The Dragons' Dance

Mica wrinkled her nose. “A dance? Why’d they call it a dance?”

Bann looked up from one of the hatchling crates, a lock of straw-blond hair falling in his eyes.

“You ever seen a pair of dragons bond?” He actually sounded perplexed, Mica decided. As though the mating rituals of dragons were something she had covered in the schoolroom. Well maybe she had, but who listened to old ‘Toyie’s monotonic lectures anyway?

“No,” she offered. Mica raised an eyebrow at Bann and wriggled her fingers, inviting him to continue.

He sighed and pulled his own hands free of the crate. Wisps of hay stuck to his long fingers and an acrid whiff of flamegrass rose up. Quiet rustlings in the crate and faint chirps told Mica the tiny lizards were getting more confident in their new home. She wondered if Bann would let her handle any of this clutch and, if so, if any would take to her. The miniscule dragonets mewed so endearingly when they were this young.

“Look, most of the eggs we get here, Cam and I have scavenged from the wild.” Bann wiped his hands on his trousers, the hay-dust drifting to the floor. He jerked his head towards the pile of shell fragments by the fire – he’d had Mica sweep them up whilst he transferred the newly hatched babies into the crate.

“The dams lay more eggs than they can rear; ten, twenty, hell I’ve seen twenty-eight in a single clutch before. Most dams’ll only raise three, four ‘nets tops.” He twitched his head back to the crate. “Allowing for up to a quarter not hatching at all, and then more being taken by cold – dragons hate cold ‘member? – then predators et cetera. Well, it’s not surprising that so few make it to adulthood I guess.” He shrugged; a slow, uncomplicated gesture that, in Mica’s opinion, pretty much summed up Bann. Gentle. Casual. Gangly.

He continued; “we get a much higher hatch rate than the wild dams, but Cam’s only had limited success with breeding domestic-reared dragons. That’s where the dance comes in, only wild dragons dance.” He pulled away from the workbench and lumbered over to the bookshelf.

He and Cam called it The Bookshelf, but frankly Mica considered shelf a misnomer. It was more like an entire wall of overstuffed bookcases with higgilty-piggilty stacks of parchment sticking out at odd angles, scroll-ends wedged cheek-by-jowl with leather-bound tomes, and piles upon piles of loose-leaf manuscripts heaped on the floor besides.

Mica tried to bite back a giggle as Bann dislodged a puff of dust and began sneezing. He shot her a haughty look – ruined by another sneeze – pulled free a large book. Dropping it on the workbench in front of her, he flipped through the pages until he came to an old pen and ink drawing showing two very stylized dragons, sleek bodies entwined in flight.

“They don’t look like any dragon I’ve ever seen,” Mica remarked. “The ones’ Cam’s got out in the stables look more like scaly oxen than those snakes. They’re too, too pointy.”

“Hmm? Yeah, well artist impressed an’ all.” Bann flicked through another few pages. “Probably never seen a real draconus. Here.” He pointed to another picture. “This one’s more like it.” He twisted the book round so she could have a better view. “This artist ain’t so daft.” He traced a finger over the outline of a bulky dam and tapped when he reached her snout. “See how she’s arching away from the sire? He’ll follow, first on the ground – rather clumsy to be honest – but then they’ll take flight and – you’ve never seen wild dragons in flight have you?”

Mica shook her head. Red curls bounced free of her cape, making Bann smile suddenly. He scooped the rest of her hair loose, resting his hand on the nape of her neck. Just for an instant.

“Domestically raised dragons, even wild laid ones, aren’t nearly so supple. Wild dragons are much lither.” He shook his head, the mage’s apprentice momentarily baffled. “Anyway, they fly for hours. Literally. She’ll swoop and loop and roll, and he’ll follow her, copying every move. Sensationalists like to make out it’s all about the might and majesty. Your own Master ‘Toyie wrote an article on how it’s a mimicry of battle – that the sire is demonstrating him prowess; hunting and defensive abilities and what-not. But it isn’t. It’s much simpler than that. It’s much more complicated. It’s about romance.”

Bann brushed a bang out of his eyes and started tapping the picture again. Nervous? Mica wondered with sudden delight. Or just embarrassed like any other boy?

“Once a gilt is ready to start breeding she’ll be approached by a number of sires and they’ll pursue her for several days before the dance proper begins.”

“Pursue her? How? They bring her flowers or something?” Mica poked her tongue out, laughter brimming in her green-gold eyes.

Bann made to clip the back of her head, thought better of it and smacked his own forehead instead.

“No, but they do, er, dance attendance.” She grimaced at his pun, mouthing really? at him. “Depending on the local population, you can get as many as four sires flying after the dam. One by one they drop out of the dance.”

“And the one that’s left gets to mate with her? How’s that romantic?” Mica glanced down at the drawing. The artist had the dam landing on a fallen tree trunk, her mate – her lover – stretching out his claws and wings to alight beside her. Peering at the picture closer, Mica could just make out a third dragon in the distance. First runner up? What does he win?

Bann cleared his throat; an awkward boy-noise. Ohh, he is uncomfortable with this. Mica felt a stab of unholy glee, it wasn’t often she got Bann so uneasy.

“It’s more than that. The…” he sort for the word, “the winner follows her from dawn ‘til dusk. They can fly for miles and she’ll test his endurance – and patience.” Bann shot Mica an accusing stare. “But the real thing about the dance is that once it’s complete, the dam and sire are pair-bonded for life. Even though the sire has practically nothing more to do with raising the dragonets, he’ll only ever come back to that one dam. Cam’s tracked pairs of them for decades; a bonded adult dragon will only dance with another partner if it loses its first mate, and even that’s unusual.”

Understanding sparked in Mica’s eyes. “So it’s a marriage then. Dragons get married.”

“Uh, I guess.” Bann frowned a little. “I’ve never really thought of it like that.”

“It is,” she insisted. “It’s just like a marriage – and dragons suffer bereavement, just like people do. They must, else why don’t they just ‘dance’ with any old dragon after losing a mate?” She hugged herself, a mischievous grin lighting her entire face. “That’s amazing, Bann. I wonder if girl-dragons think about their weddings as much as girl-people do?”

Bann snorted. “No-one thinks about weddings as much as girls do.” He pause; “Okay, ‘cept maybe your mothers and grandmothers.”

To his credit, he didn’t even flinch when Mica punched him on the arm.



Word Count: 1,204

Prompt: 'Dance of Dragons'