Darventhal watched a lonely tear silently trickle down the girl’s cheek. A furtive look at the older woman’s back, a quick swipe of her hand, and all outward trace of melancholy disappeared, lurking only in the vast depths of deep brown eyes.
Such pride in one so young; she sits with imperialistic grace though it does not come easily. Eyes full of years not yet counted, they have seen too much of the pain which sits so heavy and still upon tender shoulders.
The longer he studied her, the greater Darventhal’s curiosity grew. What could take the joyful spark of life from one so young?
* * * * *
White-hot coals pulsed within the fire’s breast, peeking out beneath a glowing blanket of red. Yellow, orange and white tongues of flame, darting here and there, played tag among the embers.
Samantha stared into the depths, mesmerized by the sparks dancing to the stars upon columns of hot air, her mind flowing free within the backdraft. The harsh realities of life ceased to exist – she was whole once more - at least for the moment.
She found herself swaying gracefully in harmony with the prancing flames, her hands dancing on the empty air, mutely keeping time.
Stop that, she admonished silently. You know it can never be. Dreams are for the foolish who cannot face the truth.
Something flickered momentarily within the fire’s hearth; a faint image of eyes and wingtips burned upon her inner sight as tendrils of sleep cradled her in benevolent arms.
* * * * *
No such things as dreams?
Darventhal’s surprise at Sam’s partial glimpse of him was not enough to lessen his dismay. He watched as the girl’s mother picked her up from the wheelchair and set her down inside the doorway of a large blue and yellow tent. Darventhal’s heart ached as he watched Samantha drag herself over to her sleeping bag, legs flopping in her wake like a broken marionette.
Such heartbreak within her tender soul; I wonder what dream was lost to legs that don’t work?
Thoughts of lost dreams preyed upon his mind as he slowly slipped away into the cooling ashes of the now lifeless fire.
I must help her. . . hung upon the silent echoes of the night.
* * * * *
The deepening night held no beauty for Samantha. Tired and aching from yet another day of physio and massage therapy, emotionally drained from one more dead-end session with the camp shrink, she could only stare blindly, tuning out the sounds of other campers, of her mom lighting the fire, even the soft ‘warbling’ of the tiny night birds.
Sam could feel her frustration mounting – six months and she still couldn’t even stand much less dance. The long days of treatment with no results were finally wearing her down. Some days, even she doubted if she would ever walk again. These last two months at camp hadn’t made any difference; she still couldn’t move her big toe, let alone anything else.
Only her nightly visits from the being in the fire kept her from going insane. Rationally she knew no one was really in the fire – it was just her mind’s way of releasing the built-up pressure. Still, if it helped, who was she to argue with her own mind? The crackle of the fire penetrated the fog in her mind. Snap. . Crackle . . . Crackle.
* * * * *
Darventhal slowly walked across to Vilatticus. What will I do if he forbids me from helping Samantha? Can I ignore the call of her pain? What kind of healer would I be then? He had used all these arguments with Vilatticus already but he could still be denied. One thing Vilatticus couldn’t deny though was the fact that Samantha could see him. Not clearly but then she shouldn’t have been able to see him at all.
* * * * *
Vilatticus struggled with his decision as he watched Darventhal approach. He knew the younger dragon well enough to see the hope banked in amethyst eyes. There was only one way the clan would agree to the healer’s request – but it was a slow process. No one could recall just why it was so; just that it had always been. Would the healer agree or would his soft heart lead him to disregard long-standing tradition?
* * * * *
Darventhal stopped in front of the clan leader, respectful, hopeful, yet full of dread. He studied Vilatticus carefully, searching for some sign, some inkling of the leader’s thoughts. Carefully shielded magenta eyes gave no hint of the leader’s decision. The tiny kernel of hope Darventhal carried slowly dwindled to dust, its death-knell echoing in the vastness of his heart.
Vilatticus waited until the entire clan was seated, picking his moment with care. “Darventhal, you have requested that which should not be. It has ever been dragon -kind’s way to avoid detection, to stay within our halls of flame and ash. We do not associate with those in the human world. Yet this is just what you ask of us.” The great head swung from side to side as Vilatticus studied the gathered dragons. “You say this child, this Samantha, is special, that she is somehow different. How is she special? What is it, that makes this one scrawny, little human child different from the rest?”
“She can see us.”