Storms are dangerous things.
It was a storm that he was born in, lightning that struck the shell of his egg and weakened it enough for him to break through. That night, though, he spent most of curled inside the broken shards, wet from rain but still radiating heat into the darkness around him.
It was a miracle that he did not die. He knew no parents, no other dragons like him from the day he hatched. He learned to hunt, to defend himself, and when he grew large enough, he taught himself to fly and breathe fire. He learned to speak when he ventured close enough to villages in his search for food, almost always coming away with a few more words and a stray chicken.Â
Another storm, almost a year later, grounded him when he flared his wings out in an attempt to catch the breeze and a gust of wind blew him into a tree, snapping the delicate bones in one wing. That injury took a long time to heal, mostly because he could not help but move it a little or die out in the wilds, but partly because he did not know how to help himself.
That storm taught him caution, not to rush blindly into new things but to be careful in everything he did. Of course, soon after a pack of wolves smelled his blood and fear and came after him, but he had the ability to climb still, and so he went up a tree until they went away.
Another storm, when he was almost full-grown, taught him that humans feared natureâs power as much as he did. He was sheltering in a cave near a small town when lightning struck the thatched roof of one of the houses, setting it ablaze. The wind carried the flame far before the rain could put it out, and so humans came pouring out of the buildings, yelling in fear and scurrying about like ants in an upset hill. He watched some be trapped and die from his vantage point and did not venture out until the storm stopped.Â
Then, he had easy pickings and enough food to last him a few days, but after he moved on, searching for a permanent home. He knew by now that he should have one, but where to find it?
Other storms came and went, most without incident, others teaching him to stay in caves rather than under trees, that water was deadly when it was struck by lightning, that he would sometimes have to fight for proper shelter away from his new home- a defunct castle with huge rooms that could easily accommodate his size.
And then, one night in a storm, as he sheltered in a cave, he got more than he had ever bargained for.
He had flown out from the castle when he grew hungry, as was usually his wont, but this time when he caught a deer and devoured it the gnawing in his belly did not ease. He killed another, but when he sniffed at the scorched carcass it was in no way appetizing. He left it there for a bear or some other predator and flew on, wondering what he could be wanting for.
When the rain started, he automatically searched for a cave, finding one not soon after. It was little more than a cleft in a cliff, but when he swept out most of the sharper rocks with his tail and curled up far back in it he was almost cozy.
Late in the night, when he was dozing, he snapped awake. There was a sound- a sound that was not usually there, even in the patter of rain on the outside grass. He listened hard, and there it was again, a gulping, distressed sound like a cross between a sob and a cry for help.
Keeping low to the ground, he crept forwards, eyes adjusting to the darkness and revealing the silhouette of a human child against trees. Thunder rolled again, and he when it stopped he heard her sob again. Well, let no human say he was a monster. Looking uneasily around him at the trees, he snaked out his head towards her and nudged gently, letting out a soft puff of warm air. She could shelter with him that night if he didnât scare her off, and in the morning she could leave or stay as she liked.
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