In Conclusion, I Can't Do Anything

The Moonborn Dragon Born On The Winter Solstice

Harsh, blistering currents of the winter wind rush past him, cutting up his cheek with snowflakes. It hasn't been long since Caraluna woke up and started walking towards who knows where. In this unfamiliar, endless plane of snow, there is not even a single speck of sunlight or civilization on the horizon. The dragon, once feared and respected as the moonborn, has been reduced to a vulnerable and fragile state: a human. Humans, weak in his eyes, and weak compared to dragons. Humans, who have absolutely no power at all. Caraluna, the moonborn dragon of the Elder Woods tribe, has woken up as a human.

His skin is soft and squishy with a pale complexion, unlike the hard and rough black scales he'd been used to as a dragon. He'd once been able to reach above clouds with just a lift of his head, but now, the clouds seem to be too far away for him to reach anymore. A gust of wind topples him over; the cold of the snow stings his skin. Caraluna inhales, then exhales: "Ha... ah...." He can see the air light up in front of him, caused by the breath that exits his mouth as he breathes laboriously. Long, black strands of hair fall in front of his eyes. It obstructs his vision, but there's no way to go anyway.

Is this a punishment for my wrongdoings? he thinks. Befitting one of the feared moonborn, born on the day of the winter solstice. Considering his circumstances, it really does feel like a punishment. But, is being assassinated one of his punishments?

On one, unordinary, normal day, he'd been sitting as one of the audience in an amphitheater, watching a play go on. Sitting normally, sitting like a dragon, sitting just like any other dragon next to him, in the crowd. Then, he heard something fly through the air at speeds so fast it cut through sound. It was silent, and it was fatal. The next thing Caraluna knew was that his vision had been blotted out from his right eye. Something now juts out of his eye socket, and he pulls it out— bad idea. He feels a pang of shock travel through his body, and the thorn that had pierced eye falls out of his claw, nicking his chest. Poison rushes throughout every nick and cranny of his body, leaving him in unimaginable pain before he collapses.

In that moment, seconds just before his death, he thought, "This play is beautiful." He thought it was beautiful because it was a tragedy revolving around two of the things he loved the most: the Moon, and the Sun.

Caraluna stares out into the open. He drains his mind of any thoughts except for one: "Walk." So he walks, forever and ever, endlessly throughout this desert of snow.

Day and night cycles one after another, neverending. It felt like forever when Caraluna trudged through the snowstorm all by himself. On one particular morning, he spots what seemed to be a town line the horizon. He chokes on his breath— finally, something other than the Sun or the Moon! He picks up his feet, bringing his knees all the way up to his torso. Then, he runs. He runs and he runs, following the only hope he had. And, when the clouds begin to part and the Sun shines, he cries. He weeps, because there is a cobblestone path in front of him. He sobs, because the sign ahead is carved with words he doesn't know and understand. And lastly, he sniffs while tears trail his soft, human cheeks, wheezing as he's cried his heart out already. He's exhausted his tear ducts; he doesn't know what time it is.

There, in front of the gravel path, he lays curled up and face down to the ground. Caraluna is too tired to walk any more. He hears footsteps, and then a gentle voice. She says, "Hello."

"Hello," Caraluna attempts to say, but his voice comes out weak and hoarse. Something grumbles within his midsection— Caraluna realizes that this human body hasn't eaten anything in days. He hears a giggle, and he looks up. There is a girl wearing clothing he remembers seeing back in the Elder Woodland. Humans would always wear these all the time for a reason he never knew. He believes it's called a "fur coat." At least, that's what a friend of his told him. The hood of the coat covers her entire head, protecting her long, blonde hair, her red ears, and her pale face.

The girl giggles, "You must be hungry." She crouches down, extending a hand. Caraluna doesn't know this gesture; he backs away. She notices the antlers atop his head, and the thorny tail that quivers behind him. "Ah," she smiles. She thinks no ill thoughts. The girl takes off her fur coat, placing it over Caraluna without paying any mind to her own needs. She laughs, "You need clothes."

Caraluna studies the coat intensely, trying to find any hidden abnormalities. It is no use, though, as he is too cold to think properly. When he puts the coat on and wraps it around himself, he realizes just how cold he'd been when he walked through that desert of snow. His whole body shivers intensely, goosebumps appearing on his arms and legs. It's warm, he notes. It's the warmest he'd been in several days since he'd woken up.

"Come on, let's get you up," the girl says, lifting Caraluna off the snowy ground. They begin walking down the cobblestone path. The cobblestone presses against the soles of his feet, but his body is so cold he feels numb to it. She turns to look at him— his body is in poor condition. "My name is Varka, by the way," the girl says, smiling warmly.

It's warm.