Wood and Ice (Old vs New)

A quick note about what you're about to read: This item features the same story told twice. The first one was written for a creative writing class in college, and was written with only the basic premise of the first in mind. The second is the original, written for an English class in high school.


New Version, 2013

There was no way to run at full speed in a market overflowing with fat merchants, ragged beggars, almost-nobles trailed by too many servants, and dusty farmers with carts and donkeys in tow. Instead, Julian had to constantly dip and dodge around every short-sighted, self-obsessed bastard that ended up in his way. He jumped aside from a man carrying large pots and launched forward again; he left a lavishly dressed obese woman spinning in confusion as he squeezed by and accidentally caught her elbow. A hunched, bearded beggar turned just in time to duck and fall as Julian leaped over – and with it, revealed that it was his collected earnings that weighed the "poor" man down.

It was the metallic crash and the shouting that let the young man know he had a moment to glance back; shouting that was not directed at him, but at the beggar, as donors realized they'd been had and everyone else scrambled to retrieve some of the fallen coins. A small, lopsided smirk curled Julian's mouth upon seeing the wall of bodies blocking his pursuers before he resumed his escape.

He slowed his pace gradually, weaving through crowded streets to be sure he wasn't followed. Spotting a textiles merchant, he stopped off to trade in his old cloak and a few coins for a new one – cleaner, stronger, and, most importantly, different in appearance. It was a rather lovely shade of green, at that. He also purchased a bag to replace the one he'd stolen, before someone recognized it.

Only then did he finally stop for the one thing he had come into town for: food. He bought it with the money he'd been chased for, same as the new cloak and bag, and figured there was enough left to properly prepare for his trek to the next town. It was a familiar process: survive in the wilds for a time, move into a new town, live off stolen goods until being recognized was too great a risk, and move on to repeat the whole routine. Charming people to kindness didn't work as well as when he'd been a child, and no one had ever taught him any other way to live.

Too late for lunch and too early for dinner meant that the atmosphere of the inn's tavern was reasonably calm; certainly quieter than the market had been. He paid for stew and a room for the night, and finally Julian could sit down. While he could have hidden away in his room, life was easier when he listened in on news and gossip. And, sometimes, between the luck of his near-angelic appearance and his seeming ability to afford large tips, he could still charm a wench into giving him a little extra help. That was the only reason why, as one brought his stew to him, he put on a pleasant smile and sighed as he leisurely ran a hand through his short, almost-white hair, down all the way across the small ponytail in the back.

"Thanks, lovely," he said softly, just loud enough for her to hear. He then slid a few coins across the table. "I saw a pretty comb while I was out, one of ‘em you jus' wear around. T'was a li'l copper butterfly, over on Mebrune Way, by the carpet merchant, I think. I also think it'd be a perfect piece for your dark, curly hair... so should be enough here t' cover the cost, should you fancy it."

The wench smiled and reddened. Flirtation was part of the job, a part meant to be encouraged, even – but it was rare for a man to do anything other than whistle and grope. Grinning wide as she took the coins – and showing that her teeth were actually mostly intact, if still a color expected of her low status – she giggled sweetly, "I'll haf'ta go an' look later. Any-fing else I c'n get'cha now, love?"

Julian shook his head. "I just arrived t'day, an' it's been a long journey. I'll be needin' solid sleep, an' soon. Maybe, though... if you were first to wake me in the morn', and show me ‘round the city? I barely foun' my way here, with all ‘at hustle and bustle out there!"

The woman shook her head, her expression honestly sorry. "'Fraid I ain't got time t' show ya' ‘round much, love. I'll see to it y'ain't bothered t'night, though, right? You stayin' long?"

With a nod, he assured, "Aye, at least a week, and longer if it's half as nice as you. An' maybe I'll see t' that li'l comb for your hair, t'morrow."

Blushing brightly, she giggled again, and he had to gently direct her attention back to work. He still caught her looking at him periodically, but it seemed she'd make sure he was unbothered for the night just as she'd said. Big as her smile got, she'd likely bring him breakfast in the morning, too. Julian almost pitied the dumb little gold digger, but maybe she'd still learn better than to trust a complete stranger with nice words and pretty coins. Some were far worse than he, after all.

Later on in his room, by the light of a candle with its wick cut low, Julian reviewed his freshly altered plan to leave. He hadn't really intended to run off just yet, but he also hadn't counted on being spotted earlier. The merchant's wandering eyes had kept him from inspecting the bag properly before snatching it; he'd run with it just so the time wouldn't be wasted. Luckily, it had a mix of gold and wares that should be worth more than their weight.

A soft crack made him lift his head. Julian held his breath as he listened. A drunkard in search of of the outhouse? That wench trying to sneak in a visit? The building itself settling? There was a soft scratching... perhaps just a rodent, then.

He lowered his head once more, only to be interrupted by a louder cracking – almost a pressurized pop, as of a seal breaking. Julian snapped alert, searching the door, then the window, trying to identify the source of the sound. It was not until something fell onto the floor that his eyes finally found it.

An iridescent blue-white shard lay on the floor. It was a slice of one of the stones he'd found in the stolen bag; the largest one, and something he'd taken to be some sort of enormous pearl or pale, un-split agate. But now, above the broken, hollow piece that had fallen, there was a creature – a lizard, the same color as the shell which had encased it, reaching around and stretching its neck – and wings! – in all directions. From its mouth came a squeaky cry.

Julian stared, blue eyes wide and blood pounding in his ears. He'd stolen an ice dragon.

How had this happened? How had that merchant gotten hold of a dragon's egg? More importantly, what would he do to have it back? What sort of bounty might already be on his head? Silently, he slipped to the door and pressed his ear against the dingy wood, listening. Perhaps he could return the creature... but there was too much risk of arrest. Julian didn't want to see the inside of any more dungeons. Maybe if he simply ran instead, and left the dragon – then it would be found, and there would be no reason for anyone to come after him.

He set to work immediately, hastily gathering everything up and tossing it all in his pack. He knew his way out of the town well enough, and only drunks stumbling home to irritated wives would be out so late. Julian reached for the door –

– and the tiny dragon made the most forlorn noise the boy had ever heard in his life. He looked back, and there it sat upon the cot, staring at him. Its eyes were open now, bright blue and sparkling. It cried again, attempted to bite a piece of woolen blanket loose, and resumed its whimpering.

Just to quiet the little beast, he dug out a small handful of dried scraps for it. Hoisting his pack back up, he made sure the creature's attention was on the food and said softly before leaving, "I'm sure whoever wants you will feed you well."

The thief fled the town, keeping only those things unlikely to identify him. He spent the rest of the night in an abandoned burrow, its previous owners likely taken by hunters. The tiny dragon waddled and stumbled around Julian's mind for hours, until sleep finally claimed him.

Still, the last thing he expected when he woke was the pair of bright blue eyes staring right back into his.

On instinct, his hand snapped up and threw the tiny creature back, though the cramped burrow didn't allow him to throw it far. It shrieked as it sailed and vanished into a bush, and proceeded to cry pitifully as Julian pried himself free from the burrow and hoisted his pack up once more. It wailed as he stepped away, a painful sound somewhere between a whistle and chirp, and Julian found he could not bring himself to go farther.

Silently, he cursed the thing; he cursed the names of every god he could think of and the nameless ones he could imagine; he cursed those who had honed his thieving skills; he cursed himself, both for feeding it before and for not just leaving now. He cursed even as he turned, lowered his pack, and walked to the bush. He cursed still as he reached into the tangled bush, searching for the infant dragon. Only when he found it hanging on a branch, a thorn caught in one awkward wing and red scratches along its tiny body, did Julian's mind go quiet.

He moved branches carefully, angling his arms to hold them back as he reached in and ever-so-gently pulled the whimpering beast free, hushing it all the while. It nipped his fingers between its cries as he tended to its wounds; luckily, it hadn't any teeth yet. It also breathed painfully cold air on his hands, and its constant wriggling and the whipping of its tail made tearing loose small enough bandages and patching the already unfamiliar body all the more difficult.

"Would you stop tearing at that!" Julian scolded for the eighth time as the dragon tried to nip loose the piece binding its torn and broken wing. Its coordination was not enough to bite at the wrap on its leg, at least. "I know it feels wrong, but your – stop! – best chance to heal is t' let it be!"

The tiny dragon flailed about as Julian did his best to pin it down without causing further injury to its fragile body. With one hand, he held it against the ground, fingers placed to limit the thing's movement, while his other hand fished around his pack for food.

Faced with food, it finally ceased its struggles and chewed contentedly on a strip of dried meat. Each time it swallowed, it chirped for more; when Julian finally released it, the dragon seemed to have entirely forgotten about the bandages and remained focused on the food.

"I bet you're a girl," he commented after swallowing a bite of the dried meat himself. "It's always girls ‘at follow me around ‘n make trouble."

The dragon's eyes locked on a passing butterfly, and she – it – ceased chewing the piece of meat that poked out from its mouth. The small, white insect landed nearby, and the little lizard spat out a puff of cool mist – and the meat – but only managed to frighten the bug away.

Julian chuckled. "At least you're cute."

He settled and leaned back against a broad tree trunk, and relaxed for the first time since his decision to steal the bag – perhaps even since he entered that over-crowded town. A deep breath brought the familiar scents of damp ground and soft moss on decaying wood; of mushrooms and trees, and the light sweetness of scattered wildflowers. Closing his eyes, Julian listened to the breath of wind through branches weighed down by thick, dancing leaves, and to the many birds chattering and calling among them. In the distance, either a pack of wolves played or a pack of dogs led a hunt; the barking was too far off to be sure which.

There was a weight on his leg and a more immediate chirruping. With a smirk, Julian tore more bits of meat up, and the little dragon joyfully resumed breakfast. Barely more than a whisper, he said, "I still need to figure out what to do with you."

In the forest, things made sense. There was no hiding the survivalism behind rich cloth, heavy architecture, and the ridiculous idea of civility. Animals and plants inherently understood the order: Growers and gatherers prospered, and predators didn't survive through petty schemes and underhanded politics – the forest was unashamedly honest in tooth and claw. But the supposed "order" created by people actively and purposely denied these natural truths and masked it in their precious, brother-help-brother civility.

That "civility" would get Julian killed if he tried to return the dragon. Even if he escaped the blades and arrows, he'd still be hanged as a thief.

He tilted his head, listening with a furrowed brow. The barking was drawing closer, and it was definitely hunting dogs. Julian scanned; sure enough, they were coming from the same direction he had. With a curse, he threw what remained of the meat in his hand to the ground and shoved the pouch back into his pack.

"Stay here," he told the startled dragon sternly. "They want you. They'll take care of you."
If they didn't trample her. If they didn't deem her – it – worthless already hatched. If he wasn't mistaken about being the one hunted. If...

There was that painful, pitiful noise again. He looked back, and sure enough, she was doing her floundering best to follow. It didn't make sense – animals died all the time, especially newborns. Why, then, was it so hard to abandon this pathetic creature?

"Damn you," was all he said as he scooped the tiny dragon up and ran.

When a fox is hunted, it makes winding paths, backtracks frequently, and carries its trail through running water to confound the dogs as they try to sniff it out. Julian doubted he had time for anything so complex; his winding was limited, and by the time he found even a creek, he could make out the shouts of men amongst the eager barking.

He deposited the dragon in his hood and grabbed the knife from his belt as he angled his path downstream. The young man barely slowed as he pulled his ponytail tight and sawed it loose. Stepping into the quick, shallow waters, Julian pulled out what he could of his hair and tossed it. He watched only a moment to make sure the water caught the wad and pulled the strands along before turning to make his way upstream, crossing in a steep diagonal.

The dashing of the water through and around rocks helped cover the splashing of his own legs, but the sound was still grievously clear to Julian. Worse, the dragon was complaining again, and he could feel it climbing up his shoulders as he fought to maintain balance. He reached back briefly to pull it up, and felt its minuscule claws dragging across his cloak. It fell silent once it was high enough to see, and remained so when Julian left it to balance and cling to his neckline.

He could already make out distinct words from the hunting party. Julian turned for the far bank and quickly climbed out of the water, acutely aware that he hadn't made it as far up as he'd have liked. There was not even time to run any farther – he barely tucked himself behind a great, half-rotted trunk when the dogs came into view.

Julian listened carefully; he didn't dare look. Holding the infant dragon in his arms, he prayed it would stay quiet. He held his knife ready.

Maybe he could still return it, though, and argue that it had bonded to him like duck to its mother. It would be easy enough to prove. If he could convince them it needed his presence, then he could get another chance to make a better escape.

"Damnable boy cost me a fortune!" a furious voice shouted amongst the barking.

"Enough already," groaned another.

But the angry voice would not be silenced. "I had three bidders on that egg. Three bidders! The rest be damned!"

"Telling us a hundred times won't make the egg appear."

"Do you know how hard it is to find buyers for a dragon's egg? Especially an ice dragon! Everyone wants fire. I had to-aAH!"

A thud and the crushing of leaves, followed by cursing. A couple other voices laughed, and another called out that the dogs were turning. The barking had grown loud, only to be replaced by loud sniffing, soft barks, and the occasional splash.

"I had to convince them that ice is still dangerous!" the one continued, as if nothing had happened. "Except that crazy cook. I don't see why it's not good enough for him, just going to the butcher like everyone else. But far be it from me to argue with gold. But that damned thief!"

"Yer thief would prob'ly be easier t' find if ya'd shut up!"

There was a pause, then, "How rude!"

The voices took to arguing, but Julian focused on the reinvigorated barking of the dogs. For a moment, he feared they had picked up his scent on the air. Soon, though, he was able to confirm that they were growing quieter – and more distant. His trick had worked: the dogs were following the scent of what hairs caught along the bank as the water washed it ever farther from where he hid. With luck, it would be far enough to give him a better chance at escape – or maybe even make his hunters give up.

He looked down at the tiny dragon; her eyes were closed and her breathing relaxed. Three bidders... Two were likely after a weapon or better guard dog, and the third desired only a rare meat!

"Can't abandon you now, can I?" he breathed.

Julian waited until the barking and voices sounded far enough, then ran. He wound his path while he had time, and made his way ever deeper into the forest. Eventually, the merchant would have to face his loss – the search was sure to become expensive. In the meantime, it was probably better to remain in the wilds longer than he'd intended, until he could be reasonably certain the hunt was over.

And the dragon... he decided he would call her Frost.


Old Version, 2007

For a long time, I've been on my own. The only thing that I have left from my parents is their last name, and I denied even that for most of my life. I grew up as a hoodlum and a wanderer, going from one town to another whenever people would stop trusting the boy with the bright blue eyes and almost-white hair. I didn't really mind it, and I still wander now, spending as much time outdoors as I am able. I can even sleep in the trees when I feel the need to, so well tuned to my surroundings I've become. Even so, as well as I filled my basic needs, I was lonely for a long time.

I was the sort who never wanted to do anything myself, and I learned well how to get what I wanted anyway. People have always told me that I look boyish and almost angelic – that one thing made life easy. Those who I chose to host me seemed to have an easier time trusting the sincerity of my kindnesses than the kindnesses of the ugly faces that so often go along with the poor people. My charm, of course, was a great help as well. I put the two together so well that it usually took a good few months for a town to finally attempt to jail me.

It wasn't that I was ever really a bad person. Like I said, I was the only one I had for most of my life. Life taught me that morality was just something that got in the way of getting what I needed. I had to forget about how things affected other people, and focus on the fact that they had more than they needed. I figured that they should be plenty happy to share everything, and that they would be if all of those self-indulgent idiots had the morality that they thought I lacked. That was how I saw things, and I'd be a liar to say that I don't see it like that anymore.

It was only a few years ago that things finally changed, when I was about 17 years old. I remember it started at a trading port, and it was on of the wealthier businessmen who had taken me in, as a publicity stunt I suppose. In a way, it was kind of funny what the problem ultimately was. Too make a long story short, the businessman's daughter and one of the servant girls both became a little too fond of me, and each decided that if she couldn't have me that I would be imprisoned and possibly executed. They even came up with schemes to elope – largely for their own assumed safety, I'm sure, as the servant girl would have to answer to the businessman's daughter, and the daughter would have to answer to her father. So I gave them both a place to wait for me, and took off another way before either could get me killed. I have had similar problems with females, but I can never understand why they think I would want to marry them.

I wasn't as prepared that night as I usually was when I left towns. I had some money from things I had taken from my host and pawned off, but I usually had more in the way of food and water. I valued those two things over the heavy gold coins, so I went to the kitchen, took what I needed, and abandoned probably half or more of the gold. One of the things that I took, the most important thing, in fact, I wasn't even sure what it was. It was shaped like a large egg, and being in a tub of icy water in the kitchen, I considered that it might be edible. If it wasn't an egg, the shimmering, blue and white patterned shell had me convinced that I could sell it for a pretty penny, surely for more gold than the thing weighed. With that in mind I wrapped in up, put it in my bag, and fled the port town.

Not too long after that I found out that the shiny thing was indeed an egg, and in the least expected way. It was on a night when the moon was bright and fading, and I was sleeping in a small cave made by the twisted roots of an aged tree. A small squeaking noise woke me, and I thought little of it until I heard something rustling my pack. My immediate assumption was that some animal had sniffed out my food, so I rose to chase it away. The thing was in my bag, and I felt the solution was simple: dump it out and shoo it off. However, the creature that came rolling out was like nothing I had ever seen.

It was about the size of my spread hand, and colored a pale blue that glistened in the moonlight. Bits of shell, food, and dirt were stuck to it, but the thing seemed oblivious and confused. There wasn't any sort of fur on it, just wrinkled skin as far as I could tell. By the shape of it, I guessed it to be some sort of lizard. It had a small head that looked around before the tiny beast started to squeak, sounding as though it were calling out for someone or something.

I knew it wasn't wise to, but all I could do was stand and watch it, torn between curiosity and wilderness logic. As it made its attempts to stand and turn, questions went though my mind: Should I find out what it is, or leave it be? Should I kill it... or help it? I didn't have time to decide before it finally spotted me, though, and then I was stuck. The creature let out this excited-sounding squeak, and stumbled over in my direction – revealing a pair of tiny wings on its back, in the process.

I did not back away, or even fear, despite being quite sure at that point that it was a dragon. It's movements were so awkward, yet determined, that I had to laugh a little. It was then that I finally chose to help the infant, and picked it up. I decided in that moment that I would keep it, raise it, and protect it however I could.

Since that night, I have learned that the beast is a female ice dragon. She will outlive me, but I will keep her safe for so long as I am able. To try to be a good example, I have become a more honest man. My life became more difficult with her around, but also more enjoyable.

She is Frost, a young dragon of ice. I am Julian Tamagrin, boy of the woods. We are family, and nothing will change that.