This prompt is a follow-on to Inheritance.
“Aunt Cecelia would have liked this,” I said softly, mostly to my teacup. Immediately uncomfortable saying that about a woman I’d barely known, I rose from the kitchen table and snagged empty plates with only toast crumbs and a bit of smeared egg.
Eggs I didn’t remember purchasing, eggs fresh and brown and blue, piled in a bowl rather than a carton from the store. I cleared my throat rather than think too hard about it. “You’re sure you had enough? We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”
“Of course,” Josiah answered. We’d spent the night talking in front of the fire and waiting for the thunder to clear, but he looked as energized as I felt despite the lack of sleep. “And – you know – your grand-aunt took her turn at storm cleanup, just like the rest of us. She was sturdy, and she knew her limits. The final few years, she took care of us all. Mostly feeding us, but also telling us when to stop and sit before we fell over.”
“It’s what neighbors do,” I ventured, facing the sink and its window – which showed a distinct lack of neighbors, given the distance and isolation. All the more reason to be neighborly.
“Ah, but she knew, somehow.”
I nodded, still gazing away, then turned to meet his eyes. It was time he stopped holding back, given that we’d spent the night together – even if it had been more up to propriety’s standards than that phrase sounded. “Seems like this house does, too.”
“Ah, well.” There was a bit of silence. “The land’s always been a bit uncanny here, or so the stories go.”
I nodded again. “Well, that’s a start.” Silence dragged, and he finished his coffee before I gave up and let out a sigh. “Fine, boots on and let’s go see how bad the damage is.”
The oak was just as massive as I remembered, for all that this place was new to me. Now shattered, the wood splintered from lightning and just barely twisted – in a way that looked like it’d been pushed aside – sufficient to avoid Josiah’s work truck.
Josiah had the barn’s chainsaw in hand soon enough, but after the first coughing attempt to start it, my eyes grew wide.
“Wait!”
Something had moved, and what I’d thought was a squirrel or a baby bird was all the more rare and unexpected for being neither.
The tiny wyvern huddled in the crook of the tree was doing its best to blend in with the leaves, still green but starting to wilt and turn their undersides up in the morning steam.
I held out a hand, and the wyvern cowered back. Josiah stepped behind me, not yet having spotted why I’d shouted.
A hiss alerted us to a second set of eyes, this pair aggressively golden and protective, slightly larger.
“Tell me, Josiah,” I said evenly. “Why might this uncanny land think it’s time to reveal the baby dragons living in the front yard, hmm?”
***
Thanks to Becky for the wyvern prompt! Mine went to Padre, on the one year anniversary.
