
Tairn nudges Sgaeyl's nose with his own, breathing out a puff of steam. An infantry cadet might flinch at the sight and lower their eyes, but Sgaeyl is no such thing. Her eyelids droop to a close as she dips her head beneath Tairn's chin, and the pair of them settle into what I can only assume is an afternoon nap.
It feels like I'm intruding on a private moment. Something intimate. Something personal. I'm being rude, I think. But then again, maybe dragons don't view intimacy in the same way humans do. Maybe it's not something they hide.
There's a lot I don't know.
"Do not worry yourself with matters of dragon kind, Silver One," Tairn says, cracking his right eye open. "A century upon this earth will grant you immunity to the ignorance of a human child. Carry on with your uninformed and impolite ways. They will not faze me."
"I'm an adult by human standards, y'know."
"You will always be a child to me."
“…should I leave?” I ask, regretting my decision to come out here. Looking over their sleeping forms; majestic and larger than life, I feel more out of place than I’ve ever been.
“Did you not hear my words?” Tairn grumbles. “Come here. You will lay with us.”
“Sgaeyl won’t mind?” I glance at Sgaeyl and note her steady breaths. “What if she wakes up and…I dunno…decides to scorch me?”
Tairn turns his head to Sgaeyl and mutters something in words I can scarce understand. Sgaeyl responds in kind, and returns to sleep. I don’t know how, but I can tell she’s annoyed.
“She has no interest in human ashes,” Tairn says, “and finds no issue with you being here. Now, come here.”
At last, I move to stand beneath Tairn’s chin and lay on the grass by Sgaeyl’s head. Tairn extends his wing and lowers it over me, curling it precisely around my shoulder.
“Are you tucking me in?” I ask.
He ignores my question.
“You will stay here until we wake again,” he says. “Stay, and do not get yourself lost as you did before. Hide-and-seek is not my pastime of favour.”
“Hey, I was the one doing all the work. You just sat here. Didn’t even try hiding.”
“And yet it took you hours to find me.”
“Whatever, Tairn. Good night,” I say, rolling over onto my side to face away from him. Listening to myself, I really do feel like a child.
Sgaeyl’s fangs are on full display from where I rest, stained in a light pink hue; a memory of blood from the neighbouring flock of sheep. Though I doubt they’re much of a flock now that lunchtime has passed.
The scent of pink death is familiar. I know it like I know how to say hello in a different language; something I’ll never forget, yet it never fails to feel foreign on my tongue. Only this time, I’m not afraid of it.
With time, I wonder if I’ll grow indifferent to it.
“Go to sleep, Silver One,” Tairn interrupts my thoughts, exasperated, “end your ceaseless reflection, and rest, for the love of whatever gods you believe in.”
I chuckle to myself and close my eyes, letting the beating warmth of dragon blood lull me into a gentle slumber.
Tairn cannot hold my hand. I'm much too 'puny' for him. But I know that if he takes me to a vast and foreign place, I'll follow him with the faith of a child who's witnessed a butcher's grace.