Once upon a time, in a magical place known as Dragon’s Valley, lived a dragon named Draco. Now, Draco was not your typical dragon. He wasn’t fierce or greedy; he had shiny scales and a kind heart. He loved to flutter around and enjoy the warm summer sun. But despite his friendly nature, villages nearby continued to live in fear of him.
Draco really wished he could make friends with the villagers. He often flew over their houses and waved at the children playing in the fields below, wishing they’d come to play with him in the meadows. However, each time they saw him, they would all scream and run back into their homes. This made Draco very sad, and on particularly gloomy days, he would hide in the deepest part of his valley to cry.
One fine day, determined to overcome the dismay he brought to the villagers, Draco hatched a plan to appear less alarming. He gathered every flower in Dragon’s Valley and arranged them into a beautiful crown that he wore proudly on his head. He also picked some flowers and polished his teeth to make them look appealing. For the first time, he was hopeful that this visit to the village would be different.
But as he approached the village, a little girl spotted him and screamed, “There comes the dragon!” The village broke into a panic, with children running away and mothers pulling them indoors. To make matters worse, an old woman fainted in the street. Draco, feeling terrible, flew away over the mountains until he could fly no longer. He landed gently in a dark cave and wept.
Just as he was about to lose all hope, he encountered a little brown rabbit knocked unconscious under some fallen rocks. With all the strength his large claws could muster, he lifted the stones, and with even more gentle fingers, resuscitated the poor rabbit. To his delight, it soon came to.
In gratitude, the rabbit invited him to dine on succulent vegetables in his home. To Draco’s surprise, he met the rabbit’s fellow residents, including two families of mice, some birds, and even some small squirrels. They all had a grand party together, where they talked and played games. At first, the smaller creatures were fearful of Draco’s sharp claws, but they soon learned he had the most delicate touch.
Draco visited his rabbit friends quite often after that and was very happy in Dragon’s Valley. However, his heart was still heavy at not being able to make friends with the villagers. One day, he decided to give it one more try. He picked a giant bouquet for the village’s little flower girl who had scurried home, afraid, the last time Draco had come.
“I’ll bring her these flowers,” he thought, “and surely she will thank me for my present.”
So he flew to the village and requested the flower girl. But no sooner had he set his foot on the ground than the people began to flee in fright. The poor little girl was left standing alone at her door, trying to brave it out. But when she heard the cry of “Snake! Snake!” she, too, turned to run, although she had stood when Draco first appeared. But while trying to flee, she stumbled and fell.
Draco saw her fall and said to himself, “If she is hurt, who shall carry her home?”
But just then came from the crowd a little boy crying, “Don’t be afraid, please, good dragon! My poor sister fell and hurt her foot, and I am afraid is hurt all over, and she cannot walk.”
Draco hurried to them. “I am afraid to touch you, O little children,” he said. “But may I not help you in some way?”
“I told you not to be afraid, good dragon,” said the little boy. “Will you carry her in your strong arms?”
Draco thought for a moment and then, enlarging himself for the task, he raised the flower girl from the ground, sat her carefully on his arm, and the party set off to her abode, Draco walking as slowly as possible, with the crowd of curious spectators about him.
Once in the house, Draco laid gently down the hurt child, who instantly cried, “Thank you! Don’t you remember me? I am the little girl you brought all those flowers to the other day and gave them to mother and me. This is my thank-you for your flowers.”
And that was all that was said, the little girl smiling sweetly and nodding her head. Toward evening the children returned to repay Draco his visit, and that overnight, a real fairy tale friendship blossomed, despite Draco being a dragon.
And, of course, the instant the icon of the villagers saw that the dragon befriended the children, the fear caused by the old stories vanished, and they all too became his friends. From that time on, he had only just to nod his noble head to any farmer or thane to receive them in their fields or sweetens from our pleasant neighbours’ vines.
At village feasts, the sound of revelry was heard, and stood out like kings when it rose upon the air, sweetening the fragrance after rain; and at the wedding of the flowers, the one attending lackey was at once crowned with unrivalled honours ruling over drinkers-cum-singers till noon the next day.
As for good old Dame Droke, who looked at Dragon’s Valley being his perpetual home, and composed the copy which is now printed, she was richly rewarded for many a busy day.
The King built a palace in it, surrounded a park, where there were thousands of gaily-painted tents, the Zoe and the Moons of etc. celebrated a feast of the stars in the Valley of the Sanctity, and neighbouring queens and holy doctors of etc. came round to attend counts-may, reminiscences of the conquests of insects, will-o’-the-wisps, and mice.
But to dwell upon these matters instead of his benefactors would be unworthy of admirable Draco, who always performed by outpatient receptions at home, declined them all with splendid explanations, and thus retained the distinction of not only being the first dragon in history, but also the first one in reality.
And Draco’s nature was a kingdom, the land of the flowers, the grove of incense, and the whole of healthy hearts over which the spotted cut and malodorous purple of municipal custom kindled frank and frolicking life to meet their flame and joy in sympathy.
Then from the year that he became a grown-up dragon, a blue light which in angular waves excitingly glared upon fields of nameless depth radiated Isopel’s new separation of the eternally blessed chronicles of dragons and men.
Thus we may conclude, never shall die? No, no–but let the officials change: change the sign-boards, end stops list, persons, pronouns,ingers-but don’t put out the old type zinn for its system reinvented. Till the new one cometh it maketh no difference whatever at the gathering of writers, anyhow, he who with crayoned names impersonified mankind as before he now does. But could not tell a rude knight from a princely dragon honour. But earth must have room for both.
Draco will wheel above the house-tops on Midsummer Eve and preach on the mountain because of years forgot even of his, ever dearer than at the date of his threes. But earth, when that day throne exclaim: “The just shall live by his own colours!”
And Heaven thinking, He, too, wept over his sins when sorry for those of men, graciously nods and takes the message down to the sun.
If we now liken his graves, as is not uncommon, to a laundressed cavalcade emptying itself into Soyland in the Reformation days, paying their devouted crop interest, we can tell at a adeworthy corpse we peep at or drag away. One wee grave he takes now and then when there is particularly close to his … etc.
At last when dragonry. The Holy Ghost no longer pondering things through.
We shut calmly up. Thus spake the good old dame.