THE LONG HIKE
One of the most feared creatures of the ancient world was the red dragon. Nearly forgotten tales have them from the northern ice lands; yet, older rumors say their origins lay in the far east. They were monstrous creatures. Enormous, beast-like lizards sworn to have had wings brutish enough to stir up a hurricane! Even their angry voices could bellow forth fires that devasted whole countrysides for miles around. Many other witnesses recounted that such demons would use their whipping tails to slay vast armies with ease.
The last of those fabled worms have long ago been lost, only to be relegated to the campfire pastime or children's bedtime stories. Truth or imagination; all that has survived of dragons today are the fanciful things that spawned wonderment for eager listeners. Among them was the adventure of Moran the Mitharian.
He was a young man from the Bay city of Mithar who had wandered east, deep in thought of all his troubles. Aimlessly he happened to find himself on the outer edges of the haunted woods called Kinderval. In truth, Moran had not desired to meander so far from home but rather had intended to venter to the Gardens beyond Mithar's wall. Even so, he allowed his thoughts and feet to follow a dry streambed, that soon trickled into a watery creek. The quiet stream grew into a wide river watering the forest about him. His heavy thoughts seem lifted with the sweet smell of lavender near a clearing. The clearing slopped down into a secluded bank when the young man sat, leaning his back against the raised mound. Dragonflies skimmed the water's edge. Sitting there Moran took in the view of the leaning willows and calm river's slow-drift. His thoughts begged as to why the woods were called haunted. So calm and serene were his surrounding the boy almost fell asleep. With his worries gone he felt it was time to return to the bustle of the real world. Suddenly a loud crunching noise startled him to his feet. Moran whirled looking about.
His eyes searched between the many tree trunks and the lush bed of the fern they grew from; trying hard to discern the sound which broke the woodland silence. Moran cautiously stepped about the mound. Standing on the other side of the velvet hillock the sound came even louder. He tried to identify what it was. This time, it was like the crackling of floating embers above a campfire. But there was no smoke or dying fireplace to be seen. Again the chipping sound came to the wander's ear. Then, a few steps on his left in a dirt cleft lay a huge bluish-tinted egg. It moved with earnestness to free whatever inside had begun to shed scales from its shell.
For a long, while he watched the Saphire egg trimmer and the creature inside struggled to hatch. When a huge yellow eye stopped its roving and caught sight of the stranger starring back through the pecked-out opening, the egg shimmered and stopped all its efforts. Fearful of what might come next the boy could only stare back at the unmoving oval. Finally, the young man gathered the courage to risk a shaking hand. Reaching out, he gasped at the touch. It had become a cold, solid thing. The dragon-hatchling, that had only moments before so desperately strove to release itself, had suddenly turned into stone!
Moran had discovered the last Dragon's egg. This was the very one, which many years afterward would be the rare treasure for a King's demanded ransom, but that tale remains for another to share.
