So, what does that mean? Well, each day, I'm going to tell you about a dragon - a dragon inspired by a name that I generated randomly using a name generator (I haven't looked up the derivation of any of these names, I have just run with how they make me feel, their sound on the tongue).
I'll tell you all about my Dragon of the Day, and share some flash fic about their lives. Any genre, any character, any look - prepare to be surprised and (I hope) entertained by my dragonly inspirations :).
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is for Khayri
Khayri lives in the lightning. Khayri dances in the storm.
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I'll tell you all about my Dragon of the Day, and share some flash fic about their lives. Any genre, any character, any look - prepare to be surprised and (I hope) entertained by my dragonly inspirations :).
~
~
is for KhayriKhayri lives in the lightning. Khayri dances in the storm.
~
Danse Énergétique
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The low, slow rumble creeps over the grey sky and Khayri awakes. A leisurely arch of his long, slender back brings light from deep within his lair and the dark clouds roll in. He moves gently at first, his waking grumble like a hollow purr as he slithers sleepily through the massing vapour, body criss-crossing itself, calling in the power of the tumult.
A growl, a pause, a short flash, a long breath of calm: Khayri explores the sky, spreading out, repeating, testing the air. He plays like a cat with a mouse, each flurry of a little stronger than the last, growing in intensity, growing together until, at last, he leaps. WIth a roar, he divs from his home, arching across the sky, claws outspread, tail lashing the sky as he tears at the earth.
Then he is gone again.
His sharp scent fills the air: he is still here, but he waits. He draws in the darkness further, the atmosphere chilling.
And he dives once more. This time he plunges from cloud to cloud, weaving, flickering, snarling his power, his dance shuddering over the world, making proud men cower. He throws his head back, spewing shards of hot light down to ground. Nothing can stop him now. Whirling, snapping, roaring his triumph, Khayri dances to his own vicious rhythm. Over, and over, and over, he twists and claws at the air, ripping left, tearing right. Up and down, through and round he writhes, shaking the earth with his unearthly bark.
As Khayri attacks, again and again, all the sky can do is cry. She weeps for the calm she has lost, her grief pouring down, but there is nothing she can do but endure. The dragon leaps again, roaring in ecstasy - his lightning slamming down into the old oak on the hill. The ancient wood screams. The sky mourns. Kharyi has his trophy: the mighty soldier is wrent in two. The scar cuts deep and black, scorched, but the sky can help - she puts out the flame with her tears.
Sated by his victory, Khayri quietens, returning to his lair, his light receding into the rolling mass of cloud. He rumbles, even barks another time or two, but he has had his fill. Grumbling sleepily, he slithers around himself and, breathing low, open breaths of blue, gradually, he slows. Until, finally, Khayri rests once more.
A growl, a pause, a short flash, a long breath of calm: Khayri explores the sky, spreading out, repeating, testing the air. He plays like a cat with a mouse, each flurry of a little stronger than the last, growing in intensity, growing together until, at last, he leaps. WIth a roar, he divs from his home, arching across the sky, claws outspread, tail lashing the sky as he tears at the earth.
Then he is gone again.
His sharp scent fills the air: he is still here, but he waits. He draws in the darkness further, the atmosphere chilling.
And he dives once more. This time he plunges from cloud to cloud, weaving, flickering, snarling his power, his dance shuddering over the world, making proud men cower. He throws his head back, spewing shards of hot light down to ground. Nothing can stop him now. Whirling, snapping, roaring his triumph, Khayri dances to his own vicious rhythm. Over, and over, and over, he twists and claws at the air, ripping left, tearing right. Up and down, through and round he writhes, shaking the earth with his unearthly bark.
As Khayri attacks, again and again, all the sky can do is cry. She weeps for the calm she has lost, her grief pouring down, but there is nothing she can do but endure. The dragon leaps again, roaring in ecstasy - his lightning slamming down into the old oak on the hill. The ancient wood screams. The sky mourns. Kharyi has his trophy: the mighty soldier is wrent in two. The scar cuts deep and black, scorched, but the sky can help - she puts out the flame with her tears.
Sated by his victory, Khayri quietens, returning to his lair, his light receding into the rolling mass of cloud. He rumbles, even barks another time or two, but he has had his fill. Grumbling sleepily, he slithers around himself and, breathing low, open breaths of blue, gradually, he slows. Until, finally, Khayri rests once more.
~
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This is beautiful. Khayri is a beauty.
ReplyDeleteAnna
Thank you :)
DeleteA storm dragon. I like it! Good emotion and imagery in this one.
ReplyDeleteDiscarded Darlings - Jean Davis, Speculative Fiction Writer, A to Z: Editing Fiction
Thank you - Khayri was an off the wall inspiration :)
DeleteOooh. This was beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThe Multicolored Diary: WTF - Weird Things in Folktales
This had a really poetic quality. Khayri seems like a force of nature.
ReplyDeleteGreat imagery. One does not mess with Khayri. :)
ReplyDeleteA to Z 2017: Magical and Medicinal Herbs