A Dragon's Treasure

A Dragon’s Treasure

Part One: The Not-So-Wise Plan

Heavy boots rose and fell as the man ran; sword raised; across the grassy, colorful clearing.
Rainbows of flower petals flew from under the thundering steps and he let out a loud, guttural
yell as he started up the slight incline that suggested he was closing in on the bottom of the
mountain- a fact hidden well by the gradual build up of trees where the flowers tapered off.

The knight never made it past the flowers. A roar drowned out the man’s brave, and then not-so-brave, screams; and then a blast of fire came twisting down from the mountainside like a fiery,
hot wave. There was an almost silent chorus of disgusted groans as the half-charred remains
and melted metal dropped heavily over a patch of singed tulips.

It was not his choice to do this, the little Trillium reminded himself as he trudged his way up the
mountain. It was too cold, even more so as he climbed higher, and he could feel the soft leaves that
sprouted from the top of his head as they slowly browned and withered with each passing hour. The
reddish-purple petals of his flower had long since fallen and only a tiny red berry was left poking up
from the middle of those dying leaves. He might have kept them if he’d went underground to
hibernate like all the other non-winter sprites, but they had shoved him out into the frosty air to do
this task while The Dragon was away and there was no danger of the rest of the sprites being
trampled should it return too soon and rage against the land.

It was a fairly simple plan, as sprites were small, simple people, and Trillium had at first went along
willingly. Go up the mountain to The Dragon’s cave, take the prettiest piece of treasure he could
find, and hide it- then go home. The Dragon would find the treasure gone, go looking for it, and
never return. Then when the new flowers sprouted and filled the valley under the mountain, no more
knights would ride their horses over them and The Dragon would no longer be there to shoot flames
over their precious petals.

It wasn’t until he was past the decaying pumpkins at the base of the mountain, his feet finally feeling
the chill of the ground and bite of fallen wild thorns, that Trillium began to realize just how hard and
dangerous this could be. There were scary creatures lurking in the almost-bare trees; like hungry
deer and rabbits that might nibble his little green toes should he stop to rest at night. Or a mean frost
sprite might blow overhead and pull his wilting bits off. These were frightening things to think of!

Wielding a thick stick that a kind passing tree dropped for him, Trillium walked and climbed a
whole day and night- but it was no use. All that traveling and he was still only halfway up the root of
the mountain, nowhere near even the middle yet. Plopping his bare green little rear on the cold leafy
ground, he sniffled back the beginnings of what promised to be a good long cry. Why did the Elder
Flowers have to give such a big task to such a small creature like him?

As the sky darkened and the trees began criss-crossing their twisting black shadows, Trillium was
curled up on his side with his thin legs drawn up against his chest, a ring of pushed-back leaves and
dirt circling his frail body as it shuddered at the dropping temperature. He was sure now that he
would never be able to do his task, or even get home again. He wouldn’t be the first of his flowery
friends to get caught out in the winter and turned to a pile of seed to await the warm seasons. There
would surely be a new batch of trillium popping up in place he lay come spring.

Above his wet whimpering, Trillium didn’t notice the shuffling sound moving towards him until
something furry landed on his shoulder. Trillium yelped, rolling away to the side and landing on his
heels to stare wide-eyed at the just-as-startled creature that had froze with its paw still outstretched.

It was... a rather strange thing. Brown and small to any average sized mammal, but still considerably
large to Trillium, and shaped like a fluffy groundhog as far as he could tell. Its beady black eyes
squinted, as if it couldn’t quite make out what it was seeing.

“... Are you a lizard?” It asked, breaking into the silent inspection.

Trillium blinked, then frowned, raising his chin. “No! Of course not!... Do I look like one?”

The fluffy groundhog, as Trillium had decided to call it, scratched at its cheek with a dull claw.
“No... I suppose not, ‘less somethin’ pulled your tail off. You’re very green though, did you know?”

As it turned out, the fluffy groundhog was a very friendly creature, though a little nosey, and after
explaining his horrible problem to his new friend, Trillium was offered a cozy, warm ride on a furry
back. It was a slow-going ride, what with the animal’s naturally lazy swagger, and the groundhog
insisted that Trillium’s task was silly and doomed to fail, but Trillium couldn’t complain after he’d
been so ready to give up. H just buried his toes and fingers and nose into his warm companion’s
back and tried to imagine what the prettiest treasure in a Dragon’s cave could possibly be.

Two days later, they were halfway up the dauntingly high mountain and even the groundhog was
feeling the cold through it’s thick fur. Clinging to his friend’s body no longer kept Trillium’s leaves
from curling.

“‘Ey, you’re not looking so good.” Groundhog said, snuffling at Trillium’s head as they huddled
together under one of the many rocks that littered the steep area they had been struggling to climb
since morning. The stone mounds did nothing to block the worst of the wind that carried tiny flecks
of snow down into the valley they could no longer see. Having already passed through the forest,
they were looking down over the treetops, glimpsing the occasional pine that shone green and tall
among all the gnarled brown.

“It’s t-too c-c-c-cold-d...” Trillium chattered.

They only took ten minutes of rest there, just long enough for the numbness to settle into their limbs,
then moved on. The ground was too steep and slippery for Trillium to ride his friend’s back, so he
pressed forward with a thin arm around the shivering groundhog’s hunched shoulders and wiped the
wet flecks of snow off with his hands whenever they landed too thick on the fur.

That third night, Trillium decided to send his furry friend back. They could barely walk and
Trillium knew the groundhog wasn’t made for winter by the way it shuddered at each breeze and
stumbled along just as miserably as he did.

“Really, I’ll be fine the rest of the way- go home and I’ll see you on the way back down.”

“No you won’t.” Was the stubborn refusal, and the groundhog butted its head against Trillium’s
rump, urging him forward and cutting off any further argument. The two glared and squinted and
shoved a little harder than necessary, only stopping twice in the dark so Groundhog could sniff and
tug at a piece of tough shrubbery here or there, but Trillium gave up on the fight after exhaustion
brought them down in the early morning. They curled up on the sloped ground together, kept from
rolling by an odd clump of dirt, and slept.