Inari

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By the standards of most dragons, an occurrence such as that wouldn’t be anywhere near benchmark enough to remember. In Inari’s family, however, things were very different. They, as opposed to most, held a great reverence for the art of brewing tea. As tasseographers, it makes sense that they would.

Inari was a hatchling of middling age when she was taught how to make tea. Her parents selected her alone to accompany them back to the tea rooms, where fellow tasseographers prepared brews and meditated over them pensively, waiting for signs to interpret. They thought that she, of their three hatchlings, would be best suited to the art. After all, Inari was a rather quiet, bookish hatchling, and those sorts usually take best to the mystical arts.

The rooms were rather empty when they arrived. Only one other dragon was there at all, in fact; he was propped at a back table scribbling furiously on some parchment, switching his gaze between the paper and his empty mug. Inari’s parents took little notice of him, walking purposefully towards a back counter that was taller than Inari herself was. She had to stand tip-toed to see what they were doing.

“Now, Inari,” Mother began, gathering three mugs from a cupboard overhead, “making tea is an art that requires no particular amount of skill—it is reading what remains after you are done drinking it that presents the real difficulty.”

Inari nodded, watching as Mother arranged the cups atop matching saucers. Father approached from behind with three small bundles of tea leaves in his claws. He set them atop the counter before gathering Inari into his arms so she could participate.

Mother stepped away for a moment and returned with an urn full of steaming water. Father used one paw to demonstrate how to properly crush the dry leaves and Inari did her best to follow his actions, sprinkling half-crinkled tea leaves into the mug closest to her. Mother poured the water into all three mugs once the leaves had been distributed.

Inari reached for her mug eagerly, mind buzzing with anticipation. Mother gently stilled her paw before it could grasp the handle, speaking softly,

“You must wait a moment, Inari, or you’ll scorch your tongue!”

Father chuckled, and added, “You want to let the tea sit for a little while too, so it will have flavor when you drink it!”

So, Inari waited. Mother and Father gathered up all three cups and moved them to a more convenient table.

Inari settled into her own chair and watched the steam curl off the mug before her. Her focus was intent as she tried to determine if she could judge the future based off of the steam as well.

She couldn’t.

Finally, Mother reached for her tea and motioned for Inari to do the same. The young hatchling gathered the cup towards her with uncharacteristic eagerness, spilling some on the table. Father chuckled again and lifted his own mug, taking a brief sip before setting it back down to steep another moment or two.

Inari drained her tea in deep draughts, only slowing after Father cautioned her to let some leaves remain behind in the cup. She couldn’t believe how much she liked the taste; it was peppery and bitter, yet also sweet in its own subtle way.

It was gone far too fast, or so she thought.

Mother and Father took a little while longer to finish their drinks than she did, but she didn’t mind. The tea rooms were really quite fascinating to look at, she discovered, and they kept her suitably busy until her parents finally set down their mugs.

“Alright, Inari, now it is time to do our readings. Look into your cup and tell me what you see.”

Inari gazed intently down into her cup, eyes tracing the outlines left by the leaves.

“I see…” she began, concentrating hard.

She paused for a moment, waiting for some divine revelation to come upon her.

“…tea leaves?”

Father snorted. “Anything else, dear?” He asked.

Mother rose from her seat and came over to examine Inari’s mug while the dragonet herself resumed her intent examination. She could, with some imagination, pick shapes out of the lumpy leaves which remained, but there was no grand sense of precognition.

She took in a deep breath and let it out.

“No.”

Father looked to Mother, and Mother spoke in a flat voice, “I can see something here. It seems Inari lacks the Gift.”

For a horrible second, all was silent. Inari felt fear blossom forth in her chest. This was supposed to be her future—her career. What had gone wrong?

Then, Father gave a sympathetic smile and said, “Ah, well, it’s no matter. There are plenty of tasseographers about—I’m sure the loss of one won’t be too devastating! Instead of practicing our tea readings today, we can go down to the Recruitment Offices and see if we can find an apprenticeship or two for you to try out, okay?”

Inari nodded numbly, feeling tears well in her eyes. Mother lay a comforting paw on her shoulder, speaking once more with care and emotion,

“It really is alright, Inari. We aren’t mad; the Gift doesn’t come to all. Now, let’s see about those apprenticeships, mmm? I’m sure a bright young girl like yourself will have no trouble finding something enjoyable to do!”

Inari scrunched her face and swiped her tears away with a paw. Inside, the melancholy remained, yet she still got up from her chair and followed her parents into the halls which led towards the Recruitment Offices.


The Recruitment Offices yielded a plethora of apprenticeships to try. Inari didn’t forget her sorrow, no, but hope rekindled itself in her heart. The scribe was looking for someone to mentor; the statistician sought three students to continue her trade once she retired; the animal caretaker, too, was after one or two eager younglings to serve as helpers. Inari kept track of each open position, bickering internally over which she’d like to try first.

The argument was stilled in an instant by the final apprenticeship they stopped to see.

On paper, Inari didn’t find “woodworking” to be at all in her lane. She was a thinker more so than a doer, one who didn’t want to get her claws dirty. That all seemed to change once she saw the craft in action.

Seeing how the Carpenter moved, how the soft wood took shape beneath sharp claws…it filled Inari with a sense of awe and purpose. Her melancholy faded entirely, replaced with wonder. She felt her own paws twitch. A divine purpose overtook her that she couldn’t quite understand.

Mother noticed, and she knew.

What Inari had not seen in her own cup revealed her future. A tree was what Mother had seen—the symbol of growth. The symbol of renewal.

And the source, most ironically, of carpentry.

Inari turned to her parents with sparkling eyes. Mother smiled, and Father smiled, and the world was as it was to be.

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