The Other Half

Rage. That was all he felt. Pure, unadulterated rage of a kind he never felt before. 

Briefly, some corner of his mind noted that the others were looking at him with fear, that his skin had started to heat up, smoke curling up from his body as his temper mounted. Some disinterested part at the back of his brain heard the panicked whispers around him. Of course, if he was to shift to dragon form right now and torch this place, they would all die. 

He didn't even care. 

He looked around at the devastated, burning world around him and shared the grief, the rage, the pain, of the land. He didn't even recognize his world anymore. They told him it had been one month since the meteor hit, smashing into the planet, obliterating an entire continent and bringing inevitable doom upon the rest. 

All he could remember of that day was chaos. Fire, dust, volcanoes, earthquakes, tidal waves, dragons. He had watched as his brothers and sisters fell, trying to shield their humans and their villages. A mighty race of protectors, rendered useless and helpless just by one huge flying chunk of rock. 

Useless and helpless, just as he'd been trying to save his wife. Her human body hadn't stood a chance against the volcano that buried her, and buried him while he tried to get to her. They told him it was lucky that he himself had survived. He didn't feel lucky in the least. What was life worth without love? 

His rage disappeared as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a bone-deep chill of sadness.  

He heard several quiet sighs of relief, but he didn’t turn back to look. What could he do now? One month, and the world still looked like it was destroyed yesterday. Suddenly, he was tired, and he swayed on his feet. 

One of the doctors in this small camp of survivors hurried toward him, all fear forgotten. He looked him over critically, and his colleague, a kind looking young woman with a face that was trying to remain admirably stern, ordered him to get bed rest. 

Trekking inside, Ralf wasn’t sure what he would do after he recovered. 

………………………………………………………………

Two weeks later 

As he packed a huge saddlebag full of supplies, he wondered if he made the wrong choice to leave. But he wanted, needed, to be among his kind. It was more than just a need to know there were other dragons and their families to survive. Partly, it was so he would have others of his kind to share his grief with. 

Partly, it was so he’d be around people used to him, not people who froze and/or screamed every time he moved suddenly, or walked around him like they were on eggshells. Dragon shifters were fearsome in battle, yes, but they were also loving, and he missed the love and acceptance of his family and village more than anything else. And that was why he was determined to get it back, in any way possible.

This pocket of humanity had survived. He was sure others had too. And communication might be down, with telecommunication towers down and no one monitoring them, but he could find them. He could fly to them.

However long it took. 

Shifting to his dragon form, he waited patiently until his human companions strapped the bag on his back, and with a snort of thanks walked outside the camp, and taking a running leap, took off to the sky. He would find them, somehow. 

………………………………………………………………

Two months later 

Maybe there weren’t any other humans or dragons alive. Or maybe they couldn’t be found. In two months, he had flown across what remained of continents, roared his cry across many many mountains and valleys. 

He had never gotten an answer.

As he landed in a small clearing of what must once have been a great forest, but was now just a budding copse, he wondered if that was possible. It couldn’t be, could it, that out of an entire world, only the 30 odd people in his camp were the only ones that survived? 

Sighing, he built a fire, and started cooking the rabbit he had caught earlier in the evening. As always, his thoughts drifted back to her. It had become harder and harder to deal with the thoughts as the days then weeks had flown by. His loneliness didn’t help.

It was as he was drowning in his thoughts by the crackling fire that the twig snapped. In a flash, he was a dragon again, listening intently, his hulking form towering over what remained of the trees. 

Hearing a faint disturbance behind a pile of charred wood, he stealthily (or about as stealthy as a dragon could, anyway) crept close, then, jaws open, lunged around the edge ready to breathe fire and burn the threat, the unknown, the intruder-

-and came face to face with a dog.

To say Ralf was surprised was an understatement. As he just froze mid fire breath, the dog started wagging his tail and barking excitedly, jumping up at him in a way only a dog familiar with dragons could. He had long golden fur and was quite simply a furry golden cannonball…who was trying to climb up his snout. 

Amused, Ralf snapped his mouth shut and watched him scramble up onto his snout and enjoy the view. After a few minutes of this, he gently shook the furball off and shifted back. The dog looked up at him and his tail wagged. 

Ralf felt his broken and frozen heart stirring. Not just with love, but also with hope, as he stared at the dog’s smooth, golden fur. Fur that spoke of love, care, and a lot of brushing. This furball was happy, and well fed. And he was damn sure the dog wasn’t brushing his own fur.

The dog barked, ran some distance and then ran back, crouching in front of him with its tail waving, a clear invitation to follow. Ralf felt like his dragon heart was threatening to burst out of his chest. 

And shifting back to dragon form, he grabbed his bag and set off behind the furball as he vanished into the newly blooming greenery.