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The Arrow of Morning

Mist rises from dewy grass, sun breaks out of the hills,

and far off, so remote I am not sure I really see it,

a flash of gold blinks in the sky.

I drop the basket of eggs and run,

scooping my sister with one hand,

heart pounding and head down.

At the door of the shelter I turn:

I have never seen a dragon before.

The sheep thunder towards the trees

but I see only hunger,

diving for its breakfast.

Elise squirms out of my hand but I cannot move.

The great wings whip open with the loudest noise I've ever heard,

talons grasp a small ewe and it is rising, rising,

flapping heavily, trailing smoke,

scales so bright I am almost blinded.

Already it dwindles with distance, laboring towards its

crag-bound nest where hatchlings peep like chicks.

Some day, I will climb those mountains.

Some day, I will be the arrow of morning.

Publ. Mythic Delirium 5, 2001