"Sunny" Lights a Fire · Dragon Village

"Sunny" Lights a Fire

By the time we reached a narrow shelf halfway down the mountain, dusk had bled into night, the sky bruised purple and gold like a dying ember. The wind sharpened, and I knew we couldn’t go farther. I pitched my small tent against the rock face and began gathering what little wood the cliff allowed, fumbling with stiff fingers. Before I could strike a spark, the hatchling tilted his head, eyes glowing with sudden understanding. He inhaled too deeply, then sneezed—a tiny, sputtering flame popping from his mouth and catching the kindling alight. He startled himself more than me, hopping back before proudly craning his neck as the fire took hold. We shared what rations I had—water, dried meat, crumbs he sniffed suspiciously before nibbling—and as the fire crackled, I laughed softly and said, “You can’t stay nameless.” He looked up at me, firelight dancing across his dark blue and violet scales, shining like a night sky holding onto its last star. “Sunny,” I said, and his tail thumped once, as if the name fit. When sleep finally pulled at me, I crawled into the tent, leaving the flap open. Sunny curled beside the entrance, wings folded tight, chin resting on his claws—guarding the fire, the mountain, and me.

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