Pencil

Pencil pushed open the cottage door, to dump a heap of warm sunshine and the chattering calls of birds on her head. A far cry from last night; she could actually make out the details of her surroundings now. So just how “mountain” was this dragon, anyway? She could already attest to its walking.

She stepped out onto the grassy cobblestone-like surface, blinking the last of the sleep from her eyes, and bent her head to sniff at the ground. Just as it had since she’d arrived, the ground lurched from side to side, thankfully in long predictable sways. She’d adjusted to it early on, and had no trouble now keeping her feet, as she scratched a bit of moss away to expose the “stones” beneath.

They weren’t really stones, but large, tough scales. Though grown over with various flora—even a few trees—when scuffed, they still shone a brilliant green. Pencil looked around her, shaking her head in a marvel. She’d never dreamed of delivering packages to anywhere—anyone so grand, not unless her courier duties sent her to another Deity one day.

Speaking of. Pencil retreated into the hut and reemerged a second later with a cloth-wrapped parcel in her claws. She took a brief minute to clean herself up a little, nibbling at loose scales and smudging dirt speckled on her wings and crest away. The tittering of birds drew her attention to an indent in the ground where water had pooled and the feathered creatures were bathing. She looked longingly towards it, her muscles still stiff and sore from last night’s rough flying, but she’d delayed long enough already.

Affixing the package to her flight harness, Pencil crouched and scanned the sky—no sign of the storm clouds that had made her crash into the side of the mountain the night before—then leapt into the air, stretching her wings wide to catch a strong wind and let it buoy her up. She spiraled high, above the cluster of small buildings built against the gentle slopes of the mountain and scattered array of trees having taken root in the scaley hide. The height gave her ample view of the Mountain Walking as a whole, the wings tucked neatly against the dragon’s sides, the huge legs carrying her and her occupants forward in smooth, steady strides. From her position, Pencil couldn’t see the mountain’s—dragon’s—Ilana’s face, just the arch of the massive obelisk’s maned neck and a sweep of horns crowning her head.

Pencil took a deep breath, her heart stuttering in her chest. She rarely got the flits when making a simple delivery, but anticipation of confronting the package’s recipient sent nervous trills buzzing through her entire body. But this was her job.

Gathering her courage, she flapped higher, swooping around a flock of noisy streaks before folding her wings and diving down to land on one of Ilana’s horns. She clung to the horn, panting more from excitement than exertion, waiting, but found no noticeable reaction from the obelisk. So, she carefully skirted down the side of Ilana’s head until she came close to an ear—so large she could’ve crawled inside. She wrapped her claws in a curl of Ilana’s mane, then shouted loud as she could,

“Great Ilana! She of the Moving Dragon Home! I’m Pencil, a messenger of the Wind flight, here to deliver a package to you!”

Pencil worried her tiny frame hadn’t produced a high enough volume, but then Ilana’s head tilted to the side—Pencil tightened her grip in the mane as she dangled—and a rumbling purr rolled from the dragon’s chest, so thunderous it was akin to an earthquake, and rattled Pencil to the bones. She saw the jaws of the obelisk crack open, like a crevasse opening a boulder.

“A package?” Ilana rumbled, her voice lower and deeper than any other Pencil had ever heard, and felt herself falling a little in love with it. “I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“It’s true!” Pencil yelled. “A very earnest pearlcatcher who wished only to be known as a ‘dear friend’ insisted you receive it.”

Another rumble, which sounded contemplative to Pencil’s ears, then Ilana said, “Earnest and insisting, you say? Well then, I’d better take a look.”

Graceful as pouring water, Ilana eased to a stop, leaving Pencil to sway a moment longer in her mane. The sudden stillness now felt peculiar as Pencil scampered up the horns to climb atop Ilana’s head, then darted out down her snout to perch on top of her nose, so the obelisk could get a look at her. She unclipped the package from her harness, and held it up.

“A moment,” Ilana rumbled, and shifted to lift a single massive front foot to her face, pressing a claw next to her snout. “Come closer?”

Pencil hopped onto the claw, and Ilana brought it close to one of her huge eyes. Pencil thought she might be swallowed into those green depths, gazing into a pupil larger than one of the moons.

Ilana studied her, head tilting to the other side. The sight made Pencil dizzy. “Could you open it for me?” she asked at last. “I fear I would crush the contents, small as it is.”

Pencil blinked. Dragons rarely opened their received mail in front of her, and courier code demanded strict allowance to other’s privacy. But since she’d asked . . . Perching carefully on the huge claw—thankfully Ilana held it still—Pencil tugged the string free and unwrapped the cloth in a few quick, sure motions, unfolding it to reveal a large carved wooden box. Pencil hesitated, unsure how to open it. There didn’t seem to be a single opening, multiple slits and blocks teasing at possibilities.

Ilana leaned in closer, her eye narrowing to focus in on the box—bulky to Pencil, miniscule to the obelisk—then flaring wide. To Pencil’s startlement, Ilana threw back her head and let out a great bellowing laugh, one that Pencil feared might shatter the skies themselves.

“That rascal! They warned me, I suppose! I hadn’t believed they would carry out their threat, but. You prove me wrong, little courier!”

Pencil shifted her feet, still holding the box, uncertain as to what to do. She rarely stayed this long past a successful delivery. By now, she was usually back on the winds, either flying to the next recipient or back to the Guild to pick up the next bag of scrolls, not clutching an object clearly meant as an inside joke between two strangers.

“If you ever see that pearlcatcher again, you must thank them for me,” Ilana said, recovering from her laughter. She ducked her head, bending low enough to bare the backs of her horns to Pencil. Tucked into those spaces between horn and mane were a multitude of objects, large and small, ranging from broken pottery shards to full suits of armor and piles of glinting gold and jewels. “I stash my personal belongings away here. Add the puzzle box to a pile, would you? I’ll have Howl help me open it up later.”

Pencil recalled the coatl that had helped settle her in for the night when she’d first arrived. She leaned forward and snuggled the box into a heap of burlap sacks where she knew it wouldn’t fall off when Ilana began walking again.

“Thank you for your hospitality during the storm,” she said as Ilana lifted her head once more. “I’m out of treasure at the moment, but the Guild will be happy to compensate you for your trouble in housing me for the night.”

“No compensation necessary,” Ilana told her. “My houses are open to any and all travelers. And your bringing me this package more than makes up for any debt you feel.”

Pencil inclined her head. “Then I thank you again. It’s . . . been an honor, truly, to meet you.”

Ilana purred, Pencil thought, in amusement. “The honor is mine. I am glad to have sheltered a fine spirit such as yours for a while. I assume you are moving on already?”

“I am.” Pencil twitched a crest in acknowledged reluctance. Exciting as it might be to spend a day or two longer in the company of such a magnificent dragon, the mail didn’t wait, and neither did the winds. “I had better leave while the weather agrees.”

Ilana chuckled. “Else you may find yourself blown right back to me. I understand. Thank you for your visit. I hope we meet again someday.” Was that a touch of wistfulness in her voice? Pencil wondered.

“I hope so as well.” Pencil bowed her head again, then spread her wings and lifted off. Ilana gave her a boost with a gentle toss of her claw, so Pencil soared high. She circled Ilana’s head a few times in farewell, just long enough to see the obelisk lower her foot and continue striding forward, then tilted her wings to catch a southeastern current to carry her towards the last-known location of the Messengers Guild.

She confessed she had to look back, to admire Ilana in all her peaceful nobility, and behold the sight of the Mountain Walking one last time.