#free wing

[im-fairly-whitty]

It’s been almost exactly two years since I last drew something for my Free Wing story (a bunch of my cowboy OCs, but in this world people ride dragons instead of horses) but got the itch again this week. >:)

[im-fairly-whitty]

On Bridling Dragons: The Essay

Do you like dragons, accurate world-building, and bizarre dental facts you’ve never once in your life wondered about?

Boy oh boy, have I got the post for you. 

So everyone loves a good dragon-riding story, but as anyone’s who’s ever bridled a horse can attest, most artists (or writers for that matter) don’t know the first dang thing about that strappy thing that goes on a horse’s head, and that mess gets even worse when trying to translate it to a reptilian version of realistic working riding tack.

The basic and biggest problem in trying to bridle a dragon is the anatomical differences in the skull and dental types of equines (horses) and dragons (reptiles):

Horses are heterodont (mammilian, meaning they have different types of specialized teeth in their mouths) herbivores (plant-eating). They have their incisors at the front for cutting grass and then molars in the back for grinding it down. (Some horses also have small canines also known as “wolf teeth” up by their incisors that stallions use for fighting, but they’re small and generally ground down by their owners for safety.) 

This herbivorous dental set-up leaves a convenient gap near the front of their mouths. That’s where the metal bit of the bridle sits, allowing the horse’s rider to turn the horse’s head by pulling on the reigns, which tugs the bit against the sensitive corners of the horse’s mouth and directs it.

But reptiles, and by extension dragons, do not have that gap for a bridle’s bit. While all mammals are heterodonts (again, meaning they have different types of specialized teeth in their mouths), reptiles instead only have one kind of tooth in their mouths that all serve basically the same small pointy purpose.

Most species of reptiles fall into one of three tooth types:

1. Acrodont, meaning the teeth are actually ridges attached to the jaw bone that do not grow back if lost (IRL chameleons, bearded dragons, and in this world small insect-eating wyveryns). 

2. Pleurodont, meaning teeth are set inside their jaws and constantly fall out and grow back over and over through their entire lives (IRL many lizards and iguanids, in this world drakes are pleurodonts). 

3. Thecodont, meaning teeth grow from deep sockets, the strongest type of tooth. Falls out and is replaced constantly but rate of replacement slows down with age since each tooth only grows back about 50 times. (IRL crocodiles and snakes, in this world dragons.)

  Because of these teeth types there are two common strategies for bridling dragons (quick carnivorous flyers) and drakes (slower herbivorous and flightless).

1. Closed bridle:

Meaning that there is no bit used at all. The mouth of the animal is strapped closed in a kind of muzzle while in harness. Riding closed bridle is actually legally mandated for many species of dragon that are known to be flighty, or that large enough that they could pose a danger around people if they were to be startled and snap at someone. Aside from that most dragons have necks long enough that they could reach around and bite their own rider if they were to get riled enough for whatever reason.

If a rider is caught riding open on a breed that should be wearing a closed bridle they are subject to very heavy fines for posing a public danger. Most drakes also wear closed bridle (the yellow drake pictured is actually wearing a simple lead halter) despite being easy to handle and calm, but that’s generally because they move slow enough that the kind of precise direction an open bridle gives isn’t needed and their teeth grow too constantly to remove for the second type which is the

2. Open bridle: 

English Fieldracers like Arthur are one of the few species small and docile enough to legally be ridden open bridle, but that does come at a cost. Using a bit gives dragon riders better and faster control while flying, but it does necessitate the regular removal of teeth in order to create the bit-gap that horses have naturally. 

While this is painful for the animal, it’s seen as a cosmetic sacrifice for performance, like IRL dog breeders who dock the tails or ears of puppies to meet breed standards or in order to make them better working animals. 

A dragon’s “bridle teeth” are removed as often as possible while it’s still young before it’s bridle trained. This forced them to burn through the fifty or so times each tooth is able to regrow, meaning that by the time the dragon is fully grown at about 10-20 years old the bridle gap is permanent, the dragon no longer being able to regrow teeth there. 

And yes open bridle teeth removal does become quite the animal rights issue in modern era timeline in the Free Wing universe, but for now Arthur’s one of the many Victorian Era dragons who’s just glad he’s old enough not to have to get his teeth pulled every few months anymore.

(Some more expensive bridles for younger dragons like Arthur’s use extremely tough types of leather through the mouth instead of metal in case of a surprise leftover tooth coming in. A surprise tooth that could crack very painfully on a metal bit will instead wear at the leather in a noticeable way that will allow the rider to get it removed before it’s an issue. Arthur really should be using a metal bit by now but he’s picky and Louis spoils him by buying the more expensive leather replacements when Arthur starts to chew through them since he can afford it.)

Extra note: Spanish Razorwing dragons (a cowboy’s mount of choice) are plenty big enough for them to legally be forbidden from riding open mouth, but many cowboys ignore this law since they want their mounts to be able to fight on a moment’s notice should they clash with bandits or feral dragons. 

It’s a big risk to ride a Razorwing open bridle and generally the mark of either a very skilled or a very reckless rider. Many other cowboys will refuse to work with “open riders” because of the risk it can pose to their own closed bridle mounts who would be unable to defend themselves if the open bridle dragon decided to attack.

* also I realize now that Arthur’s reigns are absent or partially missing in his headshots and his bit circle is too high, I think that was a pre-research artistic decision in order to unclutter compositions since I hadn’t quite nailed down what I wanted dragon bridles to look like yet so I had some wiggle room.

[im-fairly-whitty]

Free Wing: An Illustrated Dragon Western

A young Victorian Englishman decides to chase after his dream of being a dragon-riding cowboy in the American Wild West. Set in a world where everything is the same as ours, but instead of horses there are dragons.

[Read Chapter 1]

Chapter 2 - Arrival

“Mister?”

Louis made a muffled grunt as he opened his eyes. A small boy standing in front of him slowly came into focus.

“We’re real close to Cheyenne mister, you said to wake you up?” the boy said. 

Behind the boy the passing Wyoming mountains and foothills swaying slightly as they seemed to slide past them.

“Ah. Yes, of course, thank you,” Louis said, clearing his throat and rubbing his eyes as he sat up, having been leaned against Arthur’s flank as they both napped.

Louis dug a coin out of his pocket and gave it to the boy, who grinned. The boy scurried off across the roof of the strider carriage and down the ladder attached to the side, presumably descending to one of the two lower levels.

Louis stood and stretched, breathing in the hot summer morning air around him. Luckily the thrillingly swift leviathan voyage last week and the last six days of strider travel meant he didn’t have to struggle for balance atop the carriage roof as it swayed back and forth with each of the massive beast’s steps.

Arthur made a sleepy clicking noise as he shook his head, getting up and stretching long. The dragon’s tongue curled as he yawned before his jaws snapped shut.

“Good morning to you too.” Louis said, rubbing the small scales under Arthur’s chin as they surveyed the slowly moving landscape around them.

Ahead of them was the long neck and head of the strider, the massive drake the size of a building whose slow plodding steps ate up ground with deceptively fast speed. They’d been lucky to catch an over-land shipping caravan of them setting out from the east coast when they’d landed in New York, continuing their journey west.

The driver had said this shipping company’s striders had come straight from Africa. Louis had heard of the companies working hard to carve trails for strider caravans across the entire North American continent in recent years, but seeing the massive trails and beasts first hand was awe-inspiring.

Big enough to ward off most predators or even bandits, Louis could see why striders’ docile dependability that make them ideal for traders looking to transport tons of goods at a time with as little danger as possible during the summer months.

Or in Louis’ case, passengers.

And now finally, in the distance, Louis could just make out a smudge on the horizon.

Cheyenne, Wyoming. A town that he’d been assured by East coast residents was regularly overrun by cowboys.

Arthur nudged his snout under Louis’ arm, nearly making him fall over.

“No Art, I’m not nervous.” Louis said, pushing Arthur’s head back, “I just...I just can’t believe we’re finally here I guess.”

Arthur shook himself in response, making his loose saddle tack jingle as he stretched his wings out full, giving them an experimental sweep. With all the travel they hadn’t had the chance to do too much flying the last couple weeks, Louis couldn’t blame him for being anxious. At the rate the strider was going it might be another hour before they reached town are all disembarked and Louis was already feeling as itchy to get moving as Arthur.

Louis rubbed his chin, glancing around the carriage roof. Well...they’d already paid their ticket fare, and they didn’t actually have any luggage that needed unloading...

“What say you and I get a head start?” Louis said, smiling as he adjusted Arthur’s bridle and started pulling the buckles tight on his loose saddle.

Arthur flapped his wings again in excited response, nearly knocking Louis over as he stuffed a few things back into the saddlebags and strapped them shut tight.  

“Let’s get on with it then.” Louis said, climbing into the saddle and strapping his legs in, checking his top hat’s chin strap. “We could use a flight anyway. Hup!”

Arthur sprang off the carriage roof, gleefully flapping his wings as they soared into the air. Louis let him spiral and swoop for a moment before pulling the reigns to the side, sending them gliding down to the strider’s head where they hovered for a moment, wings beating the air.

“Hullo!” Louis called to the driver, who was seated behind the strider’s head. “We’re going on ahead, don’t look for us at unloading!”

The driver waved his acknowledgment and Louis nudged Arthur on ahead. The dragon happily complied, slicing through the air. Louis smiled and leaned down to streamline them. The sagebrushy land under them zipped by as they sped across the sky, Cheyenne growing quickly as they sped toward it.

As they got closer to the town Louis could see other dragons in the air. Some circling down to land on roof perches, some taking off with sweeping clouds of dust, others tethered in small flocks on the ground. They were huge; easily four times the size of Arthur, with fins on the sides of their heads and sharp claws on the tips of their wings. Spanish Razorwings.

As they got closer Louis couldn’t spot any of the familiar yellow no-landing striping he was used to seeing all over London’s rooftops. Not a clue to be seen about traffic regulations. The only clue was that all the Razorwings seemed to be landed and hitched in paddocks around the edge of town, not a dragon scale to be seen on the streets, only drake carriages pulling cargo being unloaded from the first strider that had already arrived from their caravan.

Which seemed about right, dragons that size would be dangerous on the streets, big enough to collapse the wooden buildings and storefronts that looked anything but sturdy compared to the stone buildings back home. Not to mention that there was not a chance that it was legal to ride Razorwings open bridle.

But Arthur was small enough that they’d always been allowed just about everywhere back home...even indoors some places...they couldn’t get in too much trouble for guessing could they?

“Well that platform seems good as any.” Louis called to Arthur, angling him down toward a wooden platform in the middle of town.

Arthur glided carefully down above the crowd, delicately landing on the platform with as little flapping as possible due to the surrounding crowds. Louis swung down out of the saddle as the sound and smells of the town swept over them. It smelled nothing like London, that was for sure.

“Ho there! You don’t look like the post.”

Louis turned to see a gruff man waving a wide-brimmed hat at them as he approached.

“This here platform’s for Wing Express riders only,” the man called crossly. “If you don’t got mail in those saddlebags of yours then clear off before I call the sheriff.”

“I’m terribly sor-sorry,” Louis stuttered, grabbing Arthur’s reigns and pulling off his hat as the man—he must be the postmaster—approached them. “I couldn’t tell where to land, could you direct us to some place more suitable?”

“A Brit, eh?” the postmaster said, his angry expression shifting to something a bit more patronizing if Louis wasn’t mistaken. “How far off course did you get blown to end up all the way out here?”

“Please, I'm looking for work as a cowboy, is there some kind of notice board I can apply to here in town?” Louis asked, trying to keep himself composed at the man’s rudeness.

The postmaster scoffed, adjusting his glasses, “I reckon you’ve gone and landed yourself in the wrong state for that. Cattle runs end in Cheyenne, everyone here’s busy frittering away their paychecks before flying back down to Texas for their next job. If you’re looking for a saloon or cheap women you’re in the right place, but the cattle barons are all down south.”

Louis’ grip on the reigns tightened painfully as panic shot through him. The wrong state? But the men back east he’d asked had told him...maybe he’d asked all the wrong questions...? He was missing how easy things had been when it was his secretary arranged his traveling.

“I do need you to get off the Wings Express platform, we’re expecting a mail delivery and they’ll be needing the landing space.” The postmaster said, pointing down the wooden steps. “You should also know there’s no wings or guns allowed in town, if the sheriff catches you you’ll be in for a nasty fine. We’ve got a hard enough time keeping tipsy cowboys off the streets with their blasted Razorwings, we don’t need any foreigners flying around giving them ideas.”

“Isn’t there anyone I can ta-ta-talk to?” Louis said, swallowing hard to keep his panic and stupid stutter under control. “I’ve come a very long way, there must be someone you can think of who’s looking for help.”

The postmaster sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes, “There is one new advertisement. Henry Washington came in an hour ago looking for an extra man on a short cattle run down to Denver. Breeding stock that needs delivering I guess.”

“Where can I find Mr. Washington?” Louis asked eagerly.

“He said he’d be down by the General store until noon,” the postmaster said. “Black man wearing a purple vest, ask around and you’ll find him. Now get off my platform.”

Louis quickly nodded in thanks before scrambling up into Arthur’s saddle again, sweeping up off the platform with a powerful push of Arthur’s wings.

It took much longer than Louis would have liked to find someplace on the edge of town to leave Arthur—a safe distance away from a trio of tethered Razorwings eyeing the much smaller dragon suspiciously—hike back into town on foot, manage to get directions from busy or drunk passers-by for directions to the general store, and finally be directed out back to a crate unloading area.

By the time he spotted an African-American man in a suitably cowboyish outfit unloading a crate, Louis thoroughly regretted not having left his too-warm coat back with Arthur.

“E-excuse me, but are you Henry Washington?” Louis asked as he approached, half expecting the cowboy on the other side of the crate not to hear him.

The man looked up with a wary smile, glancing over Louis’s clothes for a moment before dusting off his hands. “Maybe. Who’s asking?”

“I saw Mr. Washington’s advertisement for another rider on his next cattle run?” Louis said, carefully speaking just slowly enough to keep his stutter at bay while he gripped the edge of his hat, “My name is Louis Ainsley, I’ve come to apply to the position.” he swallowed. “If that’s alright.” he added.

The man squinted at Louis, as if convinced he’d misheard him.

“You?” he asked, glancing again at his clothes. Maybe Louis should have purchased new ones after all.

“Yes.” Louis said, squaring his shoulders, “I’m an excellent flier and I work hard and I’ve come all the way from England. I’d very much appreciate the opportunity to join you and your team for your next expedition, assuming of course that you are Mr. Washington.”

The man let out a guffaw that made Louis jump, feeling a slight flush of embarrassment as the man continued to laugh.

“Ammon, come over here.” the man called, waving over a young man, probably Irish by blood judging by the flaming orange hair, “This gentleman’s come all the way from England to join our expedition.”

Ammon looked at Louis with a skeptical smile, “Not in those soft shoes he ain’t.” he said, cocking his hat back as he looked at Louis’ feet. He looked back up and Louis realized Ammon looked even younger than he was, he’d guess as young as seventeen.

“What’s got you over on this side of the pond wanting to run around in the dirt with us for?” probably-Mr. Washington asked, scratching his neck, “Don’t you got high tea with the queen or something?”

“I can pay well, I promise.” Louis said, he had to convince them before they laughed themselves out of town without him, “I can give you eighty pounds up front and eighty more after the cattle run’s over.”

All laughter and smiles stopped abruptly and the two stared at him long enough to make Louis want to crawl into his hat. Had he accidentally offended them somehow?

“You serious mister?” Ammon asked, looking concerned, “You’re supposed to get paid from these things, not the other way arou-”

“I think we could make room on the crew with arraignments like that.” said the still identity unconfirmed man, rubbing his chin.

“Oh lay off, Henry,” Ammon said, shoving the identity confirmed man’s shoulder, “We can’t bring him just because it’ll settle your gambling debts, look at him. If snakes or sunburn don’t get him first Saul’s gonna eat him alive. We don’t even know if he’s got a set of wings.”

“I do!” Louis said quickly, eagerly grasping at this slightest shift in possibility, “He’s a twenty year old English Fieldracer, fastest dragon in England, we’ve flown together our whole lives.”

“A Fieldracer?” Ammon asked, giving a low whistle, “You really do got money then don’t you?”

“I’d say we’ve got our new recruit.” Henry said happily, reaching out to shake hands.

“Saul won’t like it.” Ammon said, pushing Henry’s hand down before Louis could shake it.

“Saul don’t like anything.” Henry rolled his eyes, but he folded his arms, “You let me worry about it alright? If we take mister Ainsley with us he gets to have the cowboy experience of his dreams, and the three of us get paid two year’s worth of wages to split. All we gotta do is keep him alive, it’s a win all around as far as I can reckon. We’d be fools to pass it up.”

“What makes you so sure you won’t die before we finish?” Ammon said, looking back to Louis, “I mean no offense mister, but I’d feel real bad leaving you and your fancy wings buried under sagebrush someplace because you didn’t know what you were in for. Cattle runs are long dirty business, there ain’t gonna be no little sandwiches or carriages or butlers out there on the plains, and if you wanna turn back we can’t leave to herd behind to bring you.”

“I promise I know what I’m getting into,” Louis said earnestly, “I know I don’t look like it, but coming out to be a cowboy has been my dream since I was a boy. I’ve read everything I can about the west, and taught myself how to handle a lasso, and when I fly Arthur through London I imagine we’re threading through slot canyons and over prairies.

“I’m here because I haven't done anything else in my life that I’m proud of and if I have to go back to the horrid bank my father left me I really think I’m going to die. I need to be out here Mr. Washington, I don’t care what chores you give me, I promise you’ll never hear a word of complaint from me, I really desperately would like to join you and finally see what it’s like out on the plains and this is the only way I know how to do it.”

Louis didn’t know what it was exactly about Henry’s expression that changed during his speech, but whatever it was it made the man look less amused, almost sad looking. More earnest.

“Look here son,” Henry said, putting a hand on Louis’s shoulder, “plenty of us are out here running from some thing or another, I can’t fault you for that. But is this really something you reckon you can handle or is it just the first dangerous thing that came to mind when you settled on running off? As much as I’d like your money, truth is I don’t want to bury you any more than Ammon does.”

“I promise I can do it.” Louis said firmly, “And even if I do decide to turn back early, which I won’t, I’ll still make sure you get your money. I can’t leave until I’ve at least tried.”

Henry sighed, looking at Ammon, who soberly shrugged back.

“Saul won’t like it.” Henry said.

“You said you’d take care of Saul, remember?” Ammon said with a smirk.

“Alright, alright.” Henry said, good naturedly shoving Ammon’s hat down over his eyes, “Go unpack your saddle already before we move out, I’ll take care of the kid.”

He waved Louis over to follow him to where Ammon was hauling a wooden crate away from a stack that had “H. Washington” stamped on the side of them.

“Here, first cowboy job for you is to help me get this crate open.” Henry said, tossing Louis a crowbar.

Louis barely managed to catch the length of metal, dropping his hat in excitement as he grinned like an idiot.

“You mean it? You’ll let me come?” Louis asked, almost wondering if he’d hallucinated the last fifteen minutes, having imagined this moment so many ways over and over again for years.

“Don’t look so surprised about it, kid,” Henry said, wedging his crowbar under the crate lid and jerking the corner up, “Have a bit of confidence.”

“I, uh, I’ll try.” Louis said, doing his best not to look like a fool as he struggled to replicate Henry’s quick work. “I haven't done very much physical labor before,”—any physical labor actually if you didn’t count playing cricket, which he very much doubted they did—“but I promise I’ll learn quickly.”

“That’s alright son, we’ve all got our faults.” Henry said cheerfully, leveraging the rest of the crate lid off, “Saul’s as friendly as a horned toad, I’ve got my gambling, and Ammon’s a Mormon.”

“You’re just sour you’ve never won a penny off me because of it.” Ammon called back with a grin from where he was wrestling a new dragon saddle out of his crate and hefting it onto a waiting drake cart.

“He don’t gamble and he don’t swear and you’ll never be able to borrow a drop of whisky off him.” Henry said with a resigned sigh, pushing his hat back a bit as he started loading brown paper-wrapped packages out of their crate and onto the wagon as well. “Makes him about useless on a cattle drive if he weren’t so handy with the actual cowboying parts. Come on, this is the last of it, let’s head back to our flock, Saul’s waiting for us.”

“Who’s Saul?” Louis asked, quickly climbing up onto the cart with the other two as Henry finished loading.

“Who’s the gringo?”

Louis swallowed as a large man climbed into the driver’s seat ahead of them, picking up the drake’s reigns and shooting a dark look back at them, “And what’s he doing in our supply wagon?”

“Ah! Saul, I thought you were going to meet us back at the flock tether?” Henry said, slapping the Mexican man on the shoulder as the wagon started to move. Louis couldn’t help noticing the raking scars across the man’s face and arm.

“Had to buy more lead,” Saul said shortly, nodding to the empty holster on his hip, “Now, who’s this and what’s he doing on our wagon?”

“His name’s Louis Ani-something.” Ammon said cheerfully, climbing onto the driver’s bench beside Saul, “Lou here’s going to pay us a hundred and sixty pounds to come on the Denver shieldhorn run with us! I dunno how many dollars that is but it sounds like a bunch.”  

“No he’s not.” Saul said flatly, “Get him off my wagon.”

“Come on Saul,” Henry said with a sigh, “He’s paying good and the run will only be a week. I’ll make sure he stays out of trouble.”

“We’re not bringing a tourist with us,” Saul said, shaking his head. “He’ll get himself killed, or else he’s a rustler. Look at him.”

“If he is he’s the softest rustler I ever seen.” Ammon smirked. “What’re you so scared of? Let him come, my ma and pa could use the money and he’ll be good for laughs anyhow. Lou says he doesn’t even care if he dies, it’ll be alright having him along.”

“I s-sa-said I won’t be a bother to any of you and that I w-won’t trouble any of you for protection, I’ll take care of myself.” Louis quickly clarified. “I just want to come along and I’ll help however you want me to.”

Saul looked at him for a long moment, his icy gaze making Louis shiver.

“I say we bring him.” Henry said, “You don’t gotta look at him if you really hate it that much Saul, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.” Saul said.

“I’m the one who invited you on this run, and now I’m inviting Lou,” Henry said sternly. “I’m the one who found the guy wanting us to move his breeding stock so it’s my run. Besides, pay like that’s enough to finally get my sister and her kids away from South Carolina and over to Kansas, so this conversation’s over.”

Soul growled a little bit at that, but looked ahead silently instead of pushing the issue.

“I’m sorry if this is inconveniencing,” Louis said timidly.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Ammon said with a smile. “If Saul hasn’t shot you yet it means he likes you well enough.”

“Oh...good.” Louis said weakly.

“Does he at least have his own wings?” Saul grunted as he reigned the cart over toward the three Razorwings Louis had left Arthur near. The middle and biggest Razorwing—a large green one with yellow face and legs—eyed them sharply, no doubt the flock leader.

“Yes! I do, he’s right there actually, the Fieldracer there.” Louis said, jumping off the cart with the others as they pulled to a stop by the dragons. “Are these your Razorwings? What a coincidence!”

“Wooeee, look at that little guy!” Ammon said, pushing his hat back with a grin as he looked at Arthur, who folded his wings tightly against his side at the stares of the three strangers. “Don’t he get dirty real fast? And he’s so tiny, I bet he’d lose a fight with a shieldhorn no contest.”

“Well it hasn’t been an issue up until this point, our roostmasters have always kept Arthur sparkling.” Louis said. Arthur pushed his head nervously against Louis’ chest as he got closer, still eyeing the huge Razorwings. Louis wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck comfortingly, “I suppose we’ll have to get used to quite a bit more dirt now though.”

“I’ll say,” Ammon said with a laugh, walking over to the smallest of the Razorwings, who was still more than double the size of Arthur. This one was a darker green with red coloring.

“This is Rusty.” Ammon said, grabbing Rusty’s head spikes as the dragon nudged him. Louis’ breath caught in concern as the dragon lifted Ammon an easy ten feet in the air, playfully shaking his head back and forth as the boy hung onto Rusty’s snout. “He was my brother’s,” Ammon called, dropping back to the ground as Rusty lowered his head, much to Louis’ relief. “Still pretty young and he’ll give you trouble if you let him.”

There was a rattling hiss that made the ground vibrate and Arthur push his head closer to Louis. Louis looked up at the yellow patterned Razorwing in the middle as it raised its wings threateningly as Rusty’s antics, making the younger dragon crouch low to the ground in submission.

“That’s Cassidy,” Henry said, rolling his eyes as he carried an armload of packages over to the last dragon, a blue-green Razorwing with orange coloring who looked downright bored at Rusty and Cassidy’s altercation, “She’s even moodier than Saul and twice as pushy, but she’s the flock leader and Saul rides her open mouth—he only bridles her closed when we come into towns—so make sure to keep your pint-sized Fieldrunner out of biting range of her. And this is Major, he won’t give you any trouble at all.”

“O-open mouth?” Louis asked quietly, swallowing at the sudden hoarseness in his voice as he watched Cassidy shove against Rusty. Would Arthur be able to take that kind of roughness? Different breeds didn’t always mix safely. What if Ammon had already been in the saddle and gotten his leg crushed just now? “But she’s enormous, I didn’t think that was legal?”

“Don’t worry, she behaves when there’s riders.” Henry chuckled, starting to load Major’s saddlebags. “But she and Saul are good at what they do and they don’t allow nonsense from no one, so it’s probably just best to give them space, got it?”

Louis nodded mutely, watching Saul walk up to Cassidy with a sharp whistle and some barked words in Spanish. Cassidy huffed a last sharp breath at Rusty, then snapped her wings shut, lowering her head to Saul who continued to talk in softer Spanish as he scratched her chin.

“They seem close at least.” Louis observed quietly as he helped Henry pull things off the wagon.

“They should be, he raised her.” Henry said. “He’d be a fool to ride her open mouth if they weren't so close, that’s the only reason I ride with them. As it is, they’re the best in the cow punching business when they aren’t off hunting outlaws.”

“What do you mean by-”

“Say, I don’t suppose you’ve got any supplies of your own in those saddlebags?” Henry asked, glancing at Arthur.

“Well no, I suppose-”

“Alright, you and me, the general store. We’ll take the wagon back to return it.” Henry said with a sigh, strapping one of Major’s bags shut. “Ammon’s right when he says those shoes won’t last you three days and you’ll have to carry your own rations too. And you stay close to me, alright? We’re picking up the Shieldhorn breeding stock in an hour and you’re going to have to keep up, got it?”

“Yes sir.” Louis said, standing up straight. “And thank you again for letting me come along. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“Don’t thank me yet, son.” Henry said, climbing up onto the drake wagon. “Wait to see whether or not you and your dragon come out on the other side of this week in one piece.”

Louis didn’t quite know what to say in response to that and so he said nothing, instead pulling on his best cowboy face as he gave Arthur a last pat and climbed back into the wagon.

He was going to survive the week, and it was going to be great.

He was at least sixty five percent sure of it.

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If you haven’t already be sure to check the [#free wing] tag on my blog to see what other art and worldbuilding that I’ve made for the Free Wing world. Free Wing content takes some time to create since I use it to push my art skills, but I love sharing it with all y’all!

Asks about the world and other details as always are accepted, I love hearing your thoughts and questions, especially since they have a way of helping the story grow! Up next I’m putting together some breed profiles on the megafauna we’ve seen so far; milewings, leviathans, and striders. Also something for the South American Perchers since a very patient anon asked about them ages ago. See you then!

- Wit

[im-fairly-whitty]

Will there be a bio for the South American Percher?

The South American Percher is a dragon species that has been extinct for centuries after the Spanish invasion and colonization of South America, making actual pictures of it non-existent and reliable information about it scarce. BUT I was able to pull some old scientific illustrations by English biologists from the British Museum archives!

From the first plate we can see that the illustrations were probably made based off of taxidermied specimens since the wings are drawn separately. This means that its exact posture and shape are somewhat unreliable, but it’s also the best we have since early attempts at taxidermy are rarely any better. Modern museum recreation models depict Perchers as standing taller, more like a drake, rather than crouched like in the illustration.

Early explorers who tried to capture and ship live Perchers never succeeded in getting the animal back to Europe before it died, hence the artist’s reliance on dead specimens. Since the first wave of the Spanish Conquistadors brought a host of dragon diseases via their Spanish Razorwing dragons by the time researchers arrived to the continent–with the intent to study Perchers instead of slaughtering them on sight to gain an upper hand on the natives who rode them–Perchers were all but impossible to find without venturing to the most remote mountain peaks.

We do know that, like all Perchers, the South American Percher had climbing agility that allowed it to cling to even sheer rock, allowing it to scramble across rock cliffs and walls even while upside down. Its grappling hook-like claws, developed toes, and thick footpads clue us into this ability. It is also the largest species of Percher ever discovered, large enough to carry a single rider. It is unclear from historical accounts if it was strong enough to cling to the underside of rock while a rider was on it.

We also know from archived skins that, with the exception of the belly and under limbs, it was covered in thick plumes. (The feathers were especially thick along the spine and on the top of its head where they formed a crest.) Although the exact color is hard to determine–since museum skins have faded significantly over time to a pale tan–records say that the feathers ranged from canary yellow to a delicate white-gold.

While feathers aren’t rare in dragon species (most domestic European species feathers have had them bred out of the bloodline for easier handling and saddling, and firebreathing species naturally do not have them) the sheer density of feathers on the South American Percher combined with other distinctly avian features such as a beak led to some contention in the scientific community over its classification. Eventually, the presence of six limbs and other skeletal and muscular minutia tentatively settled it as a dragon species but in the Sicutavis family, a family it shares with no other living species (but some ancient long extinct ones) in the order Draco which itself is in the Reptilia class.

Its wings especially are a truly unique example of avian reptilian evolution not found in any other known dragon species:

The combination of both wing membrane and fully developed flight feathers is sometimes found in wyverns (especially species native to the Americas) but never so prominently in dragons. The South American Percher’s wings were so heavily feathered that it seems likely that the feathers weren’t entirely redundant like in other feathered dragon species. Being able to study the species in the wild may have been able to provide valuable scientific information and clues on the development and evolution of dragon species and flight patterns.

Not much is known about their behavior, breeding, or social habits. A few things that we do know from old journals include the fact that they were very flock oriented, territorial, and not entirely tamed by their human riders. Human and dragon seemed to have acted more as symbiotic hunting partners than rider and mount.

Instead of native South Americans raising and breeding Perchers, they would instead befriend a local flock, feeding them to keep them roosting nearby their villages and cities. When they flock wanted to hunt they would allow select natives to mount them bareback and then share the kill, having learned that human weapons and assistance could take down prey or defend against territory intruders more reliably than hunting alone. Whether Perchers could be ridden for purposes other than hunting or defending territory is unknown.

This cooperative behavior did result in Perchers reportedly being flown in conflict against the Spanish invaders–who the Perchers evidently also saw as a territory invading threat–but reliable accounts of any detail are scattered and subject to exaggeration or fragmented information across personal diaries. 

Regardless of battle accuracy, the undeniable fact remains that within a couple years the Percher population across the continent had been decimated by disease and targeted hunting by soldiers and trappers eager to ship the exotic gold feathers back to Europe where they were eagerly snapped up by plume merchants and haberdashers for top prices.

Needless to say, scientists have long mourned the premature loss of the South American Percher, a fascinating and valuable specimen whose study could have shed light on many mysteries in a host of scientific fields.

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Be sure to check out the [#Free Wing] tag on my blog to see what other content I’ve made for this “it’s-our-universe-except-there’s-domesticated-dragons-heck-yeah” world. The main Free Wing storyline is an illustrated dragon western novel with heaps of creative worldbuilding aside. My inbox is always open to questions about the story or the world since they often help me to keep thinking and push to expand the worldbuilding in cool new ways. 

[im-fairly-whitty]

“The German Firespitter is a large aggressive breed used only in government-regulated military units. Its massive size and rare ability to breathe fire sets it apart as a dragon capable of causing complete devastation if not accompanied by a team of skilled handlers. 
A rare prize on the black market, the German Firespitter can make a gang of outlaws a truly formidable force to be reckoned with. The only reliable way to take one down is a bullet through the eye, a target possible for only the fastest and most skilled marksman and must be taken before said marksman is reduced to ash. Or worse.”

[im-fairly-whitty]

I’ve got so many things in progress right now that I haven’t posted anything in a hot minute. So have a WIP sculpture of a young Arthur! It’s been ages since I’ve sculpted anything but I finally started this in between working on the next Free Wing chapter and it’s been very entertaining.

Right now he looks a bit like a Thanksgiving turkey since he hadn’t got his wings, but that’ll be fixed soon enough once I figure out if I want to bake the rest of him before adding them or not.

[im-fairly-whitty]

Free Wing

Welcome to Free Wing! A new exploratory art and story project I'm starting about a world in which the American Wild West is full of cowboys that ride dragons. 

Simple and awesome as that.

This world is an alternate Earth in which dragons exist as fairly intelligent animals that are domesticated by humans as mounts and companions. This one change has rippled throughout the world to create subtle changes from our world in many ways, but this story is specifically about cowboys.

Most cowboys ride Spanish Razorwings, a large hardy green breed known for its extreme endurance and inability to breath fire, both of which are important out on the plains.

(Young Razorwings are broken into the saddle when they're still small enough to control, their wings are strapped down and they're ridden and trained in corral pits that are too deep for them to scramble out of.)

This story is specifically about a shy young English man named Louis and his dragon Arthur who want to fulfill their childhood dream of becoming cowboys, no matter how mismatched they may seem to the task.

Arthur, however, is a thoroughbred English Fieldracer, a small expensive breed suited for quick nimble travel through busy cities. Both he and his human are a far cry from the hardy and unimpressed Razorwings and their burly American riders.

I'll be posting a bunch of stuff as I continue to explore this world and story idea. Asks about the world or characters are more than welcome since I've found that getting questions from y'all is a surefire way to get my creative juices flowing. As seen in this post I’m using the project to experiment and practice with different styles and coloring and the like, and I’m looking forward to seeing where this story takes me.

Next update will be more about Louis and Arthur and the mess they've gotten themselves into.