Vulture

“Something’s wrong....”

These were the words that greeted Vulture’s entrance to the world. It wasn’t just her face, which had huge, yellow-green pustules where normal Plague eyes would be. She was shriveled, wizened, almost like some alien fruit.

Her skin was covered with what seemed to be fine down. On another dragon, it might’ve been beautiful: a silvery coating of something halfway between feathers and fur. On her, however, it grew thick and greasy. Her skin, underneath, was dull brown, unpleasantly cracked and bumpy to the touch.

In another clan, she might have been cast out immediately. But this was a Plague clan: She was a runt, true, but a runt with life inside her yet, and the dragons around her respected that need to survive.

Her appearance repelled many—even in the Plaguelands, there were those who couldn’t stomach how strange she was. She seemed more like a vulture than something born of dragonkind, and that word, in time, became her name.

But more often than not, those who took charge of her, who cared for her, were those with the warmest hearts, dragons who would not turn away any hatchling, no matter how repulsive others claimed she looked. And so from these gentle caretakers, Vulture learned—to be kind, to be caring, to always be willing to help.

It was still hard for her, and not just because of her strange appearance. She was not as strong as other dragons, and struggled to keep up with her siblings. Exhaustion, it seemed, was always waiting to drag her down; far too often, she got left behind. Sometimes there were dragons nearby who were willing to help out. Most of the time, she had to get up on her own.

There were other difficulties. Many dragons had the same pustules across their faces; they reported no loss of vision, but this proved to be untrue for Vulture. She could see the world only in shades of red and green.

It was a sad day when the healers realized this. She enjoyed helping them sort out the plants they used in medicines, but her color blindness meant this was no longer feasible—too many chances of her making mistakes. Vulture accepted the information quietly, but even with her deformed face, there was no way to miss her drooping wings and ears, or how she hung her head. Even something as mundane as sorting plants had been denied to her—it seemed tremendously unfair.

“There are other ways you can help,” the healers ventured, and Vulture perked up in anticipation. “You could help the smiths...or the clothiers...or perhaps...”

She tried all those and more. She worked with the smiths—their tools and creations proved too heavy for her. She worked with the clothiers—her color blindness resulted in some strange apparel combinations. Scavenging was too strenuous, hunting and fishing more so. She bounced from one task to another, wanting to help out, but struggling to fit in...

Vulture did find her place in the clan eventually: two, in fact. She found that most familiars weren’t frightened of her, and she was happy to care for them whenever other dragons could not. It didn’t matter what she looked like; they sensed the goodness in her heart, and bathed her in the same unconditional love she’d longed for as a child.

The clan’s younger hatchlings approached her—drawn, perhaps, by the familiars, or their own curiosity, or both. Many of them were initially repelled by Vulture’s appearance. But her warm words, her calm voice, drew them back in. The adults watched carefully at first, worried that she would make mistakes...and in time, they, too, learned to trust her.

Vulture’s eyesight might’ve been bad—and by now, she knew that it always would be—but her other senses were keen. She listened closely, learning much, picking up skills and information from the red-and-green world around her. Her senses of hearing and smell grew particularly sharp. Where these didn’t avail her, memory did, and she spent plenty of time jotting down information, filling up dozens of journals. Her clan came to respect this: She might not have been able to do everything she learned, but she could recall it, and was generous with her knowledge besides. It soon became common for them to see Vulture cheerfully spooling out trivia for a gaggle of attentive hatchlings—and a few adults as well.

Acceptance by her clan, in roles she was happy with...yet Vulture’s life remained far from ideal. She never became as vigorous as her clanmates, and while they had grown used to her, other dragons certainly had not. The clan received frequent visitors, and all too often, their reactions upon seeing Vulture were to recoil and gasp in horror.

“It’s all right, she won’t hurt you,” the clan diplomats said. They spoke softly—to calm not only their guests, but also Vulture herself. “She’s as gentle as a lamb, we assure you. She cares for the children and familiars, and they all love her...”

As a young dragoness, those words had left Vulture content, but now, as an adult, she began to yearn for something else. The clan had done their best to include her in other activities, and over the years, she’d watched other youngsters meet partners, navigate relationships, and form new lives, new families, together. She yearned for the unconditional acceptance, the steadfast companionship of a mate.

“And how did you meet?” she shyly asked her friends. They shared their stories with her, and wiser ones, seeing the longing that lay beneath, gently encouraged her. There was someone out there for her, they were sure. All she had to do was keep looking....

If the years of bouncing from one job to the next had taught Vulture anything, it was that moping wouldn’t do her any good. She was a practical dragoness. If she wanted something, she would have to act on it.

The many tasks she’d tried, everything she’d learned—Vulture now found herself applying these in new and different ways. She learned to make her own salves and oils, things to help soothe her bumpy skin and feathers. Her fingers had always been nimble, and from the clothiers, she learned to sew pelts and hides. Her outfits were quite imaginative, adorned with sprays of dried leaves and the polished skulls of smaller creatures. She reveled in the discovery of this new talent, and as a bonus, she no longer looked like a freshly-plucked chicken.

The hatchlings adored her creations. One afternoon, as she carefully hung strings of skulls upon her wings, it occurred to them to ask where she’d gotten these supplies.

“From the travelers who came to our clan. A group of them visited just last week,” Vulture reminded them. Her bulbous eyes remained unchanging, but underneath, her face creased into a warm smile.

“And where did the travelers come from?”

“Why, from...other places. Lands beyond...”

The hesitation wasn’t because she didn’t know—she’d always known there were lands beyond. Other clans, other worlds. But saying the words aloud now...It made those places seem as inaccessible as the moon.

The prospect of travel had always been unthinkable for her: She could barely see; her mere appearance terrified those who didn’t know her. How would others react when they saw her? Would they be able to accept her? Would she survive?

The questions tumbled through Vulture’s head as she returned to her nest for the night. Always before, she’d considered them with pessimism, but now they were tinged with the brighter glow of the hope that had grown within her over the long and lonely years.

It had started when kind elders had taken her under their wings, and it had grown over time—buoyed by all that she’d learned, all that she’d found herself capable of doing.

If she could beat the odds in the Plaguelands, then perhaps she could thrive elsewhere. She shut away the pessimism that loomed over her, visions of dragons whispering, “She’s hideous...monstrous...something wrong...”

Perhaps someday, somewhere out there, she’d hear somebody say instead, “She’s gentle...strong...something special...”

A new day broke. And Vulture, again, went to round up her young charges. The hatchlings clustered around her, faces alight with curiosity as she produced books, maps...

“Shall we learn together today?”

The children chorused their excited affirmations, and she unrolled the largest map, one that displayed the entire continent as they knew it. The Plaguelands were drawn in ruby-red ink, and Vulture smiled at the children’s awe as they realized...not that it looked so small, but that the world around it was so huge.

Someday, she would see those lands. They would be tinted in red and green, but she would be seeing them through her own eyes, on her own travels. She didn’t doubt for a second that she would get there. She was a vulture, after all. She wasn’t glamorous and never would be...but she could still soar.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
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