Sarah's dragon story
No fancy intro, story suggestion c/o @SarahShouldKnow (THANKS!!).
Everything is entirely fictional, and no persons or dragons herein are in any way related to real people; even the main character whose name is also Sarah.
Rating/Warning: PG, for violence
Title: Don't Mess With My Dragon
“Dude! Where the hell are you going? GO RIGHT! I SAID RIGHT!!” Sarah was screaming at her dragon for perhaps the hundredth time that day. It was the same on almost every flight; Calidaura, her red dragon, regularly ignored her directions and followed his own agenda.
As they banked gently to the left, a stream of bullets streaked up from the ground, whizzing by to Sarah’s right, just behind the webbing of the dragon’s huge wing. She took a moment to be silently grateful that Cal had chosen this moment to ignore her again, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.
She and her dragon both had their necks craned around to the left, and both saw the source of the attack: A small caravan of white pickup trucks was streaking across the Mexican desert, each with several people in the bed, and many with guns or various shapes and sizes. Several of them were gesticulating wildly, up towards the terrifying creature in the sky, some screaming at their drivers, and all of the trucks were veering and swerving; it was vehicular chaos. Drug dealers, for that’s what this band of locos most certainly were, could be ruthless, but they were total panicking chickens when they were under the gun; or under the dragon, in this case.
There was a chatter of more gunfire, and Cal darted and swerved this way and that, avoiding the worst of the assault. Sarah tightened her grip on the saddle with her legs, and for good measure, looped the reins around her arms and shoulders. Calidaura was pretty good at flying within her tolerance, but he was capable of aerobatics that could easily fling her into the warm Mexican afternoon air. That might be a fun little adventure, until the inevitable landing ruined the rest of her day. She cinched the leather strap tight, just in case. As if sensing she was ready, Calidaura dipped his left wing and went into a furious spiraling dive, even as some of the bullets pinged off his hide, or made a ‘pfft’ sound as they punched through his wingwebs.
She could hear the shouts of the truckers get louder as the dragon swooped. The trucks scattered in every direction as the beast roared and dived toward the caravan, drawing more gunfire, but steadily gaining an advantageous position for what would come next. Sarah braced herself and closed her eyes as she felt Cal’s neck muscles draw taut, and his great scaly head rise up in preparation to breathe. She was in awe of this power, but could never watch when the fiery death was dealt.
Leveling out from the steep turn, Calidaura was lined up directly behind two of the trucks. A couple of the bed-riders chose to dive off, probably breaking several limbs, but saving themselves from an awful fate.
The breath came, hot, loud, boiling air pouring forth toward the foremost of the two trucks. It completely engulfed the vehicle, which slowed suddenly, causing the truck behind to plow into its bed. The destruction was complete when both trucks exploded; Even mostly protected by her mount, Sarah could feel the heat follow the dual sounds of gasoline rending metal (and, ugh, flesh). She felt a minor wave of nausea at the thought, “But that what you get when you deal in death; death gets dealt to you,” she told herself. Justice could be ugly for drug dealers.
The great beast roared and swooped up to gain some needed altitude, banking around and flapping his enormous wings. Sarah felt her stomach lurch again with each thrust. She loved to ride, but much preferred gentle gliding and soaring at altitude to these occasional, but necessary diversions for combat.
As a couple of the trucks sped off in straight paths, hoping to escape (“Not raising that much dust, suckers!” thought Sarah) the other two remaining had spun around and were now speeding along next to each other, seemingly planning a counter-attack. Cal dipped his head left and right as he roared upward, checking to see what might be the next best maneuver. He decided on a roll to the right. Sarah clenched the saddle again and prepared for the worst.
The two trucks split and turned away from each other, figuring, correctly, that they were safer being separated. The dragon banked widely to the right, leveling out to end up facing towards one of the trucks, which had slowed down, perhaps to get better aim with their guns. Indeed, as Cal descended on a direct path toward the truck, bullets again began to fly up toward the flying serpent.
When there was a pause in the gunfire (“Are they scared or just reloading?) Sarah dared a look around Calidaura’s wide neck, even as he tensed up to rain fire down on his foe. Just as he made to scorch them, Sarah caught a glimpse inside the cab of the truck. She screamed, “CAL!!! NO!!!!” The dragon lurched as fire roared forth, blasting the ground next to the truck, but missing it for the most part.
As they soared low over the truck, Sarah could see that she was right, the driver of this pickup didn’t seem to be one of the fighters, but rather looked like a young Mexican girl, probably kidnapped and forced to drive while the others defended their cargo. Indeed, there were four banditos lying in the bed of the truck, around a large crate stamped with “Pina Expresa.”
“Oh, damn, Pineapple Express,” thought Sarah. She thought she could use some once they landed after this adventure.
Having avoided killing an innocent civilian, she wondered what they might do now, as this presented a challenge. She got an idea, spying a canyon a mile or so away.
“Cal,” she yelled above the roar of the air whipping by, “see if you can herd them toward that cliff, maybe they’ll jump out if they’re cornered!” He seemed to agree with this thought, banking and flapping again.
She left the tactics of this plan to her mount; he might be ignorant occasionally, but if there was one thing he was sure good at, it was combat. She was very proud - and lucky - to have inherited such a magnificent steed as Calidaura.
Within a few minutes’ rocking, swooping, swerving and occasional directive blasts of fire, Cal had managed to corral the two pickups, more or less. They were now on a path that would force them to stop soon or face destruction.
Sarah watched in horror, though, as neither truck slowed down. They were heading directly toward the edge of the canyon, which had to be hundreds of feet deep. Unless they had parachutes, they were about to choose the instant death of a crash at the bottom of the gorge. “Hmmm, maybe better than being burned to death by a dragon,” thought Sarah.
She had another sudden, horrible thought: That driver! The girl! “Cal!! That truck, the one on the right! STOP IT!!!!” Cal swooped immediately forward, beating his great wings ferociously, having heard the urgency in his master’s voice. He flashed forward, gaining on the truck in a mad race toward the edge of the cliff. Sarah was sure they were too late, that the girl would die along with the bastard druggies. Her whole body was clenched in anguish.
The first truck to go over was the one on the left. It flew off the cliff in a puff of dust, and immediately disappeared from sight. Cal kept speeding toward the other truck, which had slowed somewhat, but was still doomed. There was muffled crunch followed a second later by an explosion as the first truck hit. Sarah closed her eyes; she couldn’t watch. Cal sped on.
Two of the men in the back of the remaining truck dove out even as it was just about to reach the edge, screaming and bouncing in the dry desert. Calidaura was feet from the truck and roared just as the truck reached the edge and flew off into the air. Sarah’s gut wrenched as Calidaura instinctively dove down, and grasped his talons at the truck just as it began to fall.
Sarah felt a sudden tug downward, and the dragon beat his wings furiously against the sudden increase in weight he was carrying She couldn’t believe it, he had caught the truck in mid-air! “Cal you are freaking AWESOME!” she screamed as he half-flew, half-fell toward the bottom of the gorge, landing in a tumble of metal, rubber and dragon scales a few seconds later.
Sarah managed to scramble down from her saddle, and hastened over to the truck. Cal had managed to put it down on its tires (all flattened) but there was no movement in or around it. Another of the banditos must have fallen out during the descent, as there was only one left in the back, half hanging over the tailgate, looking none too good. There were several guns back there too, but she wasn’t worried; Cal, now busy stretching out his sore legs and examining the bullet holes in his wings, would protect her if he woke up. Sarah reached the cab and looked in.
The driver was indeed a girl, younger than she had thought, probably no more than 16 or 17. She shuddered to think what her future might have been at the hands of the dealers. She, personally, would prefer death to that kind of hell. She ran around to the driver’s door, which, strangely, was on the right. Sarah briefly wondered how the hell Mexican drug dealers would have gotten a pickup truck made in England. “Wait, do they even make pickup trucks in England?” she mused.
She pulled open the door with some effort, and bent in to see if the girl was still alive. She was! Slumped over the steering wheel, she was moaning in a low, weary voice.
“Hey,” said Sarah, gently prodding the girl, “are you injured?” She spoke in English, as the author of the story knew only enough Spanish to order at Taco Bell.
The girl slowly sat up and rubbed her head, her eyes fluttering open. “Oh, thank God!” thought Sarah, and tried to help her out of the truck. She was worried that the truck might just explode, or at least burst into flames, as she smelled gas, probably from a ruptured gas line.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
“I--I think so.”
“Let’s get you out of here, okay?” She supported the girl, who exited on wobbly legs. She helped her limp over towards Calidaura.
“Dios Mio!!” the girl exclaimed, catching sight of the dragon up close for the first time.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,” Sarah assured her. “And if he tries, then I will hurt HIM.” She smiled with the realization that she probably couldn’t do a thing to hurt him in reality, while if he had the inclination, he could snap her in two and swallow her in two bites, perhaps roasting each half first for maximum tastiness.
She looked back at the frightened girl, and said quietly, “Um, by the way, my name’s Sarah. What’s yours?”
The girl blinked, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. “Mar-Marisol,” she answered, still clearly shaken from her ordeal. Sarah wondered how the girl had become involved, but she would save those questions for later.
“Well, Marisol, you’ve had a fright, haven’t ya?” She was trying to be smiley and positive, but wondered what they might do now. “Can we bring you someplace, back home, maybe? To get you some help and get cleaned up?”
“Home? Noooo, “ came her reply. She cast her eyes downward. “My home is no more. Thanks to these ‘gentlemen.” She virtually spat the word in obvious contempt.
“Hmmm. Well, I think I know what we can do. We,” she motioned toward Cal, “were just on our way to the State Fiesta in Texas, and I have a place nearby. You’ll be safe there. How would that be?”
Marisol didn’t answer at first. Sarah let her sit in silence, eager not to overwhelm her.
She eventually spoke, “I guess, that would be okay. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
There was a sudden burst of heat as the gasoline in and around the truck ignited, startling both of the girls.
“Those men!” Marisol exclaimed, eyes wide in horror as she regarded the fireball, which had immediately engulfed the truck, the man in the tailgate and the broken box containing bales of weed.
“Pff, he’s probably already dead, and if not, then he deserves what he’s getting!.” Sarah thought it strange that Marisol would be concerned for her captors. She also felt a tinge of regret that the crate was going up in flames. She noted the distinct aroma as it began to waft around them. For some reason she didn’t understand, it had always reminded her of mint toothpaste.
“Well, that’s it then. Let’s get outta here. The sooner we get airborne, the sooner we can get you fixed up, okay?” She stood up and motioned to Calidaura, now preening his reddish-bronze scales in the warm sun, patiently awaiting his passengers.
“On…On that?” Marisol was incredulous. “I…I don’t know…”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe, I’ve been flying since I was a baby. He’s just a big creampuff, he’ll fly NICE and SLOW and GENTLE,” she said, eyeing the dragon as she emphasized the flight instructions, “Won’t he?”
The dragon lowered his head, acknowledging his master. He followed his own mind sometimes, but he knew which battles to pick, and this was a time to defer to her.
Sarah reached down and took Marisol’s hand, leading her over to the rope ladder on Calidaura’s left side. “You just put your foot there,” she indicated the bottom rung, “and your hand up on that handle, and pull yourself up.” Marisol followed the instructions, quietly moaning and visibly shaking with fear.
Sarah meant to keep her calm, for both their comfort and safety. It wasn’t good to freak out in the air. She gave the trembling girl a boost up until she had swung her leg over the saddle and taken a seat, then glided up herself in one expert motion, taking a seat behind Marisol on the large saddle. She reached around her and grabbed up the reins in both hands.
“Don’t worry, it will be fine,” she spoke in a soothing voice. Without another word, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and the dragon stood, ran a few steps forward and lurched into the air. Marisol screamed.
“AHAHA, don’t worry, Mari!!” Sarah repeated, beaming with excitement, “You’ll see, flying is FUN!”
Marisol calmed fractionally, as they soared gracefully skyward, Calidaura beating his wings slowly and gently, mindful of Sarah’s earlier instructions.
Sarah shouted over the wind again, as they climbed and the dragon turned north toward the border, “WOO HOOOOOOO!! ONWARD, TO THE FIESTAAAAA!!”
Everything is entirely fictional, and no persons or dragons herein are in any way related to real people; even the main character whose name is also Sarah.
Rating/Warning: PG, for violence
Title: Don't Mess With My Dragon
“Dude! Where the hell are you going? GO RIGHT! I SAID RIGHT!!” Sarah was screaming at her dragon for perhaps the hundredth time that day. It was the same on almost every flight; Calidaura, her red dragon, regularly ignored her directions and followed his own agenda.
As they banked gently to the left, a stream of bullets streaked up from the ground, whizzing by to Sarah’s right, just behind the webbing of the dragon’s huge wing. She took a moment to be silently grateful that Cal had chosen this moment to ignore her again, but she had more pressing matters to attend to.
She and her dragon both had their necks craned around to the left, and both saw the source of the attack: A small caravan of white pickup trucks was streaking across the Mexican desert, each with several people in the bed, and many with guns or various shapes and sizes. Several of them were gesticulating wildly, up towards the terrifying creature in the sky, some screaming at their drivers, and all of the trucks were veering and swerving; it was vehicular chaos. Drug dealers, for that’s what this band of locos most certainly were, could be ruthless, but they were total panicking chickens when they were under the gun; or under the dragon, in this case.
There was a chatter of more gunfire, and Cal darted and swerved this way and that, avoiding the worst of the assault. Sarah tightened her grip on the saddle with her legs, and for good measure, looped the reins around her arms and shoulders. Calidaura was pretty good at flying within her tolerance, but he was capable of aerobatics that could easily fling her into the warm Mexican afternoon air. That might be a fun little adventure, until the inevitable landing ruined the rest of her day. She cinched the leather strap tight, just in case. As if sensing she was ready, Calidaura dipped his left wing and went into a furious spiraling dive, even as some of the bullets pinged off his hide, or made a ‘pfft’ sound as they punched through his wingwebs.
She could hear the shouts of the truckers get louder as the dragon swooped. The trucks scattered in every direction as the beast roared and dived toward the caravan, drawing more gunfire, but steadily gaining an advantageous position for what would come next. Sarah braced herself and closed her eyes as she felt Cal’s neck muscles draw taut, and his great scaly head rise up in preparation to breathe. She was in awe of this power, but could never watch when the fiery death was dealt.
Leveling out from the steep turn, Calidaura was lined up directly behind two of the trucks. A couple of the bed-riders chose to dive off, probably breaking several limbs, but saving themselves from an awful fate.
The breath came, hot, loud, boiling air pouring forth toward the foremost of the two trucks. It completely engulfed the vehicle, which slowed suddenly, causing the truck behind to plow into its bed. The destruction was complete when both trucks exploded; Even mostly protected by her mount, Sarah could feel the heat follow the dual sounds of gasoline rending metal (and, ugh, flesh). She felt a minor wave of nausea at the thought, “But that what you get when you deal in death; death gets dealt to you,” she told herself. Justice could be ugly for drug dealers.
The great beast roared and swooped up to gain some needed altitude, banking around and flapping his enormous wings. Sarah felt her stomach lurch again with each thrust. She loved to ride, but much preferred gentle gliding and soaring at altitude to these occasional, but necessary diversions for combat.
As a couple of the trucks sped off in straight paths, hoping to escape (“Not raising that much dust, suckers!” thought Sarah) the other two remaining had spun around and were now speeding along next to each other, seemingly planning a counter-attack. Cal dipped his head left and right as he roared upward, checking to see what might be the next best maneuver. He decided on a roll to the right. Sarah clenched the saddle again and prepared for the worst.
The two trucks split and turned away from each other, figuring, correctly, that they were safer being separated. The dragon banked widely to the right, leveling out to end up facing towards one of the trucks, which had slowed down, perhaps to get better aim with their guns. Indeed, as Cal descended on a direct path toward the truck, bullets again began to fly up toward the flying serpent.
When there was a pause in the gunfire (“Are they scared or just reloading?) Sarah dared a look around Calidaura’s wide neck, even as he tensed up to rain fire down on his foe. Just as he made to scorch them, Sarah caught a glimpse inside the cab of the truck. She screamed, “CAL!!! NO!!!!” The dragon lurched as fire roared forth, blasting the ground next to the truck, but missing it for the most part.
As they soared low over the truck, Sarah could see that she was right, the driver of this pickup didn’t seem to be one of the fighters, but rather looked like a young Mexican girl, probably kidnapped and forced to drive while the others defended their cargo. Indeed, there were four banditos lying in the bed of the truck, around a large crate stamped with “Pina Expresa.”
“Oh, damn, Pineapple Express,” thought Sarah. She thought she could use some once they landed after this adventure.
Having avoided killing an innocent civilian, she wondered what they might do now, as this presented a challenge. She got an idea, spying a canyon a mile or so away.
“Cal,” she yelled above the roar of the air whipping by, “see if you can herd them toward that cliff, maybe they’ll jump out if they’re cornered!” He seemed to agree with this thought, banking and flapping again.
She left the tactics of this plan to her mount; he might be ignorant occasionally, but if there was one thing he was sure good at, it was combat. She was very proud - and lucky - to have inherited such a magnificent steed as Calidaura.
Within a few minutes’ rocking, swooping, swerving and occasional directive blasts of fire, Cal had managed to corral the two pickups, more or less. They were now on a path that would force them to stop soon or face destruction.
Sarah watched in horror, though, as neither truck slowed down. They were heading directly toward the edge of the canyon, which had to be hundreds of feet deep. Unless they had parachutes, they were about to choose the instant death of a crash at the bottom of the gorge. “Hmmm, maybe better than being burned to death by a dragon,” thought Sarah.
She had another sudden, horrible thought: That driver! The girl! “Cal!! That truck, the one on the right! STOP IT!!!!” Cal swooped immediately forward, beating his great wings ferociously, having heard the urgency in his master’s voice. He flashed forward, gaining on the truck in a mad race toward the edge of the cliff. Sarah was sure they were too late, that the girl would die along with the bastard druggies. Her whole body was clenched in anguish.
The first truck to go over was the one on the left. It flew off the cliff in a puff of dust, and immediately disappeared from sight. Cal kept speeding toward the other truck, which had slowed somewhat, but was still doomed. There was muffled crunch followed a second later by an explosion as the first truck hit. Sarah closed her eyes; she couldn’t watch. Cal sped on.
Two of the men in the back of the remaining truck dove out even as it was just about to reach the edge, screaming and bouncing in the dry desert. Calidaura was feet from the truck and roared just as the truck reached the edge and flew off into the air. Sarah’s gut wrenched as Calidaura instinctively dove down, and grasped his talons at the truck just as it began to fall.
Sarah felt a sudden tug downward, and the dragon beat his wings furiously against the sudden increase in weight he was carrying She couldn’t believe it, he had caught the truck in mid-air! “Cal you are freaking AWESOME!” she screamed as he half-flew, half-fell toward the bottom of the gorge, landing in a tumble of metal, rubber and dragon scales a few seconds later.
Sarah managed to scramble down from her saddle, and hastened over to the truck. Cal had managed to put it down on its tires (all flattened) but there was no movement in or around it. Another of the banditos must have fallen out during the descent, as there was only one left in the back, half hanging over the tailgate, looking none too good. There were several guns back there too, but she wasn’t worried; Cal, now busy stretching out his sore legs and examining the bullet holes in his wings, would protect her if he woke up. Sarah reached the cab and looked in.
The driver was indeed a girl, younger than she had thought, probably no more than 16 or 17. She shuddered to think what her future might have been at the hands of the dealers. She, personally, would prefer death to that kind of hell. She ran around to the driver’s door, which, strangely, was on the right. Sarah briefly wondered how the hell Mexican drug dealers would have gotten a pickup truck made in England. “Wait, do they even make pickup trucks in England?” she mused.
She pulled open the door with some effort, and bent in to see if the girl was still alive. She was! Slumped over the steering wheel, she was moaning in a low, weary voice.
“Hey,” said Sarah, gently prodding the girl, “are you injured?” She spoke in English, as the author of the story knew only enough Spanish to order at Taco Bell.
The girl slowly sat up and rubbed her head, her eyes fluttering open. “Oh, thank God!” thought Sarah, and tried to help her out of the truck. She was worried that the truck might just explode, or at least burst into flames, as she smelled gas, probably from a ruptured gas line.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
“I--I think so.”
“Let’s get you out of here, okay?” She supported the girl, who exited on wobbly legs. She helped her limp over towards Calidaura.
“Dios Mio!!” the girl exclaimed, catching sight of the dragon up close for the first time.
“Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you,” Sarah assured her. “And if he tries, then I will hurt HIM.” She smiled with the realization that she probably couldn’t do a thing to hurt him in reality, while if he had the inclination, he could snap her in two and swallow her in two bites, perhaps roasting each half first for maximum tastiness.
She looked back at the frightened girl, and said quietly, “Um, by the way, my name’s Sarah. What’s yours?”
The girl blinked, shielding her eyes from the bright sun. “Mar-Marisol,” she answered, still clearly shaken from her ordeal. Sarah wondered how the girl had become involved, but she would save those questions for later.
“Well, Marisol, you’ve had a fright, haven’t ya?” She was trying to be smiley and positive, but wondered what they might do now. “Can we bring you someplace, back home, maybe? To get you some help and get cleaned up?”
“Home? Noooo, “ came her reply. She cast her eyes downward. “My home is no more. Thanks to these ‘gentlemen.” She virtually spat the word in obvious contempt.
“Hmmm. Well, I think I know what we can do. We,” she motioned toward Cal, “were just on our way to the State Fiesta in Texas, and I have a place nearby. You’ll be safe there. How would that be?”
Marisol didn’t answer at first. Sarah let her sit in silence, eager not to overwhelm her.
She eventually spoke, “I guess, that would be okay. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
There was a sudden burst of heat as the gasoline in and around the truck ignited, startling both of the girls.
“Those men!” Marisol exclaimed, eyes wide in horror as she regarded the fireball, which had immediately engulfed the truck, the man in the tailgate and the broken box containing bales of weed.
“Pff, he’s probably already dead, and if not, then he deserves what he’s getting!.” Sarah thought it strange that Marisol would be concerned for her captors. She also felt a tinge of regret that the crate was going up in flames. She noted the distinct aroma as it began to waft around them. For some reason she didn’t understand, it had always reminded her of mint toothpaste.
“Well, that’s it then. Let’s get outta here. The sooner we get airborne, the sooner we can get you fixed up, okay?” She stood up and motioned to Calidaura, now preening his reddish-bronze scales in the warm sun, patiently awaiting his passengers.
“On…On that?” Marisol was incredulous. “I…I don’t know…”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe, I’ve been flying since I was a baby. He’s just a big creampuff, he’ll fly NICE and SLOW and GENTLE,” she said, eyeing the dragon as she emphasized the flight instructions, “Won’t he?”
The dragon lowered his head, acknowledging his master. He followed his own mind sometimes, but he knew which battles to pick, and this was a time to defer to her.
Sarah reached down and took Marisol’s hand, leading her over to the rope ladder on Calidaura’s left side. “You just put your foot there,” she indicated the bottom rung, “and your hand up on that handle, and pull yourself up.” Marisol followed the instructions, quietly moaning and visibly shaking with fear.
Sarah meant to keep her calm, for both their comfort and safety. It wasn’t good to freak out in the air. She gave the trembling girl a boost up until she had swung her leg over the saddle and taken a seat, then glided up herself in one expert motion, taking a seat behind Marisol on the large saddle. She reached around her and grabbed up the reins in both hands.
“Don’t worry, it will be fine,” she spoke in a soothing voice. Without another word, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and the dragon stood, ran a few steps forward and lurched into the air. Marisol screamed.
“AHAHA, don’t worry, Mari!!” Sarah repeated, beaming with excitement, “You’ll see, flying is FUN!”
Marisol calmed fractionally, as they soared gracefully skyward, Calidaura beating his wings slowly and gently, mindful of Sarah’s earlier instructions.
Sarah shouted over the wind again, as they climbed and the dragon turned north toward the border, “WOO HOOOOOOO!! ONWARD, TO THE FIESTAAAAA!!”