The Woodworker And The Dragon

20250731

Written for the "Kev's Odyssey" series.

At first Kate assumed the dragon was a baby. After all, she’d never heard of one small as a forearm.
Of course, a baby dragon would be accompanied by parent dragons, so discovering a ruby wonder devouring the contents of her coal scuttle was terrifying once she realised what this creature was.
She lured the dragon outside by tossing wood chips and firmly shut the door behind them, then hid inside all day. Waiting for parents to collect their errant nestling.
Not only did no large dragons appear, the little one climbed back down the chimney before nightfall. This time they disdained the wood chips, so she resorted to trying to (gently!) catch them in her leather apron.
To which the dragon spouted a tongue of flame.
Now, Kate didn’t know much about dragons. But she knew those species which breathed fire only started as adults. Which made sense - imagine trying to maintain a nest full of little fire starters!
So (after the initial panic and flailing and grabbing buckets of water) she dumped the coal scuttle out so the dragon could eat easily and she could inspect their form.
Hm. They did have the snout shape she’d seen on the postal dragons. Weren’t babies meant to have round, smooth noses without all the spikes or frill? And their claws were dark and hard, again mature looking to her uncertain eyes.
The dragon finished devouring coal, gave a smoky burp, and climbed up onto the folded blanket she used when curling up in front of the hearth. They settled down to snooze, watching her though lidded golden eyes.
At a loss, Kate retreated to her bedroom and uploaded the best photos she’d gotten to social media. Explaining what had happened, and did anyone know if there were ‘micro dragon’ breeds, and was this maybe a lost pet??
To her relief amongst the pile of answers she woke to was an actual dragon weighing in.
[Whilst I am not aware of any dragon breeds matching this size, we ARE magical creatures; it is not uncommon for a dragon to hatch with hitherto unknown properties. I suspect this young adult (for he is certainly an adult) is such a ‘quirk’. If I may suggest…]
Kate copied across all the suggestions for attempting to communicate and timidly ventured towards her kitchen.
There was no dragon near her hearth. A state of affairs which under any other circumstances would be perfectly normal, and certainly not leave her jumpy and scouring the floorboards for any sign of crimson.
Crinkle
Ah.
Crinkle crinkle rustle.
Of course - while dragons had eclectic tastes based on their breaths, they were flesh and blood creatures who needed standard nourishment; coal was likely a delicious treat for a fire-breather but wouldn’t be enough.
Her kitchen was in a state. About the only thing ‘out’ and easily accessible to a tiny dragon was the fruit bowl, which had been emptied of pears… and filled with pear cores and pulpy smears. An orange had been tried and apparently found offensive. Or was taking one bite and then burning the fruit a compliment?
The bread box was covered in talon-scratches and scorch marks. She winced. She’d spent hours building and carving that. It had been her first big woodworking project. Damn.
But the magnet catch hadn’t been designed to be critter-proof and clearly the little dragon had eventually gotten lucky and clawed at the right spot, because the sourdough loaf was on the floor with several slices pawed loose and toasted.
The cause of this devastation looked up at her, gave a languid blink, and through a mouthful of bread squawked what could have been dragon for ‘good morning’, or ‘lovely grub’, or ‘terribly sorry about the mess’. Or even ‘what are you doing here? This kitchen is mine now’.
Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
…
No, deep breaths were nowhere near enough for this - best to get coffee on and cry a little.
Thankfully the tiny dragon didn’t object to her rattling around the kitchen. He was too busy gnawing on toast. She managed to get coffee made and a bowl of cereal together and ate breakfast while sniffling.
Scraaaatch. Tink tink.
Kate started and looked up to find the dragon awkwardly perched on the edge of the sink, sniffing at the faucet.
“…You thirsty?”
He didn’t respond. While according to the materials most dragons could learn to understand human languages, he clearly hadn’t.
Not wanting her sink to end up wrecked too, Kate stood up and inched over to the handle. As she approached the dragon fluttered away and let out a… it wasn’t quite a squawk, and didn’t qualify as a screech. The weird indignant sound made her snort-laugh. Thankfully he didn’t seem to take offence.
She filled a saucer with water and set it on the side. After thorough sniffing it was deemed acceptable.
While her guest was distracted she rescued the remains of the loaf. Most of it was still in the bag, so… probably fine? She piled the loose slices on a plate and stuffed the rest back into the breadbox.
Huh. Now that she was looking closely… the scorch marks the dragon had left weren’t just black; there was a glossy iridescence. She tilted her head back and forth and watched how the colours shifted with the light.
Hmm. She picked up a fragment of toast and inspected it. The charcoal dust which came off on her fingers glittered like tiny black prisms.
The little dragon had pulled down her hand towel and was now snoozing on it.
Well… since he showed no interest in going back outside… could he learn how to breathe fire onto stencils? Maybe even burn proper art onto things?
The dragon was letting out soft, contented “churr churr churk” noises. Snoring? No.
“Do you mind if I call you ‘Charr’?”
One gold eye opened and slowly blinked.
“I’m Kate. I guess we’re roommates. Let’s figure out a proper bed for you…”

Prompt was “Scorch”.