I was just a woman, praying with everything inside of me I would not become a chicken’s lunch. Their enclosure containeda set of miniature houses stacked atop each other as their coop occupied the middle. Wooden pillars supported the roof, and I hugged close to one as I entered their gates of doom.
Leaning against the wood, I carefully tilted and peered around its edge. Nothing alarming—yet. Even the bucket on my arm shook from my nerves.
Step by step, I felt lured deeper into their evil lair. Something morbid and suffocating festered in the air, raising the hairs on my back. From behind the coop, a yellow-feathered chicken stepped onto the battlefield and faced me—a warrior prepared for battle. Fried Chicken. My body jolted to a stop, my bones petrified from her stare. But as more time passed, more feathers and bony feet appeared from all angles around me.
I’m clucking surrounded.
Frozen in fear brought on by childhood trauma, I couldn’t see an escape route. One too many mistakes were made today.
Seizing their opportunity, the devilish bastards charged. I’d be eating chicken in front of them for the rest of my life if I survived this, I decided.
Feathers on their chests rose and I knew what followed.
Unleashing my body from its deadly stance, I launched myself back. My clammy hands slid right off the metal handle of the bucket. Time slowed as it flipped through the air, spilling and slinging pellets. In my hair. Down my dress, between my boobs.
Mother-clucker.
The bucket clattered to the ground, but I didn’t care. Ithrew myself through the door as flames burned behind me, at my heels, and on my dress. Turning to shut it, my fingers trembled. I drowned in sweat. Fear. Relief. They’d technically been fed, even if I’d accidentally scattered it through the yards. My job was done. Or almost.
Two creatures remained. First—Blaze the baxlin.Blaze: three, baxlin dragon, never grew past infancy. Blaze was the creature my father had gone to get when the incident occurred. I’d never gotten to know him.
Rolling over on my filthy hands and knees, my sweat-induced curls clung to my cheeks, but I gave those little hell-blazers one last stare. Narrowing my eyes, I made a commitment to them. “You will peck at my feet one day, little bastards.”
I pulled myself up, leaving any trace of my dignity somewhere in the dirt.
Because of his size, Blaze stayed inside, though I hadn’t seen him since I arrived. Assuming he’d been hiding, I needed to seek.
Covered in more than dirt and mud, on the verge of tears, I opened the small cage on the kitchen counter Laken explained in his letter. Pulling out the blankets, my eyes darted around the tight space until I saw the tiniest dragon tail peeking out from the edge of a miniature quilt.
Baxlins are large Northern dragons. Blaze, however, seemed to have stunted growth, seeing as he could probably fit in the palm of my hand.
I wished I had the patience to deal with this withinme. I exhaled sharply, closed my eyes, and gathered myself. “Look… I know you’re scared under there. But I also know you’re hungry. And I know I’m losing my mind. So I am going to pull your blanket off and I utterlybegyou not to panic.”
No argument.
I grabbed the edge, and small midnight wings stretched out as if he’d just awoken. Scales armored his miniature body, but strong legs unfolded. He turned to me on all fours, scratching the pouch on his belly, and for the first time today—something looked at me as if I wasgood.
It wasn’t his small size forcing my lips to turn up, but the big, pining eyes staring at me as if I were its mother.
I smiled softly for the first time in days. “Hello, Blaze.”
As if he heard something in those two words he’d been waiting for, he crawled into my hand, curled up, and lay down.
“Having a hard time?” My voice sounded heavy with exhaustion. As his head pressed further into my palm, I took that as a yes. “You and me both.”
After refilling his bowls with little bits of meat, I pushed my hand out for him to dismount, but he didn’t. Instead, his tail curled around my fingers as he reached into his bowl, grabbed some pellets, and stashed them inside his belly pouch. Lying back down, he refused to leave.
“Blaze,” I warned, harsh and short, “what are you doing?”
Nothing.
“Blaze.” I tilted my hand in an attempt to dislodge him.
Nothing. He wrapped around my finger.
Not to be mistaken, I didn’t mind the little creature;however, my nose turned up a bit. It wasn’t him; it was feeling as though I’d been dragged through a pigsty and rolled through a pile of porcupine quills. But his tail tightened, and I realized perhaps I wasn’t the only one feeling like trampled shit.
Last on the list: Gordon, the goldfish in the bowl. His notes were easy to understand:leaps from bowl occasionally / diagnosis unknown. Considering he was swimming in his bowl at the moment, I sprinkled some food in and called it a day.
