Hurley

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The day he washed into the harbor dawned clear, with a sense of anticipation on the air. The winds themselves seemed to hold their breath as the fisherdragons mustered in the harbor to gather their nets. It was late July, more than halfway through an already unproductive season. Why, no one knew. There was no singular omen even the oldest and wisest of dragons could point to.

This morning, though, was preceded by a red sunset and heralded by a flock of cormorants. Good fortune, the oldest of the fisherdragons whispered, daring not to raise their voices too loud. Perhaps their fortunes were turning at last.

It was then, as they were drawing up their lines that they saw him hanging entangled there. With cries of alarm, the crew rushed to free him from the netting, slicing through the woven ropes with tooth and claw.

“Who are you?” “Where did you come from?” They peppered him with questions once he was onboard but the coatl hatchling only smiled in response. The captain of the fishing boat that had pulled him onboard named him Hurley, for it meant sea tide in the tongue of his childhood.

“He must have fallen overboard. Someone must be looking for him.”

So they scoured the coastline, searching high and low for any mention of a family who had lost their child to the sea. No one would claim the coatl, though, and as time went on the frantic intensity of the search faded. He was one of their clan now.

Hurley, for he had still not given a name of his own if indeed he’d had one before arriving at their clan, remained with the fisherdragons. Every day, he’d accompany a different boat out into the harbor and every day, that boat would return laden with fish. Even if the morning dawned red and angry, the sea roiling in her bed and lashing out at those who dared disturb her slumber, Hurley’s boat would glide along the surface as though skimming over a mirror. He became the clan’s good luck charm, an assurance of a good catch and safe passage. The fisherdragons were his ever protective guardians, taking turns caring for him like the hatchling they suspected he was not (for no hatchling was ever so quiet and Hurley never seemed to grow no matter how much they loaded his plate). They watched warily as he perched on the bows of their ships, staring entranced into the waters below, and wondered if this day would be the day Hurley returned to those mysterious depths. Vanished like seafoam in the breeze.
by Skittles251


By Naunuko