SINGED
Chapter 7

I was awakened by sunbeams dancing through waving palm fronds above me. A slight indentation in the sand was all she left behind, not even footprints remained. There was a breeze that might have been held accountable for erasing her tracks with drifting sand, except that a sea gull or some other bird had left its own prints to replace hers.

I was utterly alone. Not even when I lay curled within my egg had the world been so quiet. Then I had the subtle subliminal support of my siblings. When I climbed up out the depths of my stony nursery into the light of day I had the mental murmurings of a multitude to encourage me on. Then I had my crew and my Captain. Now there was no one. I must be countless leagues from the nearest sentient being.

I inhaled, let the breath escape, felt the sun on my face. I had never known such a silence. The breeze and the waves replaced the muttering minds, filled the world. I felt peace like a healing balm on my troubled nerves. This was an unexpected boon, but it did not last.

My thoughts turned to the Mist Drake and my lost crew, to Sal and Cayn. I had never known sorrow before, but I knew it now with unexpected intensity. The shock from the previous night had left my emotions numb. Now that my mind was settling in the silent solitude I was forced to face my loss.

I had unwittingly embraced my human side and now it turned on me. Tears welled in my eyes and a lump formed in my throat. My friends, my only friends were gone. Could I have saved them?

I reeled with regret. Perhaps I could have defeated the second serpent as I had the first. I was a Great Wurm after all and they were, merely, water drakes. I shook my head, wiped away angry tears. There was no use dwelling.

For a time, I stared out at the empty sea where our ship had been. Then turning, I walked away into the emerald green foliage. Birds sang high above in the canopy and there was a chittering, as long-limbed primate climbed through the branches.

I wandered for several candles until I realized that I was hungry, so I found a tree with juicy red skinned fruit. After I ate my fill and, gathering as many as I could carry, I returned to the beach.

I did not want to miss the Captain’s return. She might search for me and be lost. There were no new tracks in the sand, no sign of her. She probably would not return until dusk I thought so I returned to the jungle, checking back every few candles just in case.

The isolation had begun to weigh on me. I had grown accustomed to companionship but if I stayed busy I forgot my loneliness. I was a dragon; it was our way. Dragons are solitary. In my heart though I was waiting for her, I was not alone.

Searching the area around my nest on the beach, I found fallen branches. I began to gather them to build a shelter, not for myself but for her, when she returned. I amassed driftwood from the beach, vines and palm leaves from the jungle. Slowly a humble thatched hut took shape.

Morning surrendered to midday, which in turn submitted to afternoon and evening. I had gathered several days’ stores and, as dusk claimed the island, I returned to the beach to wait.

As the light faded, she came out of the forest and I went to meet her. We embraced, clinging to each other as we had in the sea amid the wreckage of our doomed ship. I had not realized how powerful human emotions could be. My borrowed experiences, no matter how numerous, were pale in comparison. It was the difference between viewing a painting of a sunrise and seeing a sunrise for real. For long moments, we remained entwined.

“I want to tell you everything,” she murmured, “now that I can.”

I considered her eyes, searching for a hint of what was to come. Her gaze was guileless, vulnerable. We sat in the warm sand, wrapped in the deepening shades of night, as she spoke.