Chasm

It happened so fast I had no chance of keeping my grip. The tunnel floor started sloping away. My claws slipped on the smooth limestone and suddenly I was sliding. At first I was scared, then exhilarated. The air’s stale in here, but the rush of it on my face was overwhelming.

Then the floor dropped away.

Instinctively I opened my wings. They caught the air, and I suddenly was flying over a black chasm. I’m soaring there still, glad of the press of the air under my wings, glad I lived through later times, when all dragons were natural.

Once all dragons were charmed. Their wings were small and their throats were filled with fire. Then the world turned, and the charm went away. The few dragons left grew wings that were long and supple, and learned to fly without charm. To live without charm. I was one of those dragons. Later, everything changed …

So my wings are now the wings of a natural – broad and strong. They’re rooted deep in my breastbone. Blades along their leading edges move to modulate the airflow. I’m a creature built for flight. And so, in the darkness I fly.

Ahead is the light, still beckoning. Below is a chasm. The touch of the air rising up from the chasm tells me it’s deep, unfathomably so. And there’s a scent. Something familiar. Something down there.

So my choice is a simple one: which way to go?