Surrogate Dragon

20250916

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Clanging from a carelessly dangled bucket echoes off the walls and causes Fonz to start awake with a whimper. I mantle my wing tight around him and lift my head to hiss disapproval at the keeper who disturbs us.
It is that feckless fool Cathy. Again. While the management apparently view her as gifted, I feel she has much development ahead of her to be a proper creature-keeper. Especially in a place like this, where so many of us are ill or otherwise unwell. Undergoing rehabilitation, or accepting that no care they give us will enable us to live safely out in the wild.
Cathy stumbles back, making the bucket clang louder, and grumbles without repentance. “And good morning to you, Your Majesty!”
I do my best to indicate, via hooded steely gaze, that the morning is not better for her uncaring administrations. If only I could speak human tongues, perhaps we would be better cared for.
Fonz presses close against me, buries his nose in our straw bedding, and sighs. He doesn’t like Cathy. She isn’t patient with him, and treats him like an unthinking burden. The combination leaves him cowed, which renders me furious.
Keeping him covered with my wing, I nuzzle the top of his head in reassurance. Watching Cathy closely. If she tries to make him take his medicine without putting it in a fish, I shan’t stand for it. This time, I will bite her.
No, she’s just here to refill our water. Thank goodness. Even she can’t half-ass that.
Once she’s clanged away, leaving us in peace, I stand and stretch and nudge Fonz. He hauls himself up and follows me to the trough. His tongue flops out, stretching and feeling as he slowly lowers his head, seeking the water’s surface. I watch, and don’t drink myself until I see that he’s safely slurping.
Now that we’re up I give Fonz a wash, which he accepts with a minimum of grumbling. His joints are somewhat swollen, but he doesn’t seem to be in pain. I puff on each joint in turn, letting the heat sink in, and he burbles thanks.
Footsteps accompanied by humming. Both Fonz and I perk up. Zeb is patient and caring, and from the smells is carrying breakfast.
Ah. And a fish. Fonz sniffs the air and sighs.
While he likes fish, it doesn’t cover all the nasty taste of the medicine. And he only gets it with medicine.
I nudge him and huff, a reminder that the medicine will help and he’d better take it. He grumbles and headbutts me. One sweep of my tail knocks him over so I can firmly wash under his chin.
Love him dearly though I do, it’s important he remembers who’s in charge here. While he isn’t a hatchling - in fact, he may be older than me - he was placed under my care. He is my Fonz.
The humans think I don’t realise. Foolish. I know that my eggs didn’t form right. I remember how it felt as they slipped out of me, soft and fragile and doomed. I mourned them, the babies who would never draw breath. Buried them in the nest I had prepared and keened over their grave.
Words cannot describe my sorrow and despair. I was adrift, inconsolable, paralysed by the realisation that the weakness which had plagued me all my life also robbed me of the ability to bear children. If I had learned this at any other time it would have been merely painful, but with my body and mind consumed with preparing for my babies the revelation broke me.
And then, in the midst of my grief, pining away in a fugue, Fonz was added to my habitat.
Not a hatchling. Certainly not from my eggs. But his small size, the way he shuffled around sniffing the air, the friendly chirp he gave on sensing me, the feeling of him snuggled close…
He filled the gaping cavity and let me heal.
I wash him, and feed him, and play with him, and watch over him, and it is Right. While I will carry that poor broken clutch forever the weight does not crush me anymore.
And Fonz is thriving under my care. It makes me proud. When he came to me he was thin and feeble, his scales dull and joints so painful that he could barely move. Now he is chubby and shiny and climbs all around the habitat under my anxious gaze.
I am a good mother.
It wasn’t my fault.
Zeb whistles hello, and I let Fonz up so we can greet him. And eat breakfast.
First the medicine-fish. Zeb insists on feeding this to Fonz himself. Perhaps he thinks I might decide to eat it, or that Fonz could trick me and only pretend to eat it.
Foolish. But the medicine is necessary. So I watch closely and fret and sigh with relief once Fonz has gotten the fish down without incident.
Now I am allowed to do my job, and I tear off morsels of meat and feed them to Fonz. With my help he is able to eat quickly and cleanly and never chokes. Once he is full I wash him again (mostly his face, which is smeared with fish) and let him return to the nest to nap.
“Aw, you’re a good mama.” Zeb pats my shoulder.
I preen. It’s true. I’m a good mother.
It wasn’t my fault.
That awakens anxiety to flutter in my chest, and I peer over at Fonz. He is fine. He is safe. He is dozing peacefully.
I turn back to my breakfast.
Soon one of the keepers will come and let us out into the wander. Fonz will rest his chin on my tail and follow me as we walk and enjoy the fresh air. I will find him a good tree to climb - one where I can easily reach him if needed.
For I am a good mother.

Prompt was “Write a story from the perspective of someone who is intensely protective over another character.”