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Except that’s not what I feel. There’s cold air for maybe a second or two as I fall, but the air now feels warm and still. Even more strangely, I don’t feel like I’m moving downward. In fact, it feels like I’m being carried upward. How I can feel that makes no sense to me.
Then there’s the fact that I feel something hard underneath my body. I mean, I expected to feel something hard, I just thought it would be ice, packed snow, or rock. This doesn’t feel like any of those things.
And I should have hit hard enough to kill myself. From this distance, it should be instant too, or nearly so. Just a split-second WHAP! Then nothing.
Instead, I am keenly aware not only of the sensation of motion and the strange sensation of a hard surface, but also of being carried as though held aloft by some giant hand.
I finally opened my eyes and uncurled from the fetal position where I thought for sure I would die.
What I see accomplishes what the fall didn’t. I immediately reject the image out of hand and just as immediately fall into unconsciousness.
Drake
She is unconscious,and if I can get to the clearing soon enough, she’ll remain unconscious until after I shift. The girl is beautiful, far too beautiful. I can’t help but wonder if what I feel looking at her is similar to what the dragons feel in the legends when they’re instantly…
I have to swerve when I realize I’m headed right for a minor storm. I can fly through it unharmed, but the girl in my grasp isn’t a dragon. The elements actually affect her. I wish that the myths about dragons breathing fire were true. It would at least give me the ability to give her a little warmth. As it is, the best I can do is hope that the little body heat that my hand gives her will be enough to sustain her until I can get her to my cabin.
I fly down the side of the mountain and think to myself that while most legends are untrue, some grow out of truth. Mountains, like many aspects of the natural world, carry their own legends. Humans have, at times throughout their history, revered mountains as the homes of the gods, and feared them as the abode of devils and of course, dragons.
The Ancient Greeks considered Mount Olympus to be the home of their gods. By modern standards, the idea that Olympus—a rather small and unimpressive mountain compared to peaks like the peak I now glide down—could house gods is laughable, but to ancient peoples, the sight of montane storms with their often-powerful rains and winds and their brilliant lightning could easily inspire the idea that the peaks were inhabited by an exceptionally powerful uber-race.
The real reason mountains are often surrounded by clouds and storms while the surrounding landscape may be completely clear has to do with the effects that mountain ranges have on the local climate. Did you know that nearly every desert in the world is bordered at least on one side by a mountain range? There’s a reason for that. Mountain ranges condense approaching cool air, causing precipitation. This precipitation typically occurs on only one side of the mountains, however. The other side is completely dry. That’s why, for example, the California side of the Sierra Nevada Range experiences more precipitation annually than any other rainforest on Earth while the Nevada side is arid and dry. The same is true for the Mediterranean subtropical environment of coastal Southern California compared to the scrub desert of the Mojave and Sonora inland of the San Bernardino and San Gorgonio Mountain ranges.
There are other examples: the Atacama Desert in Peru, the Gobi Desert in China, and Mongolia—most of the driest places on Earth are that way because of how mountains affect the climate. It’s no wonder that people used to imagine something divine in relation to mountain ranges.
The other side of that coin is easy to understand as well. Early humans who ventured into the mountains with a very limited understanding of the landscape often didn’t return. When a human climbs a mountain and a storm follows shortly after, leaving no trace of the climber, the idea that a devil or an angry god might have smitten the human is easy to believe.
Or a dragon.
While different legends of dragons exist around the world, the European myth of dragons living in mountain caves and breathing fire likely grew from the image of storms and forest or brush fires caused by lightning. Some legends even indicate that we have some kind of supernatural control over the weather.
I’m not sure why these thoughts fill my mind as I reach the little clearing where I shift to dragon form earlier in the day. I suppose I’m still so stunned by the sight of this woman that my mind is fixating on anything it can to distract from the otherworldly beauty of the girl I now hold in my arms. I suppose maybe because of her beauty, I’m trying to find a way to make her venturing out to climb this mountain alone indicative of some kind of bold courage instead of terrible insanity. That way, the girl can be brave and beautiful instead of stupid and beautiful.
And she is beautiful. She is easily the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever seen in my life.
I am very long-lived. To the tune of several hundred years. No one knows for sure how long dragons actually live. Presumably, those dragons that have the good fortune of achieving a natural end to their lives know, but there are so few of us that the knowledge is not widespread. Those that do reach an advanced age typically live in seclusion, another kernel of truth to a myth—that of dragons sleeping on their hoard of gold and jewels and waking only once every hundred years or so.
We’re also typically very wealthy, since we’re so long-lived and have time to accumulate wealth that humans can’t conceive of, but I’m getting sidetracked again. The point is that though I have lived several human lifespans already and have loved many women, none affect me the way this woman does.
I shift into human form when I land and quickly dress lest she see me naked and assume something I don’t want her to assume. I load her onto the back of the small utility vehicle I use to traverse the untamed terrain in the wilderness and drive her back to my cabin. The vehicle is equipped with an advanced independent suspension system, four-wheel drive, and oversized low-pressure tires to navigate the terrain, but the ride is still harsh, and I can only hope that she doesn’t wake.
She does wake when we reach my cabin, but not fully. She blinks blearily at me, and I fear she may have suffered a concussion.
“Lie still,” I say, carrying her inside and laying her on my couch. “You’ve fallen.”
“Am I hurt?” she asks, slurring her words a little.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “There are no visible signs of injury, but you should rest just to be safe.”
“I thought I saw a dragon,” she says.
I manage to quell my reaction and ask a noncommittal, “Oh?”
“I’m thirsty,” she says.
I nod and help her to a sitting position. I bring her some tea and soup, staying with her to ensure she doesn’t scald herself while she eats. After she finishes, she says, “Thank you. Did you save me?”
Her eyes seem clearer now. I nod and say, “Yes, I did. I found you and brought you here.”
