The Dragon Rider

In tonight’s story, after learning that you are the heir to the throne of a kingdom, you bravely venture into the underground lair of a dragon. When you come face to face with the creature, however, you discover that you have something unexpected in common. You form a bond with the beast, who becomes your closest companion in the quest to claim your inheritance.

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, Binaural Overlay by Joseph Beg, Gentle Winds by Ethan Sloan, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Answer the call to adventure and befriend a dragon in tonight's fantasy bedtime story.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I will be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as it serves you,

And whenever you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and drift off to sleep.

If you're still awake as the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a grounding meditation.

In tonight's story,

After learning that you are the heir to the throne of a kingdom,

You bravely venture into the underground lair of a dragon,

Believing it has stolen your signet ring for its hoard of treasure.

When you come face to face with the creature,

However,

You discover that you have something unexpected in common.

You form a bond with the beast,

Who becomes your closest companion in the quest to claim your inheritance.

We men dream dreams.

We work magic.

We do good.

We do evil.

The dragons do not dream.

They are dreams.

They do not work magic.

It is their substance,

Their being.

They do not do.

They are.

Ursula K.

Le Guin,

The Farthest Shore Ever since you were a child,

You dreamt of dragons,

Breath of fire that singes cities,

Leather wings that beat with the sound of thunder,

Golden eyes,

And crimson scales.

You've never seen one.

They're exceedingly rare,

Rumored extinct,

And yet,

You are compelled by the idea of dragons.

To you they seem the very quintessence of liberation,

With power and might to spare,

And wings that might bear them to distant lands,

Far from sorrow and obligation.

Eyes to the evening sky each night since childhood,

You've strained to see those wings in flight,

A stream of flame across the clouds.

The village boys and girls always say the dragons died out long ago.

It's foolish to keep believing in them,

But you can't help it.

Something keeps them on the wind of your dreams,

Even as you come of age.

Secretly,

You've always held the belief in some unspoken,

Dimly lit corner of your mind that dragons are somehow part of you.

It's hard to explain.

Like a symbolic guide,

Or an emblem of your deepest inner nature,

You'd never say so aloud.

How silly and presumptuous to liken yourself to a beast of such awesome power.

But a year ago,

Everything changed.

As you were cleaning the stables,

Like you do each day,

Your parents brought you into the cottage to tell you something important,

Something they wished they could have told you a long time ago.

You can still recall the uneasy expressions on their faces as they tried to find the words.

Even now,

You hardly believe what they told you.

For starters,

They were not your real parents,

Though they'd raised you from infancy,

Fed and clothed you,

And ensured you received an education.

You were,

In fact,

The child of a prominent family,

A very prominent family,

In fact.

You were the sole offspring and heir to the old royal line of this kingdom,

A child of the king,

The former king.

Beloved by all the subjects of the kingdom until his death many years ago,

It was too outrageous to believe at first.

You've only ever been a farmer's child,

Tending to stables,

Milking the cows,

Feeding the chickens,

The thought that you were,

In fact,

The exiled scion of a line of great kings and queens was preposterous.

But somewhere in that same secret place where live your dreams of dragons,

You've always felt you had some greater destiny,

Some fate beyond the farm,

The stables,

The chicken coop.

You always believed you were meant to do bigger things,

To spread your wings,

So to speak.

Your parents told you this on your last birthday,

Precisely one year before you would officially come of age.

They told you then,

To prepare you,

Because the moment you came of age,

You would be eligible to take the throne of the kingdom.

But to do so,

You would need to summon great strength and courage,

For a usurper now rules the kingdom as regent,

And he would not easily be deposed.

You would need to train your body and mind for such a confrontation,

If,

Indeed,

You should choose to undertake it.

Your parents,

Your adoptive parents who've loved and cared for you all these years,

With tears in their eyes,

Insisted that it was your choice.

They were sorry for keeping the truth from you for so long.

They only wished to protect you.

Whatever you choose to do with this new knowledge,

They will support you and love you still as their own.

There is just one problem,

On the same day your parents revealed your true identity,

They also shared the greatest obstacle to your ascension.

You see,

When you were born,

The king had made for you a ring.

It was no mere piece of pretty jewelry,

But a symbol of your house,

Cast in gold and pressed with the royal seal.

This was tradition for all those born to inherit the throne of the kingdom.

The ring was physical proof of your right to rule.

So where is the ring now?

You inquired.

With it,

You could march into the capital city,

Stand before the king regent,

And demand he step down in favor of the rightful heir.

But that's just the thing,

Your parents say.

In the commotion to remove you from the castle on the night of the coup,

Your ring was lost.

The story goes that it was stolen by the fearsome dragon who lives in a cave beneath the western mountains guarding a hoard of treasure.

At this,

Your heart leapt.

Never had you heard your parents or anyone in the village speak of dragons with such currency.

It was a foregone conclusion to most that the dragons had all disappeared from the known world.

But you could hear the ring of truth in this story.

You believed it with all your might,

And it incensed your heart,

The injustice of it.

From that moment,

You vowed to spend the next year training to confront the dragon,

So that when you came of age,

You could recover the lost signet and claim your birthright.

Now as your birthday nears once more,

You feel an entirely different person than you were before you learned the truth.

You are a different person.

You went from believing that as you came of age,

You'd work toward inheriting your parents' farm,

And that thought was satisfying enough.

Now you may stand on the precipice of inheriting the keys to the entire kingdom,

And you wonder whether you really have the ambition for it.

You've worked hard to prepare both physically and mentally for the challenges ahead,

Knowing that if the legendary dragons are any guide,

They're more than formidable foes for the mind as well as the body.

They're always ready for a battle of wits.

You sharpened yours like an axe upon a whetstone,

Just as you've trained in agility and swordsmanship.

On the eve of your birthday,

You go to your parents and ask their blessing to leave the farm to pursue the dragon,

Recover your lost ring,

And begin your quest to reclaim the throne.

With tears in their eyes,

They grant that blessing,

Though not before cooking you a scrumptious meal and showering you with love.

As dawn breaks over the village in the valley,

You rise with the sun and don your modest light armor.

You carry a sword of rustic make by the local blacksmith who agreed to work for a reduced fee in a scabbard at your hip,

Just knowing it's there makes you feel taller,

Stronger.

But your belly fills with butterflies at the thought of leaving home and taking on such a massive obstacle alone.

Just as the sky grows rosy and vermilion in the burgeoning sunrise,

And the morning mist kisses your cheeks like dew upon the grass,

You take the first solitary steps toward your fate.

The road to the western mountains where the dragon guards his gold is long,

Three days ride on horseback,

But you've never been much of a rider,

And the workhorses from the farm are not meant for traveling long distances and over mountains,

So you set off on foot,

Carrying only the lightest of rations and a pack of simple supplies.

The sword is the heaviest thing you bear,

And at times you can feel it weighing you down when you'd otherwise move swiftly,

But the slow pace,

If nothing else,

Allows you time for contemplation,

Meditation,

And concentration.

There's unease,

Of course,

Anyone walking away from home with the intent of facing down a dragon would feel uneasy.

But there's also something else,

Harder to explain,

A feeling of calm inevitability and a shining confidence that you are being drawn along a golden string,

A quivering cord of destiny.

Every step brings you closer to your fate,

And there's something exciting about it.

The road winds through some tiny villages where you're grateful to stop for the night,

Take in some hot food,

And sleep in a warm bed in a tavern,

Remembering your parents' advice about keeping your identity close to your chest.

You're careful to hide the sword in your pack whenever you pass through populated areas,

And you avoid too many questions about the nature of your travel.

But as you draw closer to the mountains,

You listen thoughtfully to the tavern gossip,

Hoping to hear some whisper about the beast's whereabouts or weaknesses,

Some morsel of discourse about the king regent,

You pick up few conversations of consequence.

Other nights you camp under the stars,

Lulled to sleep by the sound of crickets chirping and night owls through the trees.

Dragons drift listlessly through your dreams,

Sometimes made of stars and sometimes fire or water.

The night you dream you can see through the eyes of a dragon,

And as you soar over lakes and snow-capped mountains,

You relish the unbridled freedom before you.

Your shadow skims the countryside below,

So large as to block out the sun and bring night over cities.

It's five days' travel,

After all,

To the foothills of the western mountains.

Mist shrouds the peaks,

And an uncanny silence lends a haunting quality to the atmosphere.

Your footsteps on the gravel are the only disturbance in the quiet.

The highest summit in the range is that of Mount Arden,

Which now all but disappears in the descending fog.

You're certain that it's here,

Beneath this skyward mass,

That your dragon keeps its quarry.

Here you must prove your mettle.

To reach the base of Mount Arden,

You must weave carefully through narrow crevasses and rocky pathways.

Finding your footing on the ever-changing incline is a challenge in itself,

But each time your heart begins to doubt whether you've chosen the correct route.

Your eyes fall upon a cairn,

A pile of stones,

Placed precisely and unmistakably by human hands,

Whether they're trail markers left behind by other would-be dragon-slayers,

Or tributes to the beast beneath the mountain.

You cannot say,

But they comfort you,

Nonetheless.

At the very least,

They are evidence of another soul who passed this way and chose to memorialize that passage.

It makes you feel less alone,

As though that unknown wanderer walks beside you,

All the while your thoughts turn over and over the possibilities that await you.

You reflect on the person you were just over a year ago,

The modest ambitions you had,

The responsibilities that seemed so sacred to you once,

And now feel small,

Though your dreams have grown dragon's wings,

Reaching for the grand,

Sweeping adventure before you.

You can't help but ache,

Just a little,

For mornings on the farm,

A day of hard work,

Followed by good,

Home-cooked food,

And a quiet evening,

The company of friends,

All in the blush of youth and irreverence.

It's such a strange tension,

Such an unexpected twinge of homesickness,

For never before have you held your simple life in any high regard.

Ah,

But the promise of palaces!

Once again your heart soars.

You've never dared to dream of such a life.

What delights must wait behind closed doors,

Held only for the elite court?

Aren't you born into greatness,

Only to be spirited away to escape a rebellion?

Isn't it the life you deserve?

Is it the life you want?

You stumble over the rocks,

And into the shadow of the afternoon,

The day is getting away from you.

This final leg of the journey is longer and more meandering than you expected.

It's as though the lackadaisical pattern of your musings is reflected in the twists and turns of the path.

But soon your thoughts are stopped,

As before you yawns the mouth of a great and gloomy cave.

It's just as you imagined,

Just as it should look in a storybook.

A shiver runs over you,

But it's not quite fear you're feeling,

So much as a frisson of anticipation.

Therein lies your fate.

Should you choose to meet it,

You always have a choice.

For a moment you consider turning back,

Following the cairns out of the foothills,

Resting for the night in one of those friendly taverns,

And returning to your village to live your life as a farmer.

Your parents would be happy to see you safe,

And you'd be no worse off.

Or perhaps you'd keep walking down the road,

Find a place to live in the capital,

Build yourself a whole new life,

Perhaps even reveal yourself when the time feels right,

Ring or no ring,

Or forget everything.

You've got enough survival skills to live in the woods.

Maybe you'll become a hermit,

Or a mad prophet,

Doling out advice and prophecies to travelers who stumble through your forests.

But know,

You think,

If you refuse to answer this call now,

Then all your life you'd wonder what would have happened if you earned your crown,

Faced your dragon.

There's the shiver again.

At the heart of all this,

You realize,

Is a burning desire,

So long kept under wraps,

To see a dragon.

It's all you've ever wanted.

Not thrones or power or wealth.

Magic.

Proof that there is still some magic in this world.

With wings.

And it's with that thought that you step across the threshold of the cave,

Feeling the instant drop in temperature and the air's moisture rise.

It's with this little fire in the pit of your belly that you retrieve a torch and tinderbox from your pack,

Lighting your way down the dark passage of the cave,

Cutting through your indecision with fire.

You move carefully through the darkness,

Your torch rising and falling with your step,

Throwing its amber light across the walls and floors of the cave.

It's as though you reflect the dexterity-challenging path through the foothills to the base of the mountains,

Was trying to prepare you for the tests you'd face here,

Absent the sun's light.

You keep your breathing steady,

Your feet agile,

Ready for sudden unevenness in the ground or unseen obstacles.

The torchlight flickers with an intimate radius.

Beyond it,

The unknown.

Your mind searches for patterns,

Resets when the unseen becomes visible.

The slow,

Deliberate nature of the journey lulls your mind into a contented calm.

There's an almost imperceptible decline in the floor.

You descend,

Step by step,

Lower and lower,

Little by little.

Your footsteps on the damp stones echo across the cavernous walls,

Deeper and deeper down.

You might have walked a mile or more,

Or perhaps descended only a few fathoms.

As the resonant silence envelops you,

It's hard to tell time or distance.

But at last,

There's another change in the atmosphere.

The moisture in the air thins,

Stretches out.

There's an earthy scent listing on the air that wasn't there before.

Even without seeing it yet,

You can sense that the close walls of the cave are becoming more spacious,

Opening up into a vast cavern.

Now the reservoir of your torchlight falls on something other than slate-gray stone.

Limestones,

Stalagmites materialize before you like great accumulations of melted wax.

Stalactites cling to the ceilings.

Water drips in hollow,

Musical tones,

Like tiny mallets striking tiny bells.

And there's another texture,

Too,

In the cavern.

The torch casts its amber light on crimson scales.

Blackened and armorial,

Slow,

Unconscious breath and heaving motion,

Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness in the immense cavern,

Revealing more and more of the beast,

As though your light is growing in size and throw.

Oh,

And a magnificent beast it is,

All covered with those black and crimson scales like terracotta.

Leathery wings folded by its side,

Its eyes are closed,

And its nostrils flare as it breathes heavily,

Sound asleep.

Twisted ivory horns extend from its head as if windswept.

Your heart swells,

And your breath catches,

The sheer size of the thing is enough to make you lightheaded.

But you can't help but find it beautiful,

Rapturously so,

Curled and coiled.

Vast as the chamber is,

The creature hardly fits within such confines.

Why?

Oh,

Why would this majestic animal choose such tight quarters for a lair,

When it could have the world,

The skies,

The sea,

All of it?

This place is fit for hoarding treasure,

But not for living.

But,

Scanning the floor beneath the dragon's mammoth figure,

Searching with your light for the faintest glimmer of gold,

You fail to find any trace of treasure.

Curious,

And now tracing your way along its length with a thousand questions rising to your mind,

You see something you hadn't noticed before.

There around the beast's neck,

And yes,

On its forelegs and hind legs too,

You see,

Are thick iron rings,

Connected to thick iron chains.

A feeling like pity rushes over you,

Sorrow like water.

To see such power and freedom chained up,

Stifled,

Who would,

Or even could,

Subdue a dragon so?

The weight of the sword at your hip brings you back to yourself.

Perhaps now is the best chance you've got to defeat the dragon,

Strike while it sleeps,

Then find your signet which must be here somewhere,

Among the dragon's things,

Perhaps within its very grasp.

Then signet or no,

You could march into the capital with proof of a slain dragon,

And be lauded as a hero by the subjects of the kingdom,

Summoning as much courage as you can muster.

You unsheath the sword,

And step into an advantageous position.

You take a deep breath,

And prepare to strike,

But your mind cannot let go of the question,

Who would chain up a dragon within a mountain,

And why?

Despite your body's readiness to go ahead with the task,

Your thoughts will not allow you to bring down the sword.

After a few moments,

And a battle between head and heart,

You relax your shoulders,

And allow the sword to fall at your side.

At this very moment,

Perhaps caused by the slashing of the sword through empty air,

A ripple of wind,

Or the subtlest of sounds,

An eyelid lifts,

The breathing quickens,

And soon the chamber is all alive with coiling and uncoiling movement.

Your torch seems to brighten,

To behold it all,

As the dragon,

Awake and inquisitive,

Unfurls to its full height,

Gaze intent and fixed on you,

Small and trembling in its wake.

You've gone and woken the dragon,

And now your fate must be faced.

Your first instinct,

Though it might seem foolish,

Is to kneel.

You drop to a knee,

And avert your gaze from the creature,

Then you speak,

As you imagine princes or princesses from your storybook's might,

Infusing your voice with a noble purpose.

You state your name,

Your house,

And your intention,

For you are heir to the throne of the kingdom,

Here to recover your birthright and that which was stolen from you.

When there is no response,

Neither growl nor fire,

You dare to lift your head.

The dragon,

Gathered up still like a great mountain itself,

Is looking down at you with an expression of unmistakable curiosity.

You hadn't known dragons were capable of such expressiveness,

But there it is,

There's something so human about it.

You try to hold your ground and not flinch as the beast retracts its great neck,

Lowering back down onto its forelegs,

And bringing its face as close to your level as possible.

Its head might be the size of this stable house on the farm back home.

You feel so minute,

So unthreatening,

Your sword a mere strand of straw against the dragon's might,

But nothing can prepare you for what comes next.

The dragon opens its mouth to speak,

And the voice,

Though it sounds as if it hasn't been used in a century,

Is clear and distinctly feminine.

What is it you believe I have stolen,

She asks,

At first you're too stunned to respond.

You can feel her breath warm on your face and limbs,

Observing your shock she withdraws,

Curling herself up again,

Though still watching you expectantly,

The chains clink and clatter in her wake.

I can't very well hand it over,

If you don't tell me what it is you're looking for.

You find your voice again,

Though now it sounds weak,

Distant.

A ring,

You say,

Clearing your throat,

A signet,

The symbol of my house and my rightful claim to the throne.

Can't say I've seen it,

She responds with an air of nonchalance.

So I suppose you'll be on your way,

But,

You stammer,

It must be here.

It was stolen when the old king was put down.

You must have it.

I haven't much,

She retorts,

Angling her head in a gesture toward the emptiness of the cavern.

The chains drag along the floor as she shifts.

There's so little slack,

She can't move very far at all,

You see.

You should press her about the ring,

But you can't get your mind off it.

Who did this to you,

You ask,

Pointing to the chains.

She releases something like a sigh and slouches.

I don't know,

She says.

All I know is that someone sends a goat or a sheep in here every so often so I don't starve.

I never see anyone.

For all I know,

It might be you who did this to me.

Have you never,

Have you never left this cave,

You ask.

The sadness in her eyes tells you everything you need to know.

You feel immense tenderness and pity toward the creature,

Thoughtfully,

Deliberately.

You lay your sword down upon the floor of the cavern.

You ask the dragon if she has a name.

She does,

But it's one she's chosen for herself,

So she's not even sure if it is a name or only a sound she remembered from long ago,

Before she was imprisoned here.

Night is her name.

You like it.

She begins to warm to you and you to her.

You learn of night's long imprisonment and the few happy memories she has of freedom.

When she hatched,

She was kept by kindly humans,

And from them she learned the art of speech,

Though she's had no occasion to practice it with anyone listening.

She spent all this time telling herself stories.

They're her only escape from the darkness.

I was supposed to have a different life,

She says.

You feel a pang of sympathy.

You too were robbed of the life you were meant to have,

Though there's love and fondness in the one you ended up with.

That you can't forget.

You tell Night your story,

Your humble upbringing,

And the shocking revelation of your true parentage.

She listens,

Patiently,

Seeming to hang on your every word,

Delighted for any company outside the stalactites.

How you could ever have feared her,

You don't know.

Why anyone would want to imprison her is an even bigger mystery.

If you could see yourself now,

You think.

The child who dreamt of dragons now conversing with one like an old friend.

There's a warmth and a kinship kindled between you and Night already.

A bond that feels to you stronger than any you formed with your peers in the village.

It's as if the two of you were bound on this path toward each other,

As if it was she,

And not some figment of fairy tale imagination who visited you in all those dreams.

As if you saw through her eyes,

In your sleepy soaring across the sky,

This ring,

She asks.

What did it look like?

All I know is it bore the seal of my family,

You say.

But I never even knew them.

I'm sure they were good people,

Says Night.

Her voice is disarmingly gentle.

How could anyone see dragons?

As monstrous,

You wonder.

In your eyes,

They're miraculous.

The conversation turns to the future,

The possibility of your reign.

Night jokes that she could simply give you one of her teeth and let you carry it into court.

A stunt like that would make all the barons swear fealty to you in an instant.

You'd be known as the Dragonslayer in all the history books,

You confess.

It's not a title you've ever craved.

Do you really wish to rule?

She asks.

Cutting to the core of your ever-questioning heart,

You've struggled so far to come up with an answer to this.

I don't know,

You respond.

I've only ever been responsible for myself,

A few farm animals.

I think I know right from wrong,

But I've never had to decide it for an entire kingdom.

Night receives this and looks pensive.

Really so wonderfully expressive dragons are.

Can't you break out of those,

You ask,

Gesturing to her chains,

Which still preoccupy your mind.

Burn them to ash,

Or simply break them with your brute strength.

Alas,

Night responds,

No breath of fire have I,

After all this time in the cold and damp,

Only thick skin,

Though it grows brittle,

Sharp claws,

Though they are overgrown,

And wings,

Though they've been folded and weakened for many a year.

I wish I could break your chains with my sword,

You say.

I'd set you free in an instant,

Only so you could see the world.

It's a pity to chain up someone with wings.

It's a pity to chain up anyone.

In Night's eyes,

You see something almost inscrutable,

A kind of disbelief mixed with warm-hearted gratitude.

You doubt she's ever heard a word of sympathy for her plight.

I think you'd make a good ruler,

She says.

You feel yourself blush.

Then Night,

The mighty,

If weakened,

Dragon,

Unfurls herself,

Chains scraping against the floor of the cave.

I kept something from you,

She said,

But only because I've kept it secret for so long and didn't know if I could trust you.

In unfurling,

She brings round her strong,

Spiked tail to the front of the cavern,

Where it falls right into the spill of your torchlight.

There,

Sparkling at the end of it,

Hanging loosely on one of the ivory spikes,

Is a speck of gold.

Go on,

She says.

Take it.

Reach out,

Hardly believing it,

And carefully remove the gold ring from the spike.

It's heavier than it looks.

Solid gold and finely cast,

It glimmers in the firelight.

Set on its bezel is a raised image delicately engraved.

You have to squint to make out the minuscule details.

A coat of arms.

A shield.

In which stands a dragon.

Wings spread,

A crown upon its head.

Is it really?

You ask.

Night explains that she hatched on the same day the old king's heir was born.

She's younger than she looks.

The ruling family,

Whose symbol was the regal dragon,

Intended to raise her as a companion to the heir.

Their fates were intertwined,

And their lives should grow side by side.

But it wasn't meant to be,

It seems.

For the old king was displaced by a rebellion.

Night was captured by the invaders and chained up within a mountain,

And the heir was lost.

Until now,

She'd thought,

Forever.

But it turns out the king's child was only spirited away until the day they might return and reclaim the throne.

Luckily.

Night held on to the signet,

Wishing one day that her valiant friend would come looking for it.

All those years you spent believing dragons were only fairy tales.

Here a dragon believed the same thing about you.

Your heart aches for the lost time,

But it soars with gratitude at having reunited with a friend you didn't know you were missing.

Your eyes sparkle with tears.

You thank the dragon for telling you the truth,

And for keeping the signet all this time.

You ask her what she remembers of your birth parents.

All she says is they were kind.

She was young then,

Too.

She never knew much of court or kingcraft.

But why,

Then,

You wonder,

Did the rebellious forces imprison her so?

Why do they still send food into the cave?

And why not raise her up to serve the king regent?

Night knows the answer to the last question.

By the time of the coup,

She was already fiercely bonded to you.

Nothing can break the bonds of fate,

She insists,

Not between hatchlings.

You smile,

Thinking of Night now as your sister.

Scales and wings and all.

But,

She supposes,

The king regent must believe that if you were still alive somewhere,

Someday you'd come looking for your lost ring.

And if he kept me alive,

She muses aloud,

He must have hoped we'd finish each other off in some final confrontation.

He always underestimated us both.

He didn't know you'd show kindness to a lonely dragon.

You try the ring on,

Finger by finger.

It doesn't fit quite perfectly anywhere.

But that doesn't matter.

But now,

You wonder,

Amusingly,

You imagine moving into the cave with Night.

Hunting food for her,

Sharing your lives as the companions you were meant to be.

You'll go to court,

She says.

And you'll be great.

Her golden eyes are smiling.

I've done my part.

We've been separated before,

You say.

I don't think I can do it without you.

Then a thought occurs to you,

An outlandish,

Far-fetched thought,

Which blooms madly and swiftly into a fantasy.

Night,

You say.

You say you haven't got any strength or fire left.

But have you actually tried?

She cocks her head at an angle,

And for a moment you're reminded of one of the dogs on the farm.

It's rather endearing,

But she understands.

You're here now.

Together,

Your resolve is so much stronger.

There is so much more to fight for.

Night gestures with her head for you to climb aboard her back.

At first,

You step back in surprise.

But she insists,

Carefully,

Using her tough scales to maintain your footing.

You climb the magnificent dragon and rest at the nape of her neck.

You leave your torch behind on the floor of the cave,

Where it flickers and crackles still.

I believe in you,

You whisper.

So quietly you're not sure Night can hear you.

You're not sure if you even want her to hear you.

But it must be said.

You feel her muscles tense as she strains to break the shackles about her legs and neck.

You hear the iron groan against her power,

Resisting,

But yielding ever so slightly.

Night catches her breath and tries again,

Straining harder.

It's no use,

She says.

They're too tough.

I can't break them.

Just breathe,

You want to say.

But you find you don't need to say it,

For at the moment you think it,

You feel a soft,

Harmonic pull,

Like the tensing of the atmosphere into a taut string,

A golden thread,

Connecting your mind and the dragon's.

You feel her breath synchronize with yours,

And it's as though you can see through her eyes,

Feel the strength and fatigue in her muscles.

You are one,

Deep in your belly,

Her belly.

You can feel a kindling heat.

It tumbles and roars like a rush of water through the mouth of a cave,

Building and intensifying until it can no longer be caged.

You feel an eruption,

A release,

An exhale of fire,

Billowing and beautiful.

You feel cleansed from the inside out,

And you feel powerful.

The stream of flame melts the links in the chains to molten iron.

Night tugs once more at her shackles,

And they disappear into liquid and ash.

Then she's off and running,

Lumbering unevenly on feet that haven't traveled in a lifetime.

You cling to her scales and hold on for dear life as she moves,

Thirsty for sunlight and fresh air to breathe.

You find yourself laughing,

Even as you clutch at the dragon's hide.

When you break out of the cave,

The clean air floods your lungs with such a sweetness,

For you only hours underground,

As you gasping for the freshness of it,

For night,

Decades underground.

You squint against the sun's brightness.

She must be nearly blinded by it,

But she's laughing too.

It's all too wonderful.

She topples the cairns in her giddy clumsiness,

Scraping her claws against rock and cliff.

She climbs swiftly,

You aboard her back,

To the peak of Mount Arden,

Where the mist is lifted and the skies are effortlessly clear.

You can see for miles around.

Far off,

On the horizon,

The stone walls surrounding the capital city and the palace.

Shall we go home,

My friend?

Night inquires.

But you're not ready for that just yet.

There's a whole world your dragon has never seen.

There's a whole sky she has yet to explore,

Taking flight for the first time since her imprisonment.

Night cries out with delight to feel the full expanse of her wings.

It's such sweet release.

You can feel it too,

As if she's an extension of you.

As if her wings are your wings,

Her muscles your muscles,

And as they unfurl,

You grow more spacious,

More free.

There's a kingdom beyond the western mountains,

Waiting for you,

But it can wait a little while longer.

There are oceans to skim,

New foods to taste,

Lives to be lived.

You have a choice.

You always have a choice.

To rule a kingdom,

To learn the ways of justice,

And strive to make the world a better place,

Or to live untethered,

Unfettered,

Unkempt,

And wild.

To taste the sweet freedoms of the world,

Unbothered by the machinations of court.

There's time to decide.

Night soars with sunset at her heels.

The wind dances through your hair.

You catch a wave.

If they do write history books about you,

They won't call you the Dragon Slayer,

They'll call you the Dragon Rider.

Into the endless sky,

Settle into your natural breath,

Relax and feel the belly rise and fall as it deepens.

Allow your breath to gather up from deep within,

Concentrating on the base of your spine as the origin of your breath,

Your stability,

And your foundation.

Breathe into and from that space.

Feel how deep your roots go.

Let that space at the base of your spine be your center as you breathe and let go.

Trust that it will stabilize you,

Ground you as you drift off into sleep.

It's your connection to the Earth,

Even as you spread your wings and take to the skies.

It's your root.

Feel warmth kindling from your foundation.

You might imagine a ball of energy or a small,

Constant flame.

That inner heat that keeps you going,

Animates you,

And also cleanses,

Heals you.

Fire is a powerful element,

An agent of transformation,

Just as it can cause destruction.

It can also clear away what you don't need anymore.

And with its steady,

Natural heat,

It is an engine of creativity,

Motion,

Change,

Magic.

Breathe deeply and nourish that flame,

Your root,

Embracing its grounding qualities,

Its clarifying ability,

And its power.

Relax and breathe.

Good night.

Reviews

Very enjoyable & thank you for your talent in storytelling ❣️🫶❣️

Delightful

This was so good I listened to it the next day (while awake) to see how it ended! I fall asleep so quickly with all of your tracks. You are truly the best thing to come into my life in a while. My sleep has improved tremendously. So grateful! 💙

Love your stories especially appreciate their length & your beautiful voice. Thank you 💚💜💛

I love your voice so much

Love the stories and narration so well done. Helps me sleep most every time. There are however many distracting plosives. A quality pop screen or mic w built in screen like a Shure SMB could prevent plosives. Very grateful for the lovely stories thank you.

Wonderful, I love hearing tales about dragons! But I’ll have to listen again, as 😴😴😴🙏

Beautiful story❤️ I've been listening to more of your stories during the day, so I can enjoy them without drifting off to sleep. I love the way your storylines are weaved together to create such a magical world. Thank you 🙏❤️🙏

This is a captivating and beautiful story! I find myself struggling to not fall asleep just to hear it again. Masterful and heartwarming

Put this on when I woke up in the night - I fell straight back asleep! Thank you for your amazing stories!

Sleep immediately after tossing and turning… thanks!

Lovely story, at least what I heard of it. Told in perfect pace with soothing voice. 🙏

This was so enjoyable! I really hope you are planning to continue the story as a series!