Frost Dragon

Once again, Antu had awoken at the window to find intricate pictures drawn into the frost on the glass. On the window, a dragon spewing curling, dancing fire from its open mouth was depicted, wild and beautiful.

Antu settled back under her blanket and drifted off to sleep.

A shrill shriek fractured Antu’s dreams, and she ran outside. Her mother stood just outside the door of the hut, staring up. Antu gasped. There stood a dragon. Scales the color of snow, it was about twenty feet tall and the exact replica of the dragon she had drawn into the frost on the window. The dragon lowered its head and studied them with huge, lonely green eyes.

By then, the rest of the village had come out of their huts. Several of the men began hurling spears at the dragon. A wild instinct arose in Antu, and she ran at the men and wrenched the spears out of their grip. With inhuman strength, she snapped them in two and tossed them away from the dragon.

“Stop, stop!” Antu shouted.

The men stared. The dragon seized the opportunity and flew off into the trees.

Then suddenly, the gazes of the village turned. The chief elder was stumping toward Antu. He waved his hands at them. “Go, leave us along.” He beckoned to Antu. She walked forward, shy. He leaned down and said in a low voice, “That was your frost creature, am I right?”

Antu looked at him, confused.

“Come,” he said and retreated to his hut. He sat down on his mat and cleared his throat.

“A frost creature is a magical beast, made to protect his creator. Both animal and human have a special bond with each other. The creator draws the creature they are destined to bond with in frost while they sleep. In the morning, the beast they have created comes to them. Both protect each other with their lives. If one dies, the other will do the same. He paused to look sternly at Antu.

“Never let harm come to that dragon,” he whispered.