The Rise of the Three: The Condemned War series

By Kym Robinson

Two teenage brothers, one human, one dragon are separated by war.

A veteran minotaur, who has seen far too much of war.

An army of condemned prisoner soldiers made up of human, ogre, minotaur and dragon their fates doomed.

Sometimes true humanity comes from a dragon,

compassion is found in the hooves of a minotaur,

kindness from the big hands of an ogre

and true courage found in the heart of a boy.

Part One of the Condemned War

A series about three different beings of fantasy in a world of endless war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kym Robinson
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224028672

Book preview

Prologue

The air felt like warm tropical water brushing across his face. The intensity of the incoming wind combined with the exhilaration of speed and height excited the youthful teenager to such levels of exultance that he cheered. His joyous cry was lost to the winds. He could enjoy flight with as much agility as a dolphin or seal deep beneath the oceanic surfaces of the nearby waters but instead here he was embracing a majestic beast among the clouds above any waves.

Holding on tightly he watched the ground approach fast, he felt no fear, just sheer joy as he clung to his living ride, a fellow adolescent male. Though unlike the boy, it was not human. It was a dragon, a reptile of sorts that could fly, a bird of prey possessing the capability of dispatching rows of trees with its ferocious fireballs and yet despite such natural strengths and attributes of predatory capacity it enjoyed having the young human attached to its body as it flew with shared delight through the afternoon sky.

After spending an hour in the air, it was time for the pair to return to land. The youths approached the tall grass of their familiar farm, both laughing as they did so. Though they were of different species, they were both still energetic boys, full of childlike mischief and boyish curiosity married to the energy of a healthy middle teenager.

Joran, soon you will be able to take me flying on your back, the large dragon joked as it pretended to mount the young human’s shadow in a clumsy dance of jive. The dragon was of tremendous size compared to his human, it towered over him as they walked. Despite its powerful frame and muscles wrapped in pearlescent orange-red, in its middle torso its scales dulled into a burnt sunset orange. It held no malice or vindictive vice. It was as gentle and affectionate as its young human friend. The crude rope ladder and improvised riding saddle bounced against him as the dragon stepped along, dragging and lifting its long tail as it did so. A tail that thickened as it reached the dragon’s body, beneath the orange-red livery of his scales was a softer white underbelly that was too tall for even the highest thatches of grass to reach. 

I may not be able to do that yet but I can still run faster than you, the boy declared excitedly. Joran Serling, the human teenager, darted ahead with considerable speed lifting his glass goggles from his face to allow him to run faster. Race you to the house! the boy yelled as he worked his legs and arms with great effort.

The large dragon struggled to run after him at an equal pace. Despite its large legs it lacked the guile and ballast to coordinate its momentum on the ground. The dragon’s four legs awkwardly thumped in a confused concert, his wings folded back along his body. The dragon’s mass and length provided an ungainly comical movement as he pounced, dragged and then skipped as fast as he could along the grassy hillside. Joran sped on creating more distance between the two. Gilrah however flapped his large wings blasting him ahead, overtaking the small human with little effort in flight. Joran continued his determined sprint to the modest farmhouse that grew in the distance.

I win! the dragon said proudly as it touched the farmhouse roof with its wing tip just ahead of the boy. A humble farmhouse made of stone and wooden frames it had been built long ago by Joran’s grandparents, despite its high roof and chimney, Gilrah stood over it even as he crouched down to watch Joran, who heaved for air beneath him. 

You cheated Gilrah, you still lose. The boy puffed as he recaptured his breathing, "I meant the first one inside the house." The boy darted from beneath the dragon, slipping inside the doorframe. Once the door opened a fresh waft of Joran’s mother’s cooking hit the dragon’s nose, teasing it as he eagerly backed up in hope of sampling whatever Joran returned with. 

Gilrah’s scales contrasted with the lush green farmscape of rolling hills, grain filled paddocks and the occasional sprinkling of trees. It had been a wet winter, with the disappearance of grey clouds and the return of the regular embrace of the sun nature thrived around them. Below the farm’s property a soft gully opened to wild bushes and clusters of rustling trees.

Joran returned from inside the house. He was holding two fat still warm sticks of bread and the remaining bones from a pair of large hog’s legs, his mother had already used much of the meat for a broth and stew. Despite that she had managed to leave a small amount of meat on the cooked bones for both her son and his winged friend to gorge upon.

Gilrah’s nostrils flared at the cooked smell of the hog bones. His flat nose sat above a large mouth full of sharp teeth within a long jaw that attached to a thick muscled neck protected in parts by barbs and bone-like spikes. His sharp neck spikes had only recently begun to emerge in his adolescence. The budding spikey barbs bristled with a protective menace from where his jaw and neck met. The young dragon eagerly lifted both of his ears upwards as the scent excited his hunger.

Joran teased him with the warm food before he gently handed the pair of heavy legs up to the waiting dragon. Gilrah delicately clasped the bone with his skilled mouth and tongue. Savouring the taste Gilrah stripped it of meat with his tongue before he swallowed the bone whole. The dragon’s tongue was not only strong but it was coarse. Just one lick from a dragon, it was said, was enough to tear every piece of flesh from a man’s skeleton. Joran took a large bite from a bread loaf before he handed them both to the dragon.

Gilrah managed to eat the bread within one swallow. He smiled affectionately revealing his white front teeth as he did so, I really want to do something nice for your mother, she is always so generous with food.

Joran sat down resting against his friend’s large hind leg, I figure she is happy that you keep me out of trouble and besides Mum said that since you fly around here often we’ve had no trouble with wolves taking any of the sheep. It is win-win for her, I suppose, Joran answered so trusting in his dragon brother that he began to doze against the large hind leg that was over double his own thickness. 

I guess that is true. But she does try to make me bread even though it would take a lot to fill me up. Gilrah turned to look down at Joran making sure not to disturb the boy’s resting.

Who said she makes the bread for you? I may just be sharing my bread allowance with you because you take me flying. Joran stretched and sat up, standing to tickle Gilrah’s scaly underjaw as he lowered it near enough for Joran to do so.

"Well, if that is the case then how come she always bakes two loaves." Gilrah raised his head slightly beyond Joran’s reach. 

"Because I have two hollow legs is why," smiled Joran as he yawned returning to his place against Gilrah’s rear leg. Joran nestled against Gilrah, the boy closing his eyes as he rested his slight weight onto the dragon.  Gilrah continued to extend his neck and graze at nearby tufts of grass while his hind legs remained firmly in place for the boy. Joran yawned softly as he began to nap.

The complexity of dragon physiology was still quite misunderstood to most, just as the nature of what was beyond the sun or the stars was as much a mystery to them. Neither youth was aware that dragons naturally produced hydrogen which filled small cells inside of their wings and torso and thus allowed the beasts their natural ability at flight. Neither of the boys knew that inside of Gilrah’s jaw, as in all other dragons, were small flint-like bones that rubbed together just enough when the dragon opened its jaws a certain way. The sparking from contact allowed the dragon to ignite some of the hydrogen that the dragon could choose to expel creating a stream of flame. And they were also unaware that the noxious saliva often produced was napalm-like in its flammability and could also be ignited and spat from a dragon’s mouth at times of need. These curiosities were learned and explored with innocent realisation over time. Powers to be respected as tender steps allowed both to realise the immense power that a dragon possesses in contrast to a human and the many other creatures. But Gilrah was not simply a large flying beast of immense power he was a cherished loved one.

The pair had been friends since both were babes. Gilrah was still inside his large grey egg when Joran was born. It was with a degree of happenstance and compassion that the young dragon even hatched. A local friar had found the egg fourteen years earlier and despite the taboo and fear about dragons found near a human community the friar had concealed the egg and kept it warm. It was not known for certain what had happened to Gilrah’s parents. But around that time a great war was being fought by both humans and beasts. Both served in different armies and dragons were pressed into service by both sides of the war. The friar had reasoned that the mother dragon must have left her unhatched egg for one of his faith to find in order for her to continue military service. Like most wars neither side had the right to claim virtue and none found any true victory. Even now all these years later the war drums were again thumping in the distance. Like every other time only heartache and bloodshed befell the lands as the war raged far to the North of the Serling farm. So, it was with great fortune that the friar took in the egg. Hiding it as best as he could from civil servants and the military both of which would have eagerly seized the dragon egg to eventually press the grown dragon into service for the state as a beast of burden. 

Joran’s father, Henry Serling, was a man of tremendous heart and wisdom. Respected by many in the local community he came into knowledge of the friar’s secret. Living far away from the town on the family farm, Henry would take his young babe Joran to see the secret dragon egg located in the friar’s stable. It was on one such visit that baby Joran, still merely an infant, began to cry while near the unhatched egg. Upon hearing the wailing Joran, Gilrah soon emerged breaking through the hard flakes of the egg’s shell. Both babies cried together and began to stare at the other with a fascination and kinship shared in those tender moments of mutual near genesis.

The gentle friar along with Henry and his baby Joran were enamoured by the small and fragile baby dragon as it gently probed against the large egg. It’s young wings so small and its precious head too weak to lift itself, the baby dragon bit and clawed as best as it could until finally it made its way free of the egg. The friar lifted the baby dragon up into his arms where it softly pressed its head against his chest and with a gentle shriek it fondly cuddled into him. The old friar’s cracked face and drawn features lifted and revealed a smile that Henry had not seen from the man in decades.

I will call him Gilrah, the friar declared while Henry reached closer to run his thick calloused hand across the soft head of the baby dragon. Named after the Saint Gilrah who was a child when he tamed birds to bring food to the poor and who himself it was said grew wings and flew about the lands performing great deeds. As both men spoke into the night each holding their babes in their arms Gilrah’s wing reached out and met Joran’s hand for the first time.

While secretly raising the young dragon, the friar would allow Joran and his father to visit frequently. Both men discussed options for the dragon’s safe passage away from the township and its public officials. Both babes however would spend the time playing and bonding in innocence and despite their vast differences each found a common fondness in the other.

By the time both were five years of age, the friar fell sick with great age and soon passed away. Gilrah felt a pain that he never imagined to be possible. It was soon after that Joran’s family took him in as their own. The tragedy of a parent’s loss however was soon to be shared as Joran’s father was killed when he fell from his horse while rounding up livestock. His head struck a rock killing the loving father instantly. Both younglings found comfort in Joran’s mother, Elsor who despite her own grief and loss was a strong anchor for the bereaved pair.

Despite her deep maternal instincts, she retained an innate wariness of the dragon. She could never find in her heart an affection for the creature as her late husband had somehow managed to. But in spite of this and out of an abiding respect for her husband’s love and wisdom she continued to shelter and watch over the young dragon, helping to raise it alongside her own boy child.

By Gilrah’s tenth birthday he was too large to stay next to the farmhouse. His size had become so great that if he should roll in his sleep he would collapse the entire building. Young as he was gentle Gilrah understood the danger and soon found comfort resting in the open fields or beneath a patch of trees at the foot of one of the farm’s many sloping paddocks. Despite the cold and wet of the elements in winter or the harsh heat in the height of summer, it was observed by Joran that the dragon possessed a great resilience to defy the extremes in weather. The large dragon was unable to relate to the shivering Joran covered in blankets as he slept outside with the dragon or when he was near naked and drenched in sweat seeking both shade and cool water during the long hot days of summer.

The pair were fond of exploration and general adventure despite their many obligations on the farm. Gilrah like an infant human in its first steps at first struggled with his instinct to fly but by his tenth birthday he was as swift and agile with his wings as Joran was at running and dashing among the grass of the farm. Fourteen years passed, and the brothers were happy together.

Chapter One

Two Brothers

Loud snores grumbled like a steady thunder from a large scaled lump of slowly rising scales and bristles that seemed out of place among the cereal fields. A sudden crack erupted distorting the snoring as the mound of slumbering dragon slowly arose with twisted disorientation. Wings coiled around the great body as sharp facial and neck bristles stuck out while his ears pointed in skewered directions that only a deep sleep could inspire. Two ears swivelled on his head and with an involuntary instinct pointed in the direction of the sounds.

The young dragon looked for the source of the sound. He already knew what it was but hoped he could at least anticipate the next noise. The high-pitched crack and bang irritated him. But Joran found a calming joy from the device that made such sound. Another crack blasted from nearby. Tracing the sound Gilrah knew where his friend was. The dragon slowly trudged towards a dip at the end of the farm where the ground split open and water ran along a steady creek with tree roots pressing through the sides like long fingers. It was at the lowest point of the farm’s limits and though it had no fences all understood the tree line to represent the boundary of one property to the next. It was a meeting place of creeks and sparse patches of trees. Only Joran and wild beasts seemed to disregard the distant neighbour’s claim to the property whenever the need for adventure took him.

Good morning snore monster. Joran leaped across a crack in the ground and towards a tree that Gilrah stood over. The young farm boy beamed proudly with his rifle slung over his shoulder. It had been his father’s rifle and though the boy’s parent had taught him to shoot, he had in subsequent years learned to better master his marksmanship on his own, much to the chagrin of Gilrah and Joran's mother. But neither protested very much as they knew it held more of a symbolic link to his father than anything else. Besides, Joran’s talents with the long arm served both well as it satisfied many of farm life’s needs.

Gilrah yawned prodigiously as he collapsed near Joran's makeshift shooting gallery. The boy’s morning efforts seemed to have netted a benefit for the hungry dragon.

What’s for breakfast? the dragon asked as he rested his long head atop of his two forelimbs.

Joran smiled and raised one finger before he rushed erratically to a small bush where he had placed two burlap sacks to rest among the branches. He presented them both to his awaiting friend. My dear Gilrah, I present to you from the finest bush kitchen ever known in any land. From the fingers of the mighty hunter and the talents of the superb chef, Joran. You have grass devil delight! Joran grinned and proudly revealed the six dead round rodents in ceremonious manner. The sharp toothed grass devils were as vile looking deceased as they were alive. As carcasses, they lay in a rested state which belied their noxious nature as far as the farm’s livestock and crops went. 

Gilrah smiled. His grin was of hunger and gratitude. He was not the fussiest of patrons when it came to Joran's bush kitchen and the gamey freshly shot rodents were a much welcome treat. Far better than weeds, bread and whatever offcuts Joran's mother could save for him. Despite his great size and ever-expanding hunger for flesh and plant of all types, the soft natured dragon managed to suppress any urges that he had to pillage and devour that which was not his or was not offered to him. He was fortunate that his adopted family were generous with their food and being presented with such fresh prey for his breakfast was a welcome treat for the dragon.

Shall I have these grass devils rare or well done? Gilrah asked as his tongue began to glisten with anticipatory saliva.

Joran dragged one bag with a pile of dead rodents resting upon it to a small clearing well away from the other three rodents that he had also shot. Rolling the grass devils clear from the sack he moved away, I say have both rare and well done!

Gilrah tipped his large head with mock formality before he commented, Why thank you good sir.

He turned to the rodents in the clearing and belched a small jet of fire from his mouth, it was direct and precise. Gilrah was as accurate and skilled with his fire breathing abilities as Joran was with his father's rifle. Burning the hair and flesh from the dead animals and crisping them to the point that their cooked flesh teased his large nostrils in a seductive way reminding him of just how hungry he was.

Gilrah devoured the six rodents in short time. He ran his tongue across his teeth and slurped, flicking it across his lips, bits of the chewy rodent clumps persisted among the grooves of his teeth. Gilrah took great care to press and stab at them with his tongue, widening his large mouth as he did so.

Joran looked up at him as he did this. You are a grot, observed the human boy.

Gilrah responded to such a comment by widening his jaw more as he exaggerated his licking of his long sharp teeth, saliva and drool splashing onto the grass near Joran. Joran jumped away from it laughing at his friend. Gilrah shook his head giggling before he continued to groom himself delicately after his breakfast.

The pair made it back to the farmhouse where Joran had a list of chores and obligations to tend to for the day. Gilrah flew high above observing Joran as he went about his farm tasks, offering to help as best as he could. Nothing was considered dull or work so long as the boys were together. Occasionally Gilrah would attempt to help the stubborn Joran who felt a need to muscle his way through the manual farm work. Instead of using a horse, an ox or even Gilrah himself, Joran would tug or push at heavy objects in hopes of moving it despite his relative lack of size and strength. Gilrah watched patiently as Joran struggled with a heavy plough shaft. The boy had released the ox and taken it upon himself to manually operate it, to no avail.

Shall I? asked Gilrah who with ease lifted the plough’s reigns up into his mouth with a precise care and pulled the low-lying piece of metal along with the strength of his neck and jaw alone. Joran while drenched in sweat and feeling the exertion in his arms and legs watched on as Gilrah spent a few minutes doing what would have taken Joran all afternoon.

A few days later while performing farm work more suited to himself Gilrah was interrupted by an overexcited Joran. Gilrah continued his clearing of dead and dry trees from the farm’s perimeter and all but ignored the enthusiastic Joran as he begged, Please let me shoot at rodents from your back!

Gilrah turned away dragging two large tree trunks across the field as Joran continued, Come on, it will be fun! 

It will be fun for you maybe. Not for me or for the things that you shoot at, Gilrah snapped as he stopped suddenly his expression of annoyance was lost on the warm smiling Joran.

Please. After our chores. I will groom behind your bristles if you let me. Gilrah looked to his friend, both knew that he would eventually give in but at least now he was going to get something out of it.

Okay then. Gilrah began to drag the remaining trees away as Joran leapt upwards excitedly, the boy kicking at the tall grass while the dragon continued working.

After the pair had completed their duties in the field, Joran disappeared inside the house. Gilrah grazed quietly on the tall grass. Though he would have preferred meat it was not always available so he settled for whatever weeds or plant matter he could find to satisfy his nearly constantly growing hunger.

Joran soon remerged holding the menacing device that Gilrah so deplored. Though the boy was talented with it, Gilrah hated the noise it made and while he did benefit from its use, he resented the idea of it being able to take life in such a way.

Slinging the rifle over his back, Joran pulled himself up using the leather straps and ropes which he had fixed to Gilrah. Once atop the wide thick body of the scaly Gilrah, Joran sat upon a saddle which wrapped and tied securely under and around Gilrah’s forelimbs. Around Gilrah’s neck was a harness which allowed Joran to hold on. It was not so thin that it dug into the neck of the dragon but it was none too thick so that it would be too heavy in the boy’s hand. Unlike Gilrah, whose eyes were evolved to deal with high wind speeds, Joran had discovered that he needed to wear goggles when in flight. He pulled his goggles over his head and looked through them before strapping himself onto his makeshift nest on the dragon’s back, the young boy patting Gilrah eagerly.

Okay, I will get you dinner while we do this, Joran promised. Gilrah nodded his long head gently, the dragon was always extra delicate in his movements and actions while Joran was atop him.

Just be careful to warn me when you pop it off, Gilrah said before he slowly walked towards a clearing in a nearby empty paddock. The dragon flapped his wings as he slowly increased his pace on the ground then with a sudden though slight jarring the pair were airborne. Though he was always extra careful to fly with greater grace and control while he had his human passenger aboard he was even more cautious now that Joran was holding that noise stick, as he so called it, despite Joran’s insistence on it being referred to as a 'rifle'. Joran never grew tired of the thrill he felt when Gilrah left the ground, the sudden rush that the boy experienced as he was no longer restricted to the ground, the swift lift and climb into the air created a tingling throughout his torso and limbs that made Joran grin with happiness and excitement.

The pair flew above the feral lands that surrounded much of the well-groomed farm. The wild bushes and sparse trees provided a perfect wilderness for many animals, most notably the more aggressive rodents that seemed fond of terrorising the family farm from time to time. Gilrah cautiously flew in a predictable pattern over the land that they both knew so well, the dragon exaggerating his flying so that Joran was steady and able to read exactly where the dragon was headed. Gilrah constantly aware of the rifles presence and frightened at the possibility of Joran accidentally shooting him with it instead of the helpless creatures on the ground.

Gilrah and Joran scanned the ground below, the dragon’s eyesight greater by far than the human’s. It was with no surprise that Gilrah was the first to spot a cluster of grass devils foraging below among patches of bulging bushes and wild tall grass. Gilrah tipped himself in the direction of the grass devils gesturing with his head so that Joran would notice them too. The young dragon clenched his jaw and pulled his ears close to his head as he anticipated the loud bang from Joran’s killing device.

Gilrah began circling high above the ignorant rodents below, the dragon’s shadow ominously dancing around the oblivious grass devils as they gnawed voraciously at the roots of trees and bushes. Joran unslung his rifle from his shoulder as he watched the rodents. Though Joran had dropped his hold on Gilrah’s harness in order to hold the rifle in both of his hands, he felt confident and familiar enough with Gilrah’s motions to remain balanced. The young dragon’s delicate flying granted Joran a stable and trusted platform as the pair circled above the foraging beasts below.

I will shoot shortly! Joran called to forewarn Gilrah over the passing wind. He was well aware of the dragon’s fear of his rifle.

Raising the rifle, he aimed and made his best adjustments while the dragon continued to circle. Steadying his breathing as his father had taught him, Joran eased back on the trigger. The rifle roared in his arms. He missed. The grass devils scattered in response to the sudden crack from the blast and the up kick of nearby soil as the bullet buried itself deep into the ground. Gilrah continued to circle the general area as Joran kept his rifle aimed on a running rodent, firing again. This time the fast-moving animal tumbled and tripped over itself falling to the ground the bullet killing it instantly. Gilrah did his best not to jerk at the sudden bark from the rifle each time that Joran fired it. But he could not help but clench his claws anxiously as the boy shot from his back.

Joran soon saw another rodent and took aim while he recycled the bolt on the rifle, loading another bullet into its chamber ready to be shot. Gilrah continued bracing himself for the loud noise of the rifle as he maintained his steady flight for the boy. Another grass devil tumbled over itself beneath the base of a slight tree as soon as the rifle had been shot from the dragon’s back.

Landing among the bushes and scrubby trees Gilrah waited as Joran dismounted from his tall back, the boy rushed off to find his dead prey.

Gilrah felt conflicted as he watched his human friend return with three grass devils dangling from his hands. They were hefty and weighed down heavily on the boy’s straining arms as he presented them to Gilrah. Joran smiled broadly as he looked up towards his reluctant hunter friend, blood dripping from the dead animals in his arms.

Feeling peckish? Joran proudly asked. 

Gilrah nodded, his tongue was awash in thick saliva at the anticipation of eating bloody flesh a taste he craved more often than he cared to admit. Though the sight of the pathetic animals lifelessly dangling in Joran’s arms caused the dragon to feel some level of pity for them Gilrah had not eaten any meat for days and he could feel the distinct hunger pangs inside of his stomach.

Gilrah snapped up the rodents quickly, barely chewing them as he sucked them down, their blood and gamey taste staining the dragon’s mouth. Joran watched on satisfied. I can get you more if you like? he asked hopefully.

Maybe just a couple more. We do not want to make them extinct, Gilrah answered. The warm flesh of the rodents settled inside him satisfying his stomach.

It is easier than when you try to chase after them, Joran smiled.

I have caught one. Gilrah pulled himself upright defending his clumsy skills when it came to hunting the nimble grass devils.

Joran began to giggle, the memory of Gilrah’s attempted hunts tickling him, You mean that time that you tripped over and knocked down a whole tree?

Gilrah began to laugh, his pride eroding quickly as his friend’s laughter at his prior misfortune entertained him also.

The duo took to the air again and began searching for more grass devils. Joran’s accuracy began to improve over the course of the afternoon and although he missed a couple of times, four more grass devils fell to his aerial marksmanship.

Both youths fell asleep that night well satisfied.

The following evening after a lazy day on the farm, Joran yawned as he rested his entire body on the softer underbelly scales of his dragon kin. The boy stared up at the deep blue sky, the sun was itself yawning as it began to slowly recede into its own slumber. Gilrah and Joran had been bold on their recent adventures though they never explored too far from the farm. With the war raging far in the North rumours reached the outlying community about the need for young men of all ages to enlist into the military. Dragons however were always forced into service despite any war. Regardless of such knowledge the boys innocently enjoyed their youth daring to live and to explore beyond the farm.

Gilrah rested his long head on the ground and looked skyward pointing out stars to Joran with his wing tip. Long-time avid star gazers, it was by looking up at these distant splendours that both had discovered that Gilrah’s eyes were far better by nature than Joran’s. The dragon often able to describe in great detail the impressions and colours of each of the tiny objects in the sky.

It is sort of blue green but it has a smudge through its middle. I think we have looked at this one before. I think you called it ‘Gamoora’. Gilrah described a distant star while Joran climbed up and onto his foreleg straining to see with the same clarity as the dragon could.

Is that the bigger low one on the horizon there? Joran asked.

Gilrah looked across the skyline and saw a white star that flickered with brilliance in the distance, You mean the one you named ‘Silvera’?

Joran nodded eagerly, Yes!

There it is, Gilrah continued looking in the star’s direction, and Joran soon found it. The human smiled as he stared at the brilliant star, Describe it to me again.

It is a white blue, glowing with a small brilliant blue centre, Gilrah described in vivid detail the glow of the stars and Joran smiled closing his eyes to imagine the star in his mind despite being able to gaze at it with his naked eye. In his mind, he could conjure a brighter vision of it using Gilrah’s words. Lying back against the dragon he rested and reopened his eyes so that he could gaze upwards, listening to Gilrah’s many descriptions of the various celestial bodies high above.

Do you think that you could fly that far upwards? Joran asked as he fantasised about joining Gilrah on such a feat.

It would be very high. I don't think that I would want to.

I suppose it would be high. You would most likely faint before you got there. Joran shrugged. Well maybe I will fly there before you and then it will be I who tells you about such a place, he added cockily.

Your arms would not be able to flap hard enough, Gilrah teased.

I could use a balloon or an aeroplane. A special one of either may be able to get me up there, Joran reasoned.

Maybe. If it doesn’t break down on you. Gilrah considered such contraptions with a degree of disdain. Both youths had seen various kinds of the flying contraptions in the past, observing them carefully from a great distance as they hummed slowly across the sky. From what Gilrah had seen they looked fragile and slow. Neither were things he would consider allowing Joran to fly upon. 

Maybe I will build a reliable one that is better than all of the others, Joran continued defending the flying machines.

Well maybe you should build one sooner than later then I wouldn’t need to fly you all about the place.

Maybe I need you to help me build it because you are the best expert I know on flying.

And maybe they are stupid machines and men should stick to walking and not flying, Gilrah continued.

Maybe dragons should build a machine that makes them better at walking! Joran snapped back.

Why walk when you can fly? Gilrah snorted.

A long silence broke out between the pair as they continued to stare upwards.

It must be a black endless sky high up there where those stars are, Joran whispered.

Gilrah smiled as he considered what it would be like to fly to another planet if such a feat was even possible. The boys continued to lie beneath the summer night sky as the pinpricks of light flickered high above them. Slowly they surrendered to sleep, each allowing their dreams to travel high and far beyond their physical forms. Joran collapsed his