For the woman to hear the soft snuffling under
her hands is a wonder. To see the emerald green scales that have not yet
hardened into the horned skin of adulthood, and to peer into those lambent eyes,
the golden orbs of the gentle serpent who has no place of evil in his kind and
generous heart, all this is beyond a dream, perhaps beyond a fantasy. Of
course, Myrddin would be a flesh eater, a habit of yore and hard to eradicate,
but then what is the value of a guerdon easily won? However, if the simple diet
of nutmeats and milk chocolate is properly and carefully maintained, the future
tenderness of the dear creature is assured, and he will enter the Cathedral of
Sighs a sweeping testament to the vigilance of his keepers and the goodness of God,
having grown to his statuesque honor without the slaughter of man or beast.
Then, when the Great Meeting occurs, and the Deep Song encompasses the place of
old sighing in the souls of the willow trees by the river, and the Weaver of
Wings stands ready, the silver mist ascending to the height of the chosen one’s
grown stature, the sapling would be truly prepared for the form, but not the
substance, of his nascent adult wings, and the color of them would flash
suddenly and imperially, an explosive surprise, and Myrddin’s muscles would ripple in delight at
the prowess he possesses. When he sweeps to the dome of heaven, leaving behind
the thoughts of almonds, chocolates, children and cats, then, a wee hatchling,
the merest slip of a dragonet, would squawl in triumph, snuggling tenderly into
the accustomed spot in the filing cabinet, awaiting the footsteps of the brave
guardians and the silky fingers of the woman at the desk beside.
You might ask me, do you have other stories
like these? I would answer, akin to these or of the same nature? For, you see,
this is a true story, the others are the subtle phantasms, the delight of my
heart in the darkness, and the things I tell myself so that I will not weep.
How can I tell you how Myrddin came to me, scenting
Rachel, my cat, on the windowsill, her green eyes surveying with mild interest
the baby-winged figure looping awkwardly toward our eyrie ? The glass panes
were no barrier to their bonding, they regarded each other with quiet, animal
caution, then Myrddin simply passed through the window, landing in a soft
somersault on the quilt, dazed by the feel of the downy fabric and the smell of
lilac. Rachel was stunned by the intrusion, retreating to her safe haven under
the bed, crouching watchfully in the shadows. She was unprepared for the
scrambling of smooth, golden talons along the blankets as Myrddin followed her,
trusting this older creature to lead him to safety. After all, Rachel was at
home and seemed happy and unafraid of any harm, surely a tiny being like
himself could find security under the dark cherry bed in one of the clean and
silent corners.
Myrddin hung, tangled in the quilt edge,
his face peering anxiously into the dim light where Rachel knelt like a
mandarin, ears perked forward in absolute feline intensity. Tears blurred his
vision for a moment, fear gripped the trembling heart of him, curious smells
overcame him, no wind, no sunlight, no bird calls, nothing. Just the stillness,
the glowing eyes of his watcher, and the terror that he had done triumphantly
the wrong thing in coming here to this alien place.
II
The discomfiting moments ticked by like
terrible hours. Slowly, the heaving of
Myrddin’s chest grew less, and he became very still. One rear talon remained
implacably caught in the hand stitching of the quilt,
and, even at his tender age, he knew that only a quiet and logical
contemplation of his predicament would lead to release. As he considered, there
was a sinuous movement of approach, and a warm, unfamiliar scent poured through
his delicate nostrils. He raised his front limbs in an instinctive, defensive
gesture and made his first assay at would become a deafening roar upon his
reaching adulthood, but was now a hopefully terror-inducing hiss of defiance.
Rachel started at the sound, and hunkered down again on her haunches, regarding
Myrddin with more respect and not a slight amount of pity. Having survived
similar situations in her mischievous kittenhood when lace curtains and frilly
tablecloths were objects of extreme attraction, she sighed inwardly remembering
the exhilaration of discovery and the humiliating and sometimes frightening
results of her explorations of the world. She knew that at this point the
upside-down posture, exhaustion and fear were taking a rapid toll on the
muscles in Myrddin’s snagged foot. She recalled the hard-won ability to allow
herself the freedom for the beauty and agility of falling by retracting her own
razor-sharp claws, and longed to communicate this knowledge somehow. Would her
guttural purrs and metallic clicks speak plainly to this golden-eyed creature?
Did they unknowingly possess the unutterable language common to hearts so
different?
Rachel rose , stretching her front legs
luxuriously, flexing her claws, then extending the hind ones separately in a
sensuous, unstudied manner, so that her graceful body inched closer to the
dangling dragonet. Myrddin, his body tingling in rapt anticipation, felt the
first fugitive touches of silken, dark fur brushing lightly over him. The cat
massaged his entangled foot rhythmically with her left cheek. Myrddin thrilled
to the soft rumble of her purr, and listened intently to the unfamiliar voice
that seemed to be urging a deep relaxation over him. Gradually his clamped
talon opened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the terrible pain of
slamming into the wooden floor below. To his great surprise, he sank instead into
a warm, breathing blanket of welcome. Rachel embraced him tenderly on her belly
with her front legs, then rocked him, lowering him gently to the floor beside
her. Myrddin lay stunned, an opalescent mist of connection eddying to and fro
between them. The gentle cat yawned, showing her pink tongue and white teeth, she
then settled into quiet contemplation, her eyes dreamy and thoughtful. Rachel’s
black whiskers twitched, delicate messages travelling their length to the heart
of her curiosity. The dragonet remained fearful, yet ensorcelled with the
creature before him, his sensitive snout vibrating.
