As Oakmoss rose awake, he raised up his snout and sniffed for the combined smells of river mud and sea salt, to which he had been so long accustomed. Instead, his nostrils were greeted with the smells of burning animal flesh, and he lay his head back down, wincing a little bit. A human camp, cooking a pig.
Humans, like dragons, tended to have an ongoing love-affair with meat. In fact, nearly all western dragons lived exclusively on meat, especially preferring the haggis-like meal of a creature’s innards first, everything else last if at all. Oakmoss was an exception: he preferred things that lived in the sea, except for sea-mammals. He was not particularly partial to any particular fish, except that he enjoyed shark when sharks were not too scarce. In fact, his chief reason for preferring his diet was that other sorts of animal tended to make it very plain that they resented being killed, particularly for the sake of being turned into a meal. Oakmoss’ last experience of hunting anything except for tuna had left him wracked with nightmares, where the unfortunate animal stood, with a sense of resignation, and looked back into his eyes. It had been terrible. It had been a deer. The animal had just given in. Hope had drained into the ground through its hooves. Despair had filled its being. It was not the first time that Oakmoss had killed, though. His previous experiences had been filled with adrenaline. His past prey had died with fight and the light of hope in their eyes. They had died believing that, if they could just run faster or fight harder, then they could win. In those cases, hunting had been the satisfying experience of being best in the chase. In that last instance, though, he had watched an animal’s heart break and its spirit die. Oakmoss had attempted to abort the kill, but already being in mid-strike, his attempt to spare the animal had been for naught. Oakmoss had realized, after that, just how much he liked the taste of fish, which was plentiful and easy to obtain. Moreover, the eyes of a fish were less cruel.
As Oakmoss attempted to doze back off to sleep, he attempted to lean against the trunk of his sleeping oak, which was a very ancient and superb oak tree that the dragon considered to be a most excellent tree to sleep against, for it was curved to the precise shape of his body as if to embrace him. It was not there, though, he realized, and he found this to be most incredibly alarming. Wherever it was that he was sleeping, while not being a hardship to his body, was dreadfully unfamiliar and very strange.
Two sensory insults he could have ignored in the name of continuing to sleep, but the muffled sounds of human voices right below him was more than Oakmoss could ignore. As he was raised, with savage rudeness, to alertness, his memories from the day before began to come back. Humans. He was among...humans. Ew.
Oakmoss had never been overly fond of humans. The only humans that he could really tolerate were witches. Witches were remarkably civilized, their only fault being that they tended to become addicted to henbane. Henbane produced what was, for most people, an almost calculatedly unpleasant experience. How someone could even desire the horrible stuff was difficult for any rational creature to imagine, and it smelled awful. If one could put aside this idiosyncrasy, though, one could actually talk about almost anything with a witch, and they always collected the most exceptional quartz. Dragons love quartz.
As Oakmoss resignedly permitted the light of day to stab painfully into his eyes, they opened upon a cycloid arch on top of a straight-sided frame of light, and on its broad, stone sill there rested a single lonely terra-cotta pot in which a cheerful, green basil plant grew, its pleasant perfume offering a welcome distraction from the human culinary activity that was going on below.
The giant-size feather-tick in which the dragon lay had over it sheets of soft, pale yellow, and he was not its sole occupant. A young woman lay next to him, her body having shed all of its clothing during the night. As Oakmoss examined Celestia’s body, he realized that, under her bright blond hair, she had a fine-boned Azeri look about her, her body being naturally olive in color and her face naturally set in an expression of "very proper," making her look both regal and mysterious. Because the morning was just a little warm, there was a gloss of sweat on her body, and she was lying with most of her body away from Oakmoss but with her feet tangled among his hind-paws. Curious about how she tasted, Oakmoss bent his head to lick up some of that strange liquid that humans and horses produced. Hmm. Salty, he thought. It reminded him of the sea, and he spent awhile dragging his tongue over the sleeping girl’s form.
“I’ll feed you later, Moses,” Celestia mumbled sleepily without opening her eyes, pushing Oakmoss’ muzzle away.
"Who?" Oakmoss asked mildly.
At the sound of his voice, Celestia's eyes snapped open, and she reached out and slapped Oakmoss across the muzzle, attempting to lurch away but finding her feet still tangled in his hind-paws. "What are you thinking?" she shouted.
The dragon put his forepaw over his throbbing snout, and he shot her a hurt look. "What do you think I was doing?" he replied. "You had some wetness, uh, that stuff you call sweat on you, and I was licking you dry."
"That's NOT APPROPRIATE!" she scolded him as they finally untangled their feet from each other. "Is that how you would treat a hen, you stupid drake?" She immediately got up and started putting on some clothes.
"I would not know," Oakmoss replied. "The only females I have known since I was a hatchling, actually, have been human witches. Besides that, I have known plenty of drakes."
Celestia leaned over to him with a scowl, and she said, "And would any of those witches appreciate you licking them without you asking for their permission first?"
"Witches are not very good for judging human behavior by," Oakmoss replied reasonably. "They are very tolerant of dragons, and they don't like most other humans. They tend to prefer the company of fairies, especially fairy cats."
"Well, would one of their fairy cats like you licking them without authorization?" Celestia asked.
"They don't ask me for permission to use me as furniture," Oakmoss replied, "and they don't seem to mind, no."
Celestia growled. "We are civilized, thinking creatures," she enunciated, "and we should communicate using words!"
"Then why did you cuff me?" the dragon asked, still rubbing at his snout.
"I swear," Celestia sighed. With a sense of resignation, she decided that she would toss off her hastily adorned attire, stripping naked again and getting back onto the sheets. "You are the most argumentative dragon that I have ever known. It's too warm this morning to be wanting to put on any garments when we don't have to, though, and I will not behave like a blushing maid around...an animal. I am just not going to allow myself to be embarrassed when you have on no more clothing than I do. I truly don't even care if you think dirty thoughts about me for it."
"Wrong parts," Oakmoss muttered.
"Ugh!" Celestia shouted. "And what is it with you males that are that way, anyhow? What is really the point of what you do, and why can't you just be friends?"
"Well, it starts out that way," Oakmoss explained, "but eventually, with a like-inclined drake, talking about philosophy turns into talking about our inner thoughts and feelings. That leads to us sharing dark thoughts we have, sometimes, or anxiety about life and death. That leads to one of us comforting and reassuring the other, and that leads to us getting intimate. That's how it works for me, anyhow. I have no idea how other like-inclined drakes handle it."
"And you don't find females to be beautiful at all?" she asked.
"Of course we do!" Oakmoss protested. "Likewise, I am sure that you can look at a woman and see that she is pretty, too. However, how would being intimate with one make you feel?" he asked.
Celestia looked appalled. "It would feel horribly wrong!" she answered quickly. "It would feel as if I were doing something very wrong and vulgar. It would feel worse than me knowing that I was a liar. A fraud. A horrible person. I would just feel dirty!" She looked very upset by the thought.
"I know, right?" Oakmoss answered archly.
"Okay, so point taken," Celestia said as she curled up on the bed in a more conversational position. "So if you can tell that a girl is pretty, would you say that I am pretty, Oakmoss?"
Oakmoss chuckled softly. "You are a little young, and I would describe you, more likely, as 'cute.' However, when I say that you are cute, I mean that you are blossoming quickly into a veritable paragon of feminine beauty. I was friends with a witch, once, that was like an older version of you. Anytime that I would visit her in her hut, she would ask for my help at identifying the properties of her wonderful stones, and she would always bring in lots of quartz she would gather, knowing that I loved it."
"Stones are how draconic magic works, isn't it?" Celestia asked. "You scry long distances through them, and it has something to do with your flight muscles staying strong."
"They are responsible for our ability to fly at all," Oakmoss said confidently. "I had many of them because I befriended human witches so easily, and I had the ability to part the sea in front of my dives and therefore pluck out the most succulent of fishes."
Celestia made a skeptical expression, frowning a little as her brow knitted intelligently. "Now, wait just a second. If it's dragon magic that works via stones, then what does a witch need with stones?"
Oakmoss chuckled softly. "They don't use the same stones as dragons! That's why witches and dragons tend to be such good friends, sometimes. We only really use quartz and other clear focusing crystals. Diamonds are exceptional for some uses but so much of a hassle to find for what they are worth, forget it. I'd sooner sell one for some selenite. The witches I knew, on the other hand, were especially partial to labradorite. They loved the stuff!"
"Labradorite?" celestia asked. "I have never heard of the stuff."
Oakmoss winked. "Someone that voluntarily wears it is almost always a well-meaning person," he said. "One can still do evil while wearing it, but the stone punishes its wearer for doing so. It also amplifies good magic, especially healing of the heart. I gave a large one to my friend, and she said it cured her henbane addiction."
At this, Celestia made a disgusted expression. "Eww!" she cried. "How could someone EVER get addicted to henbane? It's wretched!"
"We are talking about hedgewitches," Oakmoss pointed out. "They are weird."
"True," Celestia admitted.
Celestia and Oakmoss talked for a while longer about the nature of magic and how draconic and human magic tended to differ, and they again found themselves getting along extremely nicely. By the end of it, Celestia had taken out a set of clay tablets for putting down notes, and she was scratching furiously over them as she attempted to put together a set of lists. Eventually, though, it was time to eat.
"Dragon, come downstairs and eat, dragon," she said, giving it as a formal command as she got up again to get dressed, this time in something that was more suitable for wearing during the daytime.
"You have fish, I hope," Oakmoss said pessimistically.
Celestia rolled her eyes. "It's called 'humane slaughter,' she said exasperatedly. "It's less traumatic for the animal than most veterinary exams. We even comfort them in the process, you know. It's quite gentle."
Oakmoss shuddered and shook his head. "Some tilapia, at least?"
"Let's go to the fish market, then," Celestia said with a sense of resignation. "I think they have some mackerel on sale."
"Yummy!" Oakmoss said brightly as he quickly got up. Like any dragon, Oakmoss really did love anything to do with food.