Dragon's Prayer (c) Dr. Thomas Venturer Illustration by: Dee Dreslough O Lord, who made the dragon, and the dragon's open sky, And gave to me a dragon's soul; a dragon's urge to fly-- Let me dance within your cloudscapes far beyond Earth's chain, Let me rejoice in my grandeur, let me not grow vain! Let me vindicate my honor with my fang and claw, Let my raging heart show mercy, let that show no flaw! Let me have the joy of all the shining gold I've stored, Let no pauper-dragon go forth starving from my hoard. And, Lord, should the need arise and I be called to fight, Dragon-Maker, make me victor, and, God--help that knight! Dr. Thomas Venturer

The Accident With The Birds (c) Christopher Wendell Armstrong Illustration by: Juan Crespo "Am I dead?," was all Mneumenth could think about as he lay on the cold stone floor of his lair. As he tried to shift his weight, he knew immediately that he could not be, as he would not be in the horrendous pain he now felt. Craning his neck around, he looked at the remains of his scorched hide with his one remaining eye. As he gazed upon his half-corpse, he wondered why he was still alive, as he had nothing but bone showing along most of his previously flawless hide. The sudden stab of pain as he shifted his head reminded that, unless he immediately applied aid to his wounds, or got something to do it for him, he wouldn't be alive much longer. Laying his head back upon the cold stone floor, Mneumenth proceeded to think of what he could possibly do to save himself. He thought of all the friends he knew, and of which ones could possible help him. After thinking about it for several moments, he realized that he would mostly have to help himself. Forcing charred muscles to tighten, and for charred and exposed pieces of bone to support him, he was able to slowly and painfully half-crawl, half-slide over to his work area and in front of a strange capsule-like machine. "I always dreaded that the day would come when I would have to do this. I just wish that I had been able to test it first," Mneumenth thought as he pulled his hulking form into the strange chair/stool which stood in front of some sort of control panel. Pushing a button, he draged himself into the capsule, which closes moments before being flooded with a strangely illuminated opaque light-blue gas. ***** Five Years Later ***** "Ugh. My entire body hurts. Where am I?" Mneumenth thinks to himself as he starts to emerge from the cryogenics capsule. Glancing down at himself, he gasps in astonishment as his eyes fall upon the cybernetics which cover the charred remains of his right-hand side. Carefully, Mneumenth opens his right-hand eye, only to discover that it too is cybernetic, and functioning perfectly. Walking over to the nearest computer console, Mneumenth orders the Computer to explain what has happened to him. "Several vital body parts had to be replaced to allow you to survive, per your orders to ensure your survival. All of the replacement parts, where possible, have been designed around the surviving duplicates on your other side. Your tail had to be completly re-designed from scratch, and several implements have been added to the previously recorded version," the computer replies in it's charastic monotone. "Have you made any other `modifications' to my person that I should be informed of?" Mneumenth asks the computer, putting particular emphasis on `modifications' so that the computer understands that he hopes the answer is no. "Yes, you were found to be unable to breath any sort of breathe-weapon anymore, and the cybernetic eye has been augmented with a variable-intensity high-power laser-cannon and LCD screen. This allows you to project any shape of your choosing, at any available power level, at anything you can directly see. The eye can still be used for sight while the laser-gun is firing." "WHAT!" Mneumenth roars at the top of his lungs, swinging his head up from his inspection of his new body. Suddenly, a large lightning bolt flies out of a nearby electrical box, striking the computer terminal squarely in the side. Luckily, the electrical insulation appears to have saved the computer itself from any major damage. "Computer, what caused that lightning bolt?" "Proccessing... Proccessing... Apparently, the large amounts of cybernetics contained in your body can control electricity itself, to a degree. You appear to be able to draw electricity from surrounding sources in the form of a lightning bolt, and cause it to crash into any object of your choosing." "Computer, what is your basis for that last part of the explaination?" "Were you not wishing that you could strike me right then?" "True. I am going to try to cause it to happen again. Did the first hit damage your circuitry?" "Negative, the first lightning strike caused me no damage." Squinting hard and grunting with the effort, Mneumenth attempts to repeat the lightning bolt accident, but only succeeds in making small sparks fly out of various terminals closeby. "Damn! Why can't I do it?" "Perhaps because your too incompetant?" Raging with fury at the computer for such a remark, Mneumenth roars and stomps the ground in front of himself, leaving several cracks and knocking several items off of nearby shelves. In the interum, another lightning bolt emminates from a nearby high-voltage wire, striking one of the computer's speaker-boxes squarely in the front, causing it to blow up. "What the?!? Well, I guess it only happens when I'm angry. Very interesting. Computer, explain yourself. Why did you make that remark?" "To show you how to cause the electricity-control to activate. It happened first when you were angry, and as you now see, happens apparently ONLY when you are angry. No personal harm was meant by the comment." "Well I thank thee for your insight into the matter. Now, can I still teleport and fly?" "Yes on both counts. Your body still weighs only 200 tons, and your right wing's base has been replaced by a similiar structure of identical funcionality." "Computer, you still haven't explained why I was dying in the cryogenic chamber in the first place. Please do so now." "A small crack in the glass allowed you to stay asleep while your body continued to decay. I had to implant the cybernetics to save your life. If it is your wish, we may start a piece-by-piece removal of the pieces." "How long would it take?" "Approximately 1,739 years, 11 months, and 17 days." "I think I'll keep em'." -With the Birds- "Damned servo mechanism. I'm having to learn to fly all over again! Is there anything more embaressing than a dragon that can't fly? And if you dare answer that, I'll carve you up, Computer." "I told you that you could still fly, I didn't say how easy it though. At your current rate, it will probably take roughly 173 years, 7 months, and 5 days for you to attain your previous level of flying skill, which is surprising because it only took you a few weeks to adjust to shooting with your eye instead of your mouth, although you still often-times open your mouth while firing with the laser." "Yeah, yeah. Is there ANYTHING that can be done to make flying easier for now, until I learn how to fly on my own again?" "Yes, we could attach rocket-boosters to your back, which would allow you to fly with a fair amount of ease. The only problem would be fuel. We could try using that new experimental rocket-booster you were working on before you little `accident.'" "Yes, that would probably work nicely. How soon could we attach the rocket-engine?" "Starting right now, about 1 hour, 37 minutes." "Well then, let's start." Staring off into nothingness, Mneumenth suddenly dissappears from the windy crag where he has been trying to learn to fly all day, and reappears inside his lair's workshop. There he procceds to lay down on a nearby table, belly down. A mask places itself over his snout, and soon nothing can be heard but welding noises and a LOUD snoring. ***Two hours later*** "This is great! I've never enjoyed flying this much. Computer, fuel check." "Seventy-five percent of capacity." "Okay then, I think I'll try to beat my last time through the obstacle course. Computer, begin timing as soon as I enter the course." "Affirmative." Suddenly, as Mneumenth makes a fast roll and dip to the right, the engine shoots off towards a mountain, minus Mneumenth. The force of it ripping itself from him causes him to start rolling in mid-air, end-over-end. Suddenly, with a great effort, Mneumenth unfolds his wings, and is able to stop his twisting-turning fall. Gliding to the ground, Mneumenth breathes a HUGE sigh of relief. "Computer, damage report both for myself and the engine." "17 seconds after your seperation, the engine impacted with the mountain-top. You seem to have suffered no permanent damage, and have re-learned to fly again." "True, although I wouldn't exactly call it flying, more like gliding for now. I think I know of a work-around though. What if I just get in the habit of teleporting upwards, the then gliding for the rest of the time. I was fooling around with that "phantom-flight" before, remember?" "Yes, I do. Perhaps you can learn to do that on a more regular basis." "Yes, I think I can..." Mneumenth stares off into the distance, at a slowly-rising plume of black smoke coming from a recently-leveled mountain-top.

	Jeweled Dragons (c) Amanda M. Hayes Illustration by: Fire Eyes Sunlit jewels, soaring through the air The dawn light streaming through colored wings. A rainbow given soul and animation, Glowing with the fire of the ages. They shimmer ruby, citrine, topaz, amber-- Emerald, sapphire, amethyst and onyx. The light and fire sing through their veins And refract from their prismatic eyes. Their hearts are aflame with love and knowledge; Their minds shine with wisdom's brilliance. Perfect jewels, flawless, without cloud-- They are the mirrors of our hopes and dreams. These jewels shine with crystal clarity, And in their shadows, our own light seems dim. Yet, looking at these sunlit, jeweled rainbows Within their shining eyes, we see ourselves.

...Perchance To Dream Copyright 1995 by Jonathan Martin Illustration by: Kaijima Appleseed Note from the author: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between my characters and living people is intentional (It's =my= fantasy!) and wouldn't be noticed by anyone other than those knowing me personally. A few notes: I don't expect many to be familiar with the setting.... It's St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada: My home town. Also, Screech is a type of dark Jamaican Rum popular here. It was apparently named after the sound made by one of the first Newfoundlanders to drink it straight.... But I digress.... As this was my first work of fiction, I greatly appreciate any comments or criticisms you might offer. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy it.... ...Perchance To Dream "You come here often buddy?" The man across the bar from me was drunk, so I decided that ignoring him wouldn't be prudent. "I used to... haven't been here for a while though." That answer seemed to placate him, and he went back to his pint of Guinness. It was a Wednesday night; Talent Night here at the local Irish pub. Two guys who couldn't have been much more than the legal drinking age were up on stage with a guitar and a fiddle, enthusiastically belting out one of my favourite Stan Rogers tunes. Actually it was by Archie Fisher, but I had a suspicion they were emulating Stan's version. "Wet, rose she from the lake/and fast and fleet went she/ One half the form of a maiden fair/with a jet-black mare's body" I always thought those lyrics were a tad strange. That was a thought, I told myself. They paled in comparison to my own experiences. I laid a tip on the counter for the bartender, waved to the musicians on stage (They were pretty good, after all) and walked out into the downtown night. It was strange how the lights of the dockyard gave an almost surreal air to the harbour. Almost as if the night was forever hovering there over the South-Side hills, waiting for its chance to roll in on the city through the protective bubble of mercury- vapour lamps. I turned and walked towards the west end of the city. It was about five kilometres to Bowering Park, where I met her every Saturday. I'd never really gotten over it. I still loved her, yet I often despised her for what she'd become. << It just happened >> was what she'd said. That was easy enough to believe. It wasn't as if any other explanation made sense. She'd just woken up one morning to find that her world had changed around her. And I'd woken up beside her to find everything I'd held dear was gone.... I walked through the gates to the park, stopping for a moment to watch the ducks and swans fast asleep on the edge of the pond. I continued up the road, beneath the almost geological canopy of the trees, past the bronze statue of Peter Pan, erected by a grieving Englishman in the memory of his drowned niece. As I walked, her face found its way into my mind. She was beautiful, though not in the way I had once thought. Damn! Why did I still meet her like this? Maybe I was a masochist. I'd have to be, the way the sight of her drove white-hot needles of pain into my soul. I think seeing her perhaps gave me hope that my childhood dreams were possible after all, even if not to me. For some reason, that lessened the pain a little. Further up the path, the road gradually changed from a well- kept paved strip to a worn maintenance track. Hopefully the local teen alcoholics had packed it in for the night and were home vomiting up their guts by now. I reached a small, overgrown footpath leading down to the Waterford River. Looking around furtively, I ducked into the underbrush and scrambled down to the bottom of the ravine. As I reached the bottom, I made one last check to make sure there was nobody around. I was beginning to care less and less about whether anyone saw us. They probably wouldn't believe their eyes anyhow. Walking to the waters edge, I sat down on one of the large rocks that protruded into the river at irregular intervals. This gorge was really a beautiful place. A carpet of rough grass grew from near the shoreline and about 30 feet back gave way to a wall of huge pine and elm trees which extended about 50 feet up and bent inwards to almost meet the ones growing from the other bank. I was absentmindedly examining a vein of quartz in the rock beneath me when I heard the heavy backbeats of leathery wings behind me, followed by a soft thud. I was prepared for the voice that found its way into my head. <<Hello Robert>> I turned around slowly and faced the creature whom I had once called my wife. As with every time we met, I let my eyes survey her new body, starting with her eyes. They were luminescent, glowing a soft green in the 2:30 AM darkness. The ridges above them were patterned with crests that met in the centre of her head in a design resembling a medieval harp. Behind the eyes small horns pointed backwards, gently curving towards her back. Her short, blunt snout ended in two small nostrils, below which fangs protruded from her upper jaw. Her chin curved gracefully inwards towards her not-overly-long neck. A horizontal pattern of scales ran from her upper neck down to between her legs, where it continued along the length of her long, sinuous tail; a tail which ended in a cluster of thin, stiletto-like spines. These scales were mostly a shade of teal, while the scales which ensconced the rest of her were overall an exotic peacock, fading to a rich of teal on the outsides. Mounted on her powerful shoulders were her wings, folded almost flat against her back where her dorsal ridges made a sort of path down towards her tail. Her forelegs were powerfully muscled, almost exactly like arms, and were planted firmly in the ground between her similarly-muscled legs, shiny grey talons clutching the earth as she crouched there before me. "Hello love...." I had long ago stopped using her real name. It no longer seemed appropriate. My love for her, however, had never abated. Tears started to well up in my eyes, and I ran forward to bury my face against her shoulder. She smelled wonderful, as always. I must have stayed there for about 15 minutes, tears falling from my eyes to cascade off her warm scales, my body racked with fits of sobbing. I was almost oblivious to the coldness of her talons as they cradled my head and played with my hair, her warm aromatic breath on my face. Finally I disengaged myself and wiped off the tears. <<You know I still love you>> "Yes... I do... and I love you too. It's just so difficult, no, scratch that, it's bloody impossible." <<How do you think I feel? I have a child to raise>> I'd almost forgotten about that. She was pregnant with our first child when she was changed. Somehow, the pregnancy continued, albeit in an altered state and about 10 months later, she'd laid an egg about the size of a large watermelon. I'll never forget what it looked like. It was coloured the same as her scales, but as if it were coated with watercolour paints, and someone had smeared it with a wet cloth. At that point she was living in a rough-hewn cave outside of town which I had helped her carve out of a cliff. As neither of us knew how long Dragon eggs took to hatch, I didn't see her much after that until about 3 weeks later when she managed to catch me with the good news by the river. I had so far seen my son 3 times. Always as he slept, as neither of us thought it would be a good idea show him a human, even if it was his own father. "How is the little guy?" I asked <<Pretty good. He spends more time awake now, so I won't be able to see you as often.>> I recoiled at the thought. I sometimes wondered if the weekly meetings weren't all that was holding me together. "I understand. Has he talked yet?" We had assumed that since she could talk, then our son could as well, eventually. <<No. Not yet. I think he's more Dragon than I am. I'm beginning to doubt he ever will now.>> She must have interpreted my disappointed gestures correctly. <<Don't worry. I'm beginning to get the hang of his body and pheromone signals. They're almost as effective as spoken language>> "That's good to know," I said sarcastically. "At least one of us may be able to bring up our child." <<Don't worry. What happened to me could possibly happen to you as well>> Wistfully I replied, "I'm not holding my breath. One out of 6 billion aren't exactly great odds. You'd better go back to your cave. Give him a hug for me." <<I will. 'Till next time, Dear Heart>> "Yeah. ' Till next time...." She turned abruptly, spread her great wings, and crouched low. In a single powerful motion, she was off the ground, wings catching the air, and then, gone. I stared at the marks left by her talons in the grass, and slowly turned to make my way home alone. ---------------------------------------- I awoke the next morning in my otherwise empty bed with a pounding headache. I probably shouldn't have drunk that bottle of Screech and was most likely still drunk. I stumbled to the bathroom and looked over my face in the mirror. I was still human. Like I expected THAT to change in the near future. I also looked like Hell. My eyes were sunken into their sockets, and bloodshot to boot. My beard needed to be trimmed badly and I was starting to grow a moustache. A trip to the cupboard for the clippers and my razor put a stop to that. The hot water made me feel almost human. Hah! Just what I needed. I convinced myself that being a raunchbag was NOT the way to solve my problems, then climbed into the shower. About 20 minutes later, I stepped out of the shower and set about straightening up the mess that I called my home. I wondered if her lair was as messy as this. I doubted it. After all, what use did she have for clothes, books or newspapers? I made a decent salary as a professional diver working for a small contracting firm, and for the large part, my disposable income went to decorating my house. There were dragons everywhere. On the wallpaper, the lamps, the end tables, and the walls. On the wall opposite my bed stood a 3-foot high oil painting of her. I had it done on commission from my descriptions, having told the artist they were from a dream. I still don't know why I surrounded myself with what had brought me so much sadness. I had always loved dragons before, and so had she. We had often fantasized about giving up our human bodies, both of us flying off to start a totally new life. The irony was disgusting. Now I loved a dragon, and she was the one I loved. I ate my dinner alone again that night, and drifted off to sleep with her image in my mind. ---------------------------------------- A week later I was on the bank of the river again. This time in the pouring rain. I doubted the drunks had been out at all. The lack of wind caused the rain to come straight down, and it wasn't long before I was chilled to the bone, even though it was the middle of August. I was almost totally oblivious to the sound of her alighting on the bank behind me, and so I fairly jumped when she spoke. <<Not fit for man or beast tonight>> "Then why are we both here?" I replied with a hint of sarcasm. <<What's wrong? You're not your usual chipper self>> Obviously I wasn't the only one capable of being sarcastic. "Rough week at work, I guess. I had to spend quite a while in emergency recompression with nothing to keep me occupied but a copy of Margaret Laurence's 'The Stone Angel'." <<Ouch>> "I spent most of the time thinking of you, though. It hurt." Her tone was almost angry this time. <<You've got to get on with your life. Things can never be like they were before, as nice as that would be. You of all people should realize that>> "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you." At this point she must have realized how wet I was, what with no coat of scales to keep me otherwise. She made a soft crooning sound and spoke again. <<You look like a drowned rat>> "I spend most of my week like this, remember?" She lay down on the bank and beckoned me with one of her talons. <<Come sit next to me>> I walked over and sat down beside her. She extended one of her wings to give me a shelter and swung her head inside to face me. "Thanks," I said, with real meaning. <<Anything for you, Love>> It was then that I noticed something different about her. There were patches of skin peeling from her wings, and her scales were duller in places. There were pale spots on her flank where whole layers of the protective plates had disappeared. "What's wrong?" I asked, somewhat alarmed. <<Oh, that?>> I detected a note of humour in the voice. <<If you can believe it, I think I'm moulting>> I laughed out loud and gave her eye ridges a loving rub. <<I've already lost about half the spines on my tail. That should throw some people for a loop if they find them>> "I'll say." I spent the next few hours there, tucked protectively under her wing. We talked about old times, shared experiences, gains, losses, and how we had grown apart over the past two years. <<You really should get rid of that ring>> She tilted her head towards the simple band of gold which encircled my finger. <<It'll scare away any interested parties>> "So would you." <<You know what I mean>> "I could never see another woman as long as you're still alive." <<And what if I met someone like myself, of the male gender?>> "Then you'd have my blessing. You have a child to raise. Besides, I'm still technically married to you. It's totally my decision." <<I don't think they had this particular contingency in mind when they wrote our marital vows>> "Maybe not, but I'll always love you. 'Till death do us part...." There was something sadder than normal about her parting that night. As she crouched to take flight, she turned and winked at me, threw back her head, and bellowed incandescent flame high into the night sky. She knew that I found it emotionally stirring. She exploded into the air and was gone in an instant. I stood there, the rain once again soaking my clothes with nobody to shelter me from it. Once more Alone. Something caught my eye on the ground. I walked over to investigate, and discovered one of her tail spines. About a finger-width wide, and a little more than a foot long, it was coloured a beautiful royal purple, and tapered to a fine point. I bent over to pick it up and turned away from the clearing. ---------------------------------------- Next Saturday afternoon I was sitting in my armchair, sipping a nice, warm mug of tea, when I remembered that the spine was still in my jacket. I pulled the jacket off the hook and fished the curiosity out of it. Boy, that point was sharp! You could really do some damage with it if you weren't careful. Suddenly my words from the week before came rushing into my head with piercing clarity. "'Till death do us part." The words echoed in my head, and I suddenly knew how to end my anguish. I sat there for a moment, unable to believe I was actually contemplating what had come into my mind. A strange mixture of fear and excitement seemed to stop my heart in my chest, and a ball of ice slowly materialized in my stomach. What was I thinking? I was thinking about unburdening the one I loved. And myself as well. ---------------------------------------- I don't know exactly how long the drive was, but by the time I got to the end of the road, my head was swimming with emotions and thoughts dredged up by the time in the car. I had wrestled with my doubts, trying to find reasons not to do what I was about to. I could think of none. At the end of the gravel service trail I parked the car, pausing for a moment to get my head together. I wore only a pair of black shorts, and a worn pair of runners. The precious spike was clutched in my hand. The keys to the car were tossed on the front seat, and the windows were rolled up. If anybody wanted the car, they could bloody well have it. With a final, gut-wrenching glance at the direction which to me represented humanity, I swallowed hard and set off into the woods. I walked for hours, until the sun finally set below the hills at my back, and then kept on walking. It was imperative that I made it before she set off on her weekly trip to the park. As I crossed the final half-kilometre of open headland before the coast, I could hear the rhythmic pounding of the waves on the ageless rocks below. I had to be careful here. These cliffs were treacherous under the best of conditions, and now, covered with salt spray from the North Atlantic, the simplest falter could be deadly. For the millionth time in the past couple of years, I wished for wings, but that was foolish. If I had wings, I wouldn't be doing this. Finally I was down on the ledge, facing the opening of her lair. A faint glow emanated from the inside and I stood there listening. Silence. They must be asleep. I tiptoed inside, up the incline to the small cavern that I had helped her sculpt. Carefully I moved my head around the corner and watched the sleepers. The smell of the place was beautiful, slightly different than her own smell, and I attributed it to the still bundle asleep in the lovingly-constructed nest in the corner. The remaining embers of a small fire glowed in the rough hearth, and threw a warm light over the chamber. The same light reflected beautifully off the myriad of peacock and teal scales as they rose and fell in the rhythms of sleep. Tears again welled up in my eyes, and I had to make a supreme effort to keep from sobbing aloud. She would be waking soon, and I hadn't much time. I gave a silent final goodbye to the wife I could never wholly love, and my son, who would never know, nor understand who his father was. My family, estranged by fate. Goodbye, my Love. I went outside to the ledge, and raised the beautiful point of the spine to my eyes. Silently, the wedding ring came off my finger and slipped over the tapered end of it. The band slid easily all the way down before stopping at the end. A touch confirmed my suspicions. It was stuck fast. The tears stopped abruptly and I held that piece of her aloft. The starlight reflected off the gold momentarily, and then it came down. I felt the spine penetrating my chest, my now-dying body recording its passage with a strange sensation of not pain, but coolness. I felt life leaving me, and slumped over onto my knees. "So this is what it's like?" I thought. The entrance to the cave spun crazily in front of my eyes, and then the darkness that ensued when the last of the embers inside died spread outwards to envelop me. Presently I was aware of a strange sensation. I was suspended over the mouth of the cave, looking down on my body. I looked at the crumpled heap that I had once inhabited, and almost laughed. So people had souls after all. I had often doubted that, but here I was dead, yet somehow existent. What now? I thought hard and decided to wait until she emerged, not that I had much of a choice in this form. I couldn't really seem to move and it would take me a while to get my bearings anyway. I really didn't want to see her reaction and I was hardly proud of my deed. "The act of a coward," I had always said. I just couldn't take it anymore. There was a scurrying inside the cave, and I was aware of her moving in the short passage. She must have spotted the body from about halfway out, because she was on the ledge almost instantly, bending over the broken form. She stood there incredulously for a moment, then fell back on her haunches, apparently unable to believe what lay before her. She lovingly arranged the body, then pulled the spine from its resting place, examining the implement with which I had taken my final exit. When she noticed the wedding band, she bowed her head and cried. I'd never seen a dragon cry before, and it was the most heart-wrenching thing I have ever experienced. For the first time, I was really ashamed of myself. As she sat there, her great head jerked up and down erratically with draconic sobs. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and fell to the rock with audible plops. Without warning she threw back her head and roared her anguish at the night sky. The sound was almost indescribable. The best I can do is that it was like someone had hit about eighteen keys on a pipe organ, all in a minor key and none the least bit chordal. It penetrated my airy form and a sent strange sensation racing up my non-existent spine, radiating throughout my former extremities. I could stand to see this no longer. I was past regret for what I had done, and now I hated myself. I had thrown away my life and hurt the one I loved. I screamed in anguish of my own, throwing what would have been my head back as I did so. When my gaze returned to her, she was staring in my direction, eyes wide. Ghosts! Of course! I was a ghost! Maybe If she could see me, I could apologize to her, and somehow gain some small shred of peace for my tortured soul. She was still looking at me in disbelief. I made one motion toward her and was suddenly aware of a weird feeling. I didn't expect moving like this would be that hard. <<Ouch!>> I stubbed my toe on a rock. Wait. Back up there. I was a spirit. Or was I? I looked down at my feet, yes, my feet, and saw that they were covered with the same smooth scales hers were. I looked up at my body and discovered that the rest of it was similarly ensconced. My hands. They were taloned, just like hers. She snapped out of her stupor and charged me, eyes glowing with a fire I had never seen. I tried to take a step away from her, but my limbs were clumsy, and I fell onto my back. Before I knew it, she was on top of me, her arms clutching me so tight I felt as if I would burst. <<I...>> the words tried to escape my muddled mind. <<Shhhhh...>> She silenced me and hugged harder. <<Don't wake me up. This might be a dream>> I complied, and hugged her back as hard as I could with my unfamiliar limbs. <<I'm sorry. I feel like such a cop-out>> I did. <<Well, Someone thought you did the right thing>> I hadn't yet thought about the how or why of the matter, as I was still in shock. To this day I haven't really accepted a single reason. Perhaps Someone took pity on my anguished soul. Perhaps it had something to do with where I got that spine I drove into my heart that August night. More likely to me, however, is the possibility that the Soul has powers far beyond what we are presently aware of, and that somehow, I tapped into that power. We lay there, trapped in an embrace for what seemed like eons and my new body suddenly interpreted her scent for what it truly was: Love. Her love.... For me. She helped me down onto the ledge and I looked at her for approval for what I was about to do. She slowly nodded her beautiful head and I turned to push the body off the ledge and into the black darkness below. We stood there for a while, staring out over the ocean, our bodies touching on the narrow shelf of rock. When we turned around to retire to the cave, we discovered a tiny dragonet sitting in the entrance. He looked up at his mother for assurance, then eyed me suspiciously. Our eyes met, and I knew he understood. <<D... D... Daddy?>> I nodded my approval, and the three of us walked into the cave together. Eternally wishing for wings... Jonathan C. Martin

	April (c) Greffindel the Plaid Illustration by: Thorn
Leaves billow in this wind, Tracing curves and ragged swirls. Hot son, chill wind, The air alive between them-- These things are all April. These are all the yearly spring Which draws flowers and birds out of silence.		Buffeted, it lights upon a rock Between the sprouting wood and the blowing sea, Recoils its head, unleashing a mighty blast. The air is consumed in dragonflame, Which burns even ash and melts even water. This mighty fire burns bright and long Against the chill and forceful wind, And then, abruptly, stops.
Scales restless; long unquiet neck; An ancient head, deep and troubled, Knowing not by what, Stirs endlessly, now with the wind, Now again without. April days are dreams to the serpent, Yet it sleeps not.	A bud, a blade billow in the wind. A leg, a claw, a wingbeat lift the soul. Memories buffet the dragon as it flies-- Thoughts of dear ones far away, Images of springs past and springs to come. The dragon, restless, traces curves And ragged swirls, scales shining, Heart winding, tail articulating the ever-abandoned path. Flight is majesty, leafed between The hot sun and chill wind. Restlessly it climbs, listless drops. The soaring dragon is April too.	Restless, the dragon stands Between the hotness of its flame And the wordless chill of the wind Memories of springs past ANd images of springs to come, Thoughts fo dear ones far away, These are all April.

Email information or questions about illustrations to an editor
mailto:afdbook@dragonfire.org

Go to the alt.fan.dragons Web Site.