A Small Knife And A Friendly Breath

20260804

Written for “Smogust’s Story Hoard”, prompt 2.

The woods had never seemed so dark before. Ian shivered and tugged his coat tighter. Was it getting late? Or was he wandering deep? Maybe into the parts of the forest even the adults weren’t supposed to intrude on?
No matter how he tried to head south, back towards the village, or at least parts of the forest he should recognise, every time he managed to get a glimpse of sky he found he’d drifted off course - or even gotten turned around.
“Um.” Ian took a deep breath and meekly called “Excuse me? If, uh, if there’s… spirits listening, and this’s a punishment for me trying to show the others up, then I’m sorry. I promise I won’t push the rules of hide-and-seek ever again.”
Though he strained his ears, he couldn’t make out any shift in the forest ambiance.
Well. He’d tried?
Sighing, Ian cast about - then froze as he heard branches snapping to his left, and the sound of… something big being dragged?
Sootpits! If he was lucky, it was just a grizzly. If he was really lucky, it was a grizzly that’d already found something to eat.
His gaze flicked around, weighing up which tree looked easiest to climb. Then a large, silvery serpent peered around a thicket.
Uhhh were you meant to climb trees to flee serpents? That didn’t seem right. They’d just wind around the trunk, right? Maybe it was best to hold still and hope it couldn’t see him.
Silence. The serpent scrutinised Ian, in a manner which left him glumly certain that holding still wasn’t working, the large fronds either side of its head shifting and twiddling.
It slowly moved closer. That had definitely sounded like feet. And then a leg came into view, and another, and Ian realised it was a dragon.
His mouth fell open. A dragon? This far south?
As it paced towards him, he saw what caused the dragging sound; a net tangled across its back, trapping its wings and its right hind leg.
Should he run? It probably couldn’t catch him like this. Certainly couldn’t climb. And it looked really hungry. But… it also looked somehow… plaintive. It needed help. And… it thought maybe he could help it?
Who did this to it?
The dragon stopped a few paces away - a few of its paces, that is, which was probably a dozen of Ian’s - and slowly, painfully, settled to the ground. Its tail twitched, putting him in mind of an anxious cat, and its eyes were watching him closely. But nothing about its body language was threatening. The opposite, in fact.
“Um… hi?” Ian ventured. “Do, ah, would you like me to try and get the ropes off?”
In response the dragon let out a sombre burble, its head-fronds folding and unfurling again.
Was that a ‘yes’? Could it even understand him? If it couldn’t, what then?
Ian decided it was best to just try and help, and, employing the smooth slow motions he’d use around skittish goats, approached to inspect the netting.
The ropes were worn, napped in many places, and somewhat shrunken. The poor creature must have been like this for days. No wonder it looked so tired and hungry! But, with the knots having been tugged tight and lopsided, not to mention entirely unfamiliar to him, there was no way he could undo them.
“I, um, I’ll have to try and cut them off. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”
Admittedly, his little eating knife was unlikely to do any damage even if it did slip. He wasn’t at all sure it could even cut the ropes. If only he was old enough to have a proper belt knife! Still, it was what he had, and he had to try.
So he unsheathed his knife, picked one of the more worn spots, and started determinedly sawing away.
It was agonisingly slow going. By the time he’d gotten through three ropes his hand was starting to cramp up from the strain of clutching the knife. He paused to massage it, looking up to give the watching dragon a reassuring smile.
“Getting on.” He said, trying to sound like his father. Like he knew what he was doing. Like he was someone who could be depended on.
The dragon burbled. Then it stretched its neck to peer at his hand. Ian uncertainly showed it his reddened fingers.
Its mouth opened. He jerked back. The dragon drooped, sadness showing in its eyes, and turned its head away.
“Oh!” Ian cried, immediately guilty. “I’m sorry, I… sorry.”
He held his hand out again. The dragon gave him an uncertain sideways glance, then stretched close once more, and he bit his lip and didn’t twitch as it opened its mouth right by his fingers… and exhaled.
The breath which washed over his skin was hot, and wet, and tingled. For a moment his hand was all over itches and then that faded away… and took the soreness with it.
Ian gawped at his fingers, which now looked pristine. He flexed them, and felt no pain.
“Oh.” He whispered wonderingly. “Thank you!”
The dragon waggled its head-fronds and trilled.
Ian turned back to his work with renewed vigour, and while it took several more breaks for the dragon to puff on him, he finally managed to saw through enough ropes that they could rip the netting off.
“Yes!” Ian danced as the dragon flexed its wings and filled the woods with a rumbling song of joy.
It nuzzled the top of his head and happily snorted into his hair, its breath filling him with vigour.
“Do, um, do you wanna come see my house?” Ian offered shyly. “It’s south of here. We’ve got goats and chickens and… reckon people would spare some for ya.”
The dragon trilled and looked decisively off into the distance.
“Thataway?”
It trilled again, fronds waving.
“Alright.” It wasn’t like he’d been having much luck finding the way! “Let’s go. Can’t wait for you to meet everyone!”

Prompt was “Write a story or poem about a child who gets lost in a fairy tale forest, only to discover a dragon who is lost as well. Together, they must find a way out and back home to their loved ones…”