Hunting with my mother, I found a turtle shell at the river a few days later. Small enough to fit in my hand. It was fragile and light. A crack ran through the bottom of it, but it was mostly whole. Surprisingly solid in my hand, even when I squeezed it.
It became my Mountain.
I followed mother through the forest. The birds spoke to us. The insects were falling silent as the days cooled and shortened. Every step my mother took was so soft and careful that it made barely a sound through the blanket of leaves covering the ground. Leaves of so many colors, but entire stretches of red or yellow or brown with only variations in their hues.
Crouched, she crept along a path clearly made by some animal who walked low to the ground. The leaves smashed down or pushed to the side. The path was as wide as my shoulders, making the animal fairly large.
We were quiet. I was breathless, my feet stepping into the exact spots my mother’s feet touched. The dry leaves between my toes and gently crunching beneath my feet. The smell of yesterday’s rain and the sweet reek of decaying leaves and plants.
My mother stopped and my heart skipped. I scanned the ground round us, just as she did. Her sword was out, her grip loose. Her gaze met mine and she nodded while narrowing her eyes. I nodded back. She took in a breath long through her nose, and so did I. Then she exhaled slow through her mouth. Repeating this, my body fell into sync with hers. Her muscles twitched and became loaded. Her knees bending, building potential, and then she launched herself forward.
I didn’t see it. Couldn’t even tell what we were hunting until my mother pulled it out.
She hung in the air, raising her sword above her head, gripping the hilt with both hands and spinning its blade so it pointed towards the ground. Her feet landed first and her body whipped forward, stabbing the sword into the leaves, which exploded in front of her.
A hiss so loud I gasped and fell backwards. My mother let go of her sword, still stuck in the ground, and dove to her right. The leaves rustled while the hissing creature writhed. Mother had pinned it with her sword, but it still lived. I still couldn’t see it, but I could tell it was large. Larger than anything I’d ever seen her catch. The way the pile of leaves thrashed round the sword.
She found a large rock and carried it towards the pinned hisser. The leaves exploded before her and powerful grey jaws snapped at her, the hissing louder. I flinched, far away as I was. I maybe even screamed. But not my mother. There was no fear there. When it lunged at her, she raised the rock high, and when it fell back to the ground, she swung the rock down viciously onto its head.
There was the cracking of bones and then nothing. She raised the stone again and gave me a wink, “Gotta be sure.” Then she swung it down again and left it there. Smiling, she pulled her sword from the ground, wiped it on her trousers, and sheathed it.
Turning to me, she waved me over, “Come look.”
I crept closer, clutching the turtle shell. Still terrified of the hidden monsters. But mother’s face was overflowing with joy and I trusted her more than I feared the hissing beast.
“Take a look.”
Much of its body was covered by leaves, except for its tail and its smashed skull. Its tail was as thick as my waist and its head could swallow my hand and arm up to the elbow.
My mother howled, which startled me. Seeing me jump, she laughed and clapped me on the back, “Ever see anything like that before?”
“What is it?”
“False dragon,” she slapped its tail, which was nearly severed off. “It’s real name is Laib Laghairt in the ancient tongue or purvas draconas. Some just call it a mud dragon.”
I leaned into my mother’s crouched body, “Is it really a dragon?” My voice trembled though I tried not to.
She laughed loud and howled again, “It’s just a big stupid lizard.”
With that, she grabbed it by its tail and began pulling it towards home. It was heavy. Heavier than her, and as she pulled it, its body was revealed. Grey green scales. Long torso, longer tail. Four thick short legs and a wide spade shaped head. Its skull was slightly caved in so it was hard to make out what it was like when whole, but it frightened me, even in Death. Just knowing these mud dragons were out there and could hide in the leaves, unseen.
My mother fell forward, the tail sliding from her hands and launching in the air before us. She caught herself before her face hit the ground, but she lay there, laughing her ass off. She rolled over and howled again, beating her chest with her hands.
“You get the tail, little Lu. I’ll take the rest.”
I nodded, clenching my teeth and fists. I approached the tail. Blood flowed from the severed end. Now that it had been torn from the body, it was grotesque. Instead of the clean cut of a sword, it looked like it had been mauled by a giant. I turned to mother for advice on how to carry such a thing. She was squatted low, her hands on a back and foreleg of the lizard. Keeping her back straight and exhaling loud, she pushed up with her legs, using the momentum to swing the body up with her arms. It arced over her head, and she bent her knees and pulled it down onto her shoulders, before straightening out again. Heavy, her legs shook slightly, and she panted.
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I imitated her, crouching low and wrapping my arms round the tail.
“Keep your back straight.”
I nodded and tried to do as she did, but I mostly stood and then pulled it up into my arms, struggling the whole way. After some fumbling, I got it balanced on my left shoulder, and followed mother.
The walk back was slow under our burdens, but I was warm with pride. My mother, killer of beasts great and small.
When we broke through the trees, she howled and yelled for my fathers.
They came running and I dropped the tail on the ground. Sweating and feeling faint, my back aching. LoPa lifted it up and said, “Lu the dragonkiller!”
Laughing, I said, “No, mother did it!”
“She’s always taking acknowledgement, moonchild. This one’s yours.”
HoPa had taken the rest of the body from mother and carried it back towards home.
“Where’s Med and Muo?” Mother panted.
“Off playing somewhere.”
“Go find them. Dain, you go.”
LoPa sighed, “Let me bring the tail back first.”
Mother stood tall and rolled her shoulders. When she caught her breath, she sang a nonsense song, filling the day with her beautiful voice.
LoPa dropped the tail at our house and turned to walk away.
“Dain,” mother’s voice was high, excited. Her eyes vibrant. She nearly bounced as she spoke, “While you’re out there, get as much wood as yall can carry. Gather moss too. Maybe leaves. Yeah, that’ll smoke nice. Leaves and wood and moss. We’re going to have a feast!”
HoPa pulled out his knives but mother waved him away, “Go busy yourself. I’ll take care of this. I killed it, I’ll cook it, and I’ll eat it!” She touched her palm to her lips then slapped it into the dirt, then straightened up, brought her other palm to her lips, and slapped the mud dragon.
She sang more nonsense as she prepared it for food.
First she dug a pit for it beside the fire circle. She dragged it in, then placed its tail where it belonged. By that time, LoPa and my brothers returned with wet wood, moss, and lots of wet leaves.
Medis and Akmuo examined the mud dragon. Medis touched it and mother jumped at them with a loud hiss. Startled, they backed up, and Medis tripped over Akmuo, bringing them both to the ground. Laughing, mother rushed to them and helped them up, “I’m sorry!” Her words came through laughter. “Have you never heard that even a dead dragon can kill?”
Akmuo’s eyes went wide and his mouth hung open. Medis said, “That’s not a dragon.”
“Oh?” Mother leaned back, crossing her arms. “Ever seen a dragon?”
Medis smiled, “I killed a dragon!”
“Me too!” She threw her head back and laughed from deep in her belly. Then she howled, and my brothers joined in. So did I.
Mother gathered the moss and flinted it to catch fire. She placed the wood and leaves round it, to dry them and prepare them for the long process of cooking the false dragon. She sent my fathers to gather more moss, leaves, and wood. “We’ll need enough to keep burning for about a whole day.”
As she tended the fire, I watched. HoPa and LoPa kept returning with more fuel, laughing about whatever they spoke about. Akmuo and Medis began another game of Audra, but I was too distracted by my mother. Too distracted to even think about what my Tree would be.
I had never seen her cook before. Had never seen her take part in the chores of men. But here she was tireless and a perfectionist. When the wood was dry from the fire, she broke them up and placed them in the fire. When the leaves were dry, she threw some in the fire. Smoke clouds bloomed from the fire and she clapped, smiling. Then she covered the false dragon in the leaves. As the wood burnt down to embers, she used HoPa’s spade to take them from the fire and cover the beast in its pit. When she got them all to cover the false dragon, she put more wood and moss on the fire. She placed some moss on top of the embered dragon as well.
She repeated this into the night, canceling dinner.
It smelled so good. The earthy must of the moss, the smoke of the leaves and wood, and the cooking meat. It made missing dinner that much harder.
But even as night deepened, my mother watched over the fire and the false dragon. She sang to herself then, as if not to distract us or keep us awake with her. She even told us all to go to bed, but we all remained.
HoPa pulled out a jar of shine and poured it into three saucers. He gave one to LoPa and one to mother, taking the third for himself.
LoPa raised his towards the stars with both hands, “To dragonslaying.”
Mother laughed, “To dragonslaying!”
“To dragonslaying,” HoPa finished.
They all drank and LoPa coughed hard, spitting some of the shine into the fire, causing the flames to leap into the air.
Mother fell over laughing and HoPa struggled to keep the shine in his mouth while he laughed, mouth clamped shut.
I fell asleep to the smell of roasting mud dragon. When I woke, my brothers and I were piled together, but mother, LoPa, and HoPa weren’t inside.
I crawled to the door. It was still dark out, but the suns were just beginning to peer over the trees.
The fire still burned, and they were all singing. LoPa, HoPa, and my mother.
I just watched them, tired as I was. I wanted to climb into one of their laps, but I stayed where I was. They were so happy, so in love. HoPa poured more shine and their songs became laughter as all the words slurred and became confused. LoPa’s usual beautiful high tenor cracked and wheezed against the shine and HoPa’s voice grew so deep I could barely understand him. Only mother’s voice remained constant. And her face was still so animated, as if the hours of shine instead of sleep were nothing to her.
HoPa and LoPa were fading or just too deep in the shine to keep their eyes all the way open.
They danced round the fire.
It wasn’t until after we returned from washing the next morning that mother pulled the false dragon from its pit.
“Oh yeah, it’s ready! Kal, pour more shine. Dainy, fetch the boys.”
When it was cool enough to touch, mother took HoPa’s knives and cut the scales from it, and then cut it up and served it to us.
Words can’t describe what it tasted like. Truly. Smoky and aromatic. The texture was stringy but so tender. Like it was butter instead of meat. We ate and ate and ate until I thought I would be sick from it all. The greatest meal I think I’ve ever tasted.
I think that was one of my favorite days as a child. Seeing them so happy together. Feeling so much love.
