Then he marches toward the trees as though construction has always been one of his many talents. I watch him go, not sure how to feel. Somehow he worries me almost as much as the monster.
Vyrathion marches into the trees with the determined stride of a man who has never failed at anything in his life and has no intention of beginning now.
I watch him go through the curtain of rain while the river continues roaring around the island. The storm has settled into something relentless. Water drips from every branch, every leaf and every exposed root. The air feels heavy enough to drink.
Clyde settles beside me beneath the broadest tree we could find and folds himself into a compact little bundle. Together we watch the dragon approach a young tree with an expression that suggests he's preparing to negotiate terms of surrender.
The tree appears unwilling to negotiate. For several moments Vyrathion simply studies it. He circles it once, places both hands on the trunk and pulls. Nothing happens. The tree remains exactly where it has always been.
A second attempt produces slightly more movement, though most of it comes from Vyrathion sliding through the mud. I quickly discover that watching a dragon lose an argument with a tree is surprisingly entertaining.
The third attempt ends differently. Roots tear loose beneath the ground with a wet ripping sound and the entire tree suddenly comes free. Mud sprays in every direction.
Vyrathion straightens, examines his victory and then tosses the unfortunate plant aside. "Too small," he announces.
I nod solemnly. "Oh yes, far too small."
The dragon immediately moves on to another target. This one is considerably larger. He studies it from several angles, muttering to himself while rain runs down his face and through his golden hair. I can't hear every word over the storm, though I catch fragments about incompetence, disgrace, deliberately hostile terrain and the collapse of civilized standards and everything worth keeping..
Eventually he wraps both arms around the trunk and attempts to bend it. The tree refuses. Vyrathion becomes furious. The tree continues existing.
By the time a loudcrackfinally echoes across the island, I have become strangely invested in the outcome. The upper half of the tree breaks loose and crashes through the surrounding vegetation.
"There," Vyrathion says with satisfaction.
"It’s perfect!" I call to him, wanting to encourage. “Well done.”
He glances over his shoulder. "Oh, this is just the beginning. I will not simply break the tree, but use it for a specific purpose."
“Oh. Yes, I’m sure you have it all planned out."
"Plans are for lesser beings. Dragons simplydo, without plan, and then succeed spectacularly. At least, that has been my way."
I decide that arguing definitions with a dragon during a thunderstorm is unlikely to improve my life.
The work continues. At first it resembles destruction more than construction. Branches accumulate in piles. Entire bushes disappear. Several promising pieces of material are rejected after apparently failing some standard known only to Vyrathion. More than once I see him throw something into the river with the expression of a nobleman dismissing an incompetent servant. Yet beneath all the chaos, a pattern slowly begins to emerge.
Larger branches become supports. Straight trunks form a rough framework. Broad leaves are layered together to create a roof. The structure develops in fits and starts, usually interruptedwhenever Vyrathion becomes annoyed with either gravity, weather or plant life.
Still, every time I expect him to abandon the effort, he continues. That, more than anything else, surprises me.
"Do you want me to help?." The offer slips out when he drags another heavy branch into place.
He doesn't even look up. "No."
"I can carry things."
"No."
"You could at least pretend to consider it."
"No. Be quiet." The branch finally settles into position and Vyrathion steps back to inspect his work and folds his arms. "I cannot have this delicate and highly advanced construction interfered with by a lesser creature."
But I can’t help feeling a bit guilty, just sitting and eating berries while he works. So a while later I try again. By then he's soaked from head to toe, his immense muscles gleaming with moisture.
"You don’t think this would go faster with two people?"
His eyes flash silver. "You’re always trying to get in my way. Sit still and simply admire."
