I've seen the orb flying at me long before it had reached, of course. The tiny humans have been moving closer and closer to where I lay since they joined me on the shore that day, and their training was going about in its usual loud way. Their joyful screeching was nothing different from how it's been every day, so much so that I didn't even bother getting up and moving away from my spot. Their play had started some distance away from the sea, close to the rocky land where it led to the human village, and it seemed to move wherever the piled snow was deepest and brightest for their liking. 

 

Now, the bundle of squirming hatchlings was so near that I could reach them in only five steps if I mustered the will to get up. I wondered where they found the courage to choose a dragon such as myself as a target for their hunting training. Surely, I thought drowsily, there must be easier opponents around their lairs, more suitable for their beginner skills. 

 

I hadn't seen any improvement on said skills since the first day either. 

 

That first day had been full of surprises and disappointments—weren't all my days the same in this dreadful year's winter?—and in the next few days after the fish disaster, I continued my visits to my usual spot on the shore. For reasons unknown to me, the young one and the hatchlings were usually there as well—I assumed it was the location they'd chosen to take their hunting lessons. There was even another human hiding between the rocks in the far end of the shore—an older one with a familiar scent—probably observing their training and waiting to intervene if their young teacher were to make a mistake.

 

While the young one kept giving me presents—still!—the others decided to spend their time honing their hiding skills somewhere behind, and ending the day with some hunting games between each other. I was fine with them playing on the shore as long as they didn't disrupt my already light naps. 

 

After several days, these odd meetings turned into a usual occasion in which I attempted to hunt the prey of the sea on some of them—with very disappointing results, not I that would admit defeat against such puny creatures so soon—or lay down on snow to catch a snooze after a satisfactory meal in the forest.  

 

It wasn't too long before I started to gather more clues about humans and their peculiar lives. Especially about the younglings.

 

The first thing I noticed was that they enjoyed playing in the snow as much as the young members of my Hive did. The only difference was, when they thrashed about in the cool and white snow, it didn't melt like it usually would. It could be that their body temperature was not high enough for it, or the layers of fabric on their bodies—clothes, I remembered, they were clothes—kept the heat in and away from the snow. 

 

Which is quite brilliant when you think how fast they would die in this weather with their almost furless and downright scaleless bodies. Turns out, now and then, humans have sensible ideas. 

 

Another thing I noticed was the difference between humans, particularly between the male and female ones. I had known they had the distinction just like we did, but I hadn't noticed it before—or even bothered to make one—but, after spending some time with the young ones, some vague nuances were brought to my attention, such as how they looked, sounded or acted, along with their names. 

 

Yes, apparently humans also had special names to call each other with, just like dragons.

 

Although it was hard to discern the individual names of the younglings mixed with their never-ending babbling, the smallest of the hatchlings cleared this matter for me. 

 

The smallest was a she—as far as I could understand—and even though she talked and jumped and moved all the time, her words weren't all that varied from each other. Her screams were usually a call to older younglings, mostly out of excitement and joy. As she played around on the shore, somewhere not too far for me to ignore the shrieks, I happened to learn their names as well. 

 

The one that had been in my cave and in the forest some time ago, who gifted me that wonderfully delicious meat was called 'Tommy'—which I thought was a he, but I wasn't sure what to think with the squeaky sounds he sometimes made—and his name was the favorite name for the youngest to call, while other younglings called her ‘Edith’.

 

The color of their fur differed and made it easier to tell them apart. The youngest had yellow fur on her head. The black furred female that looked older, and didn't join in the play as much as the others, was called ‘Flyta’. The one with the brown fur on his head who was almost as loud as Edith and especially avoided coming near where I lay was called ‘Henry’, and the dark furred one who was good at ambushing silently from behind when he attacked, even though he looked younger than most of the others, was called ‘Ed’. 

 

All the while, Tommy was on top of a round rock where he swiped the snow off of, sitting awkwardly close to my tail. Which meant I had to keep an eye on my limb which had a lively attitude and not let it wander on its own. This also meant I couldn't let myself doze off, and had to suffice with resting my head on my front claws, my tail carefully tucked under my throat. 

 

If I move over there… It would be a lot more comfortable. Hmm, maybe… I'll do it in a moment. 

 

“Thank you, by the way.” I peeked my eyes open a bit with the new sound. “For keeping your end of the deal… by not killing us, I mean. Or eating any of us. Well, they are the same thing, actually.”

 

I looked at Tommy, who was speaking from his place on the rock. I had already eaten what he had brought me today—some sort of small valley squirrel—so I didn't know what else there was to settle. Was another surprise on its way? 

 

"Umm, yeah, I'm glad this is working. I - I know what I bring is not nearly enough for you. Actually, Thorn laughed out loud when he heard about our negotiation—that was the first time I've ever seen that happen, I must add—and he asked how I thought that I would manage to hunt every day for something your size…" 

 

Tommy shook his foot back and forth where it was dangling from the edge of the rock. It sounded like he was speaking to me in his own language, because there wasn't anyone else near enough for him to speak to. The little humans looked fully engaged in their play, and none of them paid attention to where Tommy and I were.

 

I didn't believe he thought that I could understand him. First, there was the obvious difference in the sounds we made—humans could never reach the volumes of my kind, and I couldn't have moved my tongue fast enough to match their talking speed, let alone their high pitch, even if I tried. Second, just like how I didn't understand what they were saying, it was clear—after weeks of kindly telling those meddling humans to leave my lair and not receiving a positive answer—that they didn't understand my words either. 

 

Or they are just really stubborn. 

 

Annoyed, I let out a huff of breath as a white pillar of smoke rose towards the sky.

 

“Yeah, it was a little embarrassing. But he agreed to help me in the end. He showed me how to track the trails and set traps, where to find the winter dens… All that hunting stuff. I’m not that good yet, of course, I try to find more time to learn harder but, you know, my mom needs help around the house with the animals and the herbs. Ever since dad has been gone… umm - yeah, so I can only train in between chores... "

 

My point was, Tommy knew that I didn't understand anything coming out of his mouth. Surely, he must know. 

 

He does know, right? 

 

I would feel bad if he was waiting for a response after his long rambling. All the things he’d said in the past weeks, too… I have dismissed them as nonsense and hadn’t thought about them twice, but… Should I have given a response? Was it necessary? Have I been unknowingly rude all this time?

 

Not that I could think of anything to do about it.

 

"... And I don't know what to do when someone learns that the kids are following me whenever I come to feed you. I tried to make them leave, but somehow they always find out when I’m on my way here… I’m suspecting Edith tips them off somehow. Ah, Edith is my little sister, see? Right there, the one who’s trying to roll that giant snowball up the hill. No, Edith, stop that - oh, she fell...” 

 

I looked at where his hand was pointing at and saw the smallest human tumbling down from a slope. It was nothing to worry about, because she landed where a bed of soft snow was waiting for her at the end of the slope, making the fall harmless. Still, I kept an eye on her until she got up and continued to run around with glee. The human who was observing their lesson was too far to come quickly in a time of need. Observing a little closer would have been more useful. 

 

"So, this year is quite the year, huh? It's a lot colder than last winter, the crops didn't turn out too well, and the snow is so heavy that it closed off all the trade roads… But on the other hand, we have a dragon in our village! I mean, it was a bit hectic at first, but finally, something interesting is happening around here!"

 

As he rambled, a target practice had started among the hatchlings, in which they made small orbs of snow and threw them at each other. As I have seen older humans use throwing sticks as weapons plenty of times before, starting with something softer around the edges seemed like an appropriate training method for the little ones. They weren't as good as the older humans yet—most orbs missed their target by a long shot—but they looked like they were having fun as they learned, and that was the best method to teach where younglings were concerned, regardless of the species. 

 

Looks like Tommy is an adequate teacher for the little humans. 

 

As he kept his place on the rock and I kept an eye on my tail, the target practice got more intense. The brown one called Henry was chasing down dark furred Ed with a big snow orb the size of his head, making little Edith scream in joy and following him with her own snow orb, although a much smaller one. Flyta, the calm youngling, united with Ed to fight Henry and Edith, and kept her distance for an advantageous moment. This whole game of theirs was very vibrant, and the tension climbed high, so much that even Tommy had stopped his rambling and was also watching them in a cheerful manner. I started to ponder and make guesses on who would win at the end. 

 

And then Henry threw his snow orb. It narrowly missed Ed and moved farther behind him. To exactly where I was with my head down and resting peacefully. 

 

I saw it coming at me as it flew in an arch, but I still wasn't prepared for a surprise attack from the hatchlings. It was a moment's decision to not evade the attack—I've lived through worse attacks than a measly snow orb, this wouldn't even matter—and to close my eyes.

 

Splat. 

The orb fell into pieces on the hard scales of my face. All cheer and laughter died down. Silence took its place as everyone froze. 

 

You see, I have always believed that the role of an elder was to teach the young ones the ways of the world and encourage them to take the next step. While I was nowhere near the age of an elder—I was a youngling myself no more than a hundred years ago—I still felt responsible for these little creatures. 

 

So, I did what any responsible adult would do in a situation like this. I raised my head up slightly after the snow orb hit me, and froze like I had taken fatal damage, rolling my eyes backwards to strengthen the illusion. Then slowly—and rather dramatically—dropped my head sideways onto the ground, and made sure my tail twitched a few times like it was trying to gather its last strength to fight the upcoming death. Even my wings did their part and sprawled on the snowy ground a little. Stopping my breathing to not give myself away was the last touch to my ruse. 

 

I don't like to brag, but I think I did an excellent job at pretending as if the youngling Henry's attack had hit its target perfectly, even though it was thrown at someone else. Playing dead after an attack would be a complimentary move if it was for the sake of a young dragon's hunting training, so I did what I would normally do. To support their growth and all... 

 

Only, I didn't get the response I was expecting. 

 

"NOOO! Birdie!" 

 

Suddenly, a shrieking sound hurt my head, and I realized the youngest one was screaming. With the others’ yelling, it was chaos all over. I heard Tommy jump down and yell something, but I couldn't see what was happening behind my closed eyes. 

 

"Get back, I'll check him!" 

 

"You killed him! You killed him!" 

 

"I - I didn't mean to! I swear, it was an accident!" 

 

"Come on, guys, I think he's just lying down." 

 

"Why did you have to throw such a giant snowball?" 

 

"Tommy, is Birdie really dead? Please, save him, Tommy!" 

I sensed Tommy approach my body with careful steps, muttering something as he walked. 

 

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be dead…"

 

Now, I wasn't an expert on the meaning of the noises humans made, but these didn't sound like they were screams of joy. I've heard those for days now, and these were nothing close to those sounds. These were more similar to the sounds small animals made as I chased them, and I didn't like what that would mean for the hatchlings. This was becoming a little uncomfortable. 

 

Is there a danger for the little ones? Did I miss something? 

 

"Umm, hey, are you okay?... Dragon?"

 

Tommy stood close to my head, so close that I could feel his fast breathing near me, and gave a testing touch. Small and hesitant, he poked my face, then quickly retreated. 

 

Maybe he was checking if I was really dead, or maybe he was doing something else, I couldn't be sure. But, it was the first time any human came so close to me with an intention other than hostility and actually poked me in the face, so it was purely instinctual the way my eyes snapped open. 

 

"Waaah!" a yell came, and I found Tommy sitting on his back with arms behind supporting his body, almost buried in the snow. 

 

Oh, I ruined the training, didn't I? 

"Yes, you fixed him, you fixed him, Tommy!" 

My attention slipped to the other young ones as they jumped up and down and ran towards us—did some of their faces look wetter than usual?—and toppled Tommy to the ground just as he was managing to stand up. One of the hatchlings, Flyta, was a little slower than the others, but contributed to the commotion by calling out from behind. 

 

"See? I told you he was alright. There's no way someone like Henry could kill a dragon, let alone with a snowball. Even though he wishes he could."

 

"Well, maybe snowballs are his weakness. You don't know that, Flyta. I could have killed him."

 

"You would be the hero of the village if that was the case." 

And just like that, I had a bundle of little humans talking frantically between themselves just a breath away from me.

"Tommy, you're the best!" 

 

"I didn't really do anything… He just woke up when I touched him."

 

"Maybe he was pretending to sleep? Like a pretend game?" 

 

"Ed, I don't think dragons play games."

 

"Oh, did your father tell you that? Like he told you not to look him in the eye, or you'll burn to ashes? What would he say if he knew you were out here playing snowball with the dragon?" 

 

"I'm not, Flyta! I’ve been playing with you guys, the dragon was just there."

 

"Yeah, I wonder if your father will think the same."

 

"No, Flyta, please! He will kill me!" 

 

"Flyta, stop teasing him."

I couldn't keep my eyes away from this lively bundle of younglings. They were so close! 

 

And they didn't try to hit me or scream at me once, although they looked excited after my little play—even if it failed in the end. Their age transformed the simplest things into fun and wonder, just like how it was with the hatchlings back in the Hive. Nothing was too boring or mundane for the little ones.

 

There were so many resemblances between them and the human younglings I didn't expect to find, especially after witnessing all the bizarre habits of humans… It made me feel a little homesick but warm in the stomach at the same time. It wasn’t such a bad feeling. 

 

Every other day, they continued to whip up some other way to make it exciting for themselves, and surprising for me—and not with the bad kind. The observing elder came with them to the coast, but stayed up in the rocky hills at all times. I took this as a good sign, Tommy was good at teaching the hatchlings important life skills, as there was no reason for the older human to interfere.

Also, all the younglings were most secure from other predators when I was present, so no worrying was necessary on that front as well.

 

One day, they made little snow sculptures of themselves, white round humans with twigs for arms and rocks for eyes. To be honest, I didn’t understand the purpose of that training. In the end, some of them looked similar to a human-ish creature and some didn’t, but the little ones looked like they were enjoying themselves. 

 

What had got my attention was a particular sculpture that didn’t look like a human at all. No, it wasn’t even on two legs, it was something sprawled on the snow, bumpy and big, and I couldn’t wrap my head around what it could be for the better time of the day… until little Edith added frozen spikes of snow aligned on top and made flapping moves with her arms around it.

 

So, that was supposed to be me. That bumpy pile of snow with a laughably small tail. 

 

I couldn't decide if I should be offended or flattered by this… gesture. It looked ugly and weak, also much smaller than me, but it had taken a long time for them to build it. Tommy, Ed, Henry and Flyta—even little Edith—had worked on it when there were so many other sculptures they could make. This was more special than the others. 

 

My very own snow sculpture. 

 

That disfigured and white version of me pushed me to my feet as if it deserved recognition, in any case it was worth getting up and seeing closely. When I did so, the younglings scrambled away with excited shrieks, but I could see they hadn’t gone too far. They watched as I smelled the sculpture, walked around it to see from all the angles, and poked its head with a tentative touch of my tail. 

 

Overall, it looked passable as a dragon if you looked from far away and closed one eye, so I showed my appreciation for their effort in the way I opened my wings wide and put my claws on it in a claiming way, then let out a pleased roar for good measure.

 

Good work, human younglings. You did - oh, no…

 

I hadn’t wanted to crumble their hard work into the ground—how fragile were these sculptures?—but I hoped they understood what I was trying to do. 

 

And I think that they did understand, because they were even more excited the second time they made a snow dragon, this time bigger and stronger, something that could withstand my grip. The victory on their faces when it didn't break when I put my hand on it was proof of that.