Velvet Golden Years

20260811

Written for “Smogust’s Story Hoard”, prompt 8.

She was old. Which, for a dragon, meant over three hundred years had flown with her. Her last clutch had left the nest… thirty years ago? Forty? A while. What mattered is that she had nobody to look after except herself, now. And so life had settled into a blissfully simple routine.
In winter, she settled deep in her cave and let the cold soothe her into dormancy. In spring she emerged and checked on all her young who had settled close enough to visit. Firstly to make sure they were alright, and also because deer these days were far faster than they used to be, and the younger dragons didn’t seem bothered by this pesky fact.
Every year the trips got shorter as her territory shrunk, swallowed up by the dragons around her. She didn’t mind. It was the way of things. As her daily range decreased, and they visited her increasingly frequently, the land they flew over became theirs.
They’d need it, too, with how deer were these days.
Once she had checked on everyone, and filled the gnawing hunger left from her months-long sleep, she surveyed the rest of her territory. Then, once the weather was warm, she came here. To her favourite summer spot.
It was like a velvet golden sea. Sunflowers covered every inch of this sprawling plain, painting it a cheery yellow and filling the air with peaceful swishing every time the wind blew. Or a dragon flapped her wings. She’d always loved coming here, but… it wasn’t a great place to try and keep track of small dragons. It was, however, the perfect place to spend her golden years.
She stretched out and dozed, lulled by the warmth and the sound. Or watched fireflies dancing with the stars. A short flight (more of a hop) away was a wood, with a flowing brook and birdsong and those pesky modern deer. Thank goodness she didn’t need to eat as much as she used to.
Dawn rays tickled her snout. She yawned and slowly stood. Sniffing the air, savouring the floral scent and tracking the information wafted from further afield.
Hm. Smelt like it would be dry again, today. She should go roll in the river while the mud was still nice. Perhaps, while she was there, she could find some parsley to nibble on. She’d always been quite fond of parsley.
Yes. That was a good plan, for a good day. She would go to the river, and amble along it to the territory of her third youngest. See how she was getting on with that young drake who’d been sniffing about and bringing her pretty rocks - and food.
Hopefully they’d hit it off. Though… the cave the young dragon was living in right now was rather small for two dragons, much less babies. Best to encourage them to move back in, as it were.
By now the prospect of having others around for winter was pleasant. And the idea of more small dragons to fuss over, but not having to fuss after them all the time, had its own appeal. But she certainly wasn’t going to give up her lazy summer days in the sunflowers for it.
Still. For today, river, amble, visit daughter.
Pleased and decisive, she stretched out as long as she could, then as tall as she could, her wings unfurling to a full spread. Rumbling with the gentle joy of being alive on a balmy summer morning.
Her wings flapped, setting the sunflowers whispering encouragingly, then she lifted off and turned her head towards the dark blot of the forest.
So much life left to embrace.

I took the prompt as “Dawn breaks. A dragon stretches tall in a sunflower field.”

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