Leaf (Chapter Two)

2

Plans and Plotting

A songbird’s trilling tune broke into my dreams, and I felt my consciousness shift into awakening. My eyes still closed, I felt my warm, soft blanket cocooning me in, and another body – the dog?

I opened my eyes sleepily, and saw that it was morning. The light also seemed to illuminate my memories as well. It was not Sugar the dog sleeping against me – it was Leaf, little baby dragon Leaf.

Comfortable and drowsy, I decided to lie in bed for a while and think, rather than getting up. That was what I often did, and I certainly had a lot to think about.

Leaf. Where did he come from? I wondered. Surely dragons haven’t just been living among us all these years – from what I can imagine, they probably wouldn’t be able to hide very easily. So how did Leaf end up right in middle of the suburbs?

But that’s the past. I need to think about the present for now, and the future. What should I do with Leaf?

I supposed I should tell my parents about him…. But as the idea came, I wondered with a pang if that was a good idea. Their first reaction, I knew, would be to alert scientists and police or whoever it is you call when a baby dragon shows up under your bed….

Hello, is this the Humane Society? Yes, a baby dragon who I named Leaf is currently munching on my sandwich meat and crawling around my sheets. Do you have any room for a dragon in your shelter?

Oh, sorry ma’am, the dragon kennels are all filled up. You can try someone else, though, they might be able to take him.

No, awkward phone calls aside, I didn’t want to tell my parents. They might call the Humane Society, they might call scientists, they might send him to Area 51 for all I knew, but they certainly wouldn’t let me keep him. And as the little green creature slept soundly at my side, I decided that that was the last thing I would let happen. Some instinct or emotion – maybe maternal, maybe even more primitive – told me that I couldn’t let anybody take him.

Besides, it probably wouldn’t end well for Leaf. The first thing any government agency or even volunteer veterinarian would do would be to send him in for blood tests and other experimental things. And once that started, I knew there would be no end to it. An image of tiny Leaf huddled in a cage, stuck with needles and hooked to a dozen monitors, hardened my instinctive resolve to iron. Leaf had to remain a secret.

But how will I take care of Leaf all by myself? The thought hit me like a wrecking ball. I suppose he’s small enough now, but pretty soon he’ll outgrow the house. At least, based on all the old legends of dragons, he will. And when that happens – then what? I can’t exactly keep him in the backyard.

Suddenly furious, I rolled onto my back, clutching at my forehead in frustration. There’s no right choice!

I began to feel sick to my stomach. I was stressing myself out – I needed to think calmly. Detaching myself from the situation, I imagined what I would tell someone else to do in my place.

I get ten dollars a week in allowance. That’s enough to get sufficient meat for an animal the size of a puppy. I can ride my bike to the store for Mom and Dad, and smuggle some meat up to Leaf. And maybe they’ll pay me for running the errands, so I can get whatever else I’ll need.… Yes, that’ll work. It’s summer vacation, so I don’t have to worry about school for now, and by the time Mom and Dad have to see Leaf, he’ll hopefully be big enough to take care of himself. If the government tries to capture him, I can find somewhere else to hide him, and he’ll hopefully be able to defend himself.

When push comes to shove and he gets too big – because that will happen at some point – I can release him in the forest by the house, make sure he stays there. I could even make a little shelter for him or something. And I can visit him there, and teach him to hide from everyone else.

Everything is going to work out. I might get in trouble for a while for secretly raising a dragon, but honestly, that’s not exactly a standard violation of rules, is it? I’m sure Mom and Dad will be very understanding about it. After they’ve gotten over the existence of dragons and all.

My mind somewhat at rest, I turned to all the things I would do with Leaf, since I was obviously going to keep him for a while. I could teach him to hunt, sort of. Maybe if I took him to the area around the relatively unsettled, forested river, I could teach him to hunt frogs or something, or maybe a lizard. And then at home, I could teach him to stalk bits of food or something. That segment of thought amused me a bit: Stalking pieces of lunch meat. Activities only baby dragons would do.

But it was a good idea, even if it was a bit strange. I could also teach Leaf to run away, because that would likely become a very important skill, at least in his early life. And some toys wouldn’t hurt; maybe I’d get him a little carpeted climbing toy for cats, or make little stuffed sock toys. Perhaps I could teach him to fly by having him jump off my bookshelf, with a pillow at the bottom, of course.

As I pondered Leaf’s future, the little dragon himself began to stir. I felt his tiny form shift slightly against my side, his soft, leathery skin brushing my nightgown. After a moment, I felt him begin to half-slither, half-crawl towards the exit of his little blanket-burrow. He poked his bright green head out, his goldenrod eyes wide and alert, taking in every detail of my sunlit bedroom.

I smiled, stroking his neck. “Good morning, Leaf,” I murmured, and the baby dragon turned his head towards me. He was very cute, I decided, with his big, golden baby eyes and his large horse-like ears. I knew that as Leaf grew he’d probably transform from a stocky, cuddly pup to graceful and beautiful creature. At least, I certainly hoped so. I wondered how big he’d actually grow – would he really become the size of my house, or was that just a myth?

I wondered how big Leaf’s mother had been. And on that subject, where was she? Leaf was too young to be left alone, that was for sure, but why had his mother abandoned him? Had she died, or had they been separated? Or had she just abandoned him? Anger began to swell in my gut at that prospect.

But at any rate, there was no time to ponder such questions, because Leaf was awake, and he was probably hungry as well. I stood, stretched, and walked over to the dresser, closely followed by Leaf.

Pulling a few pieces of meat from the box behind my dresser, I turned to see Leaf sitting down, thwacking his tail against the floor eagerly in a strangely doglike manner. I grinned and fed him a little, but not enough to completely satisfy him – at least, that was what I hoped. I wasn’t all that experienced with feeding dragons, but he was watching the meat like a hawk, so he was probably still a little hungry.

I pulled out another piece, and Leaf watched with bright eyes, expecting me to offer it to him as always. But instead, I moved to my bookshelf, where a clear piece of thread happened to be lying - it had been intended to hang a purple Chinese lantern from my ceiling, but had never been used.

I tied the string to the meat and dropped the food on the floor, still holding the other end of the thread. Leaf trotted over to the treat, but I jerked the string, making the food ‘flee’. Confused, Leaf tried to pin it, but I made it jump out of the way – luckily my grandmother had cats that played similar string games, and I was almost an expert at the art of twitching stuffed mice pieces of ham) away just in time.

Leaf glared at the food, his gold eyes narrowed in frustration and – was that suspicion in his gaze? Then, he began to move again. The moment one of his feet audibly hit the floor, the meat ‘ran away’ yet again. Enraged, Leaf tried to chase after his prey, but it was too fast for him, sliding rapidly along the cluttered ground. I was going to have to clean my floor after this, I thought as the meat smeared a greasy trail across the polished wood.

After several of these failed cat-and-mouse episodes, Leaf began to act differently. To my wonderment, I could actually see a thought light up in his eyes, and then he began to pace. Thinking.

He’s intelligent, I realized admiringly as I watched my dragon baby. He looked catlike as he thought, and then, all of a sudden, he tried to juke it, leaping to one side and then dodging to another. It would have worked, too, but Leaf was still young, and his feint turned into an undignified tumble. He stood and shook himself, looking very frustrated but still determined. I couldn’t hold back a grin. And I dreamed of being a dolphin trainer when I was little. Forget dolphins, I’ve got a dragon!

It only took another minute or two for Leaf to figure out that he needed to be stealthy, but he had trouble actually doing that. He was only a baby dragon, I realized, and he was nowhere near coordinated enough to properly stalk anything. So I had my puppet slide a little closer.

A shiver went down my spine as I saw Leaf slink back behind a pillow on the ground and I could once again see the concentration and thought in his eyes. Was he making a plan?

Quietly, Leaf slithered around the pillow; the meat, had it been a living thing, would have been unable to see him. Almost silently, he crept over to the corner of the pillow – and then he pounced.

I yanked on the thread, making the prey struggle just for the effect, as Leaf pinned down his victim. As he sank his teeth into his prey at long last, I saw fierce determination in the curl of his lip and the whip of his tail.

Leaf ate happily, looking immensely satisfied at having caught his own prey through cunning and problem-solving. I sat by, allowing myself to relax and think over what I’d seen. Leaf was smarter than I’d expected – I’d thought I would have to give up the game and take away the meat, hand-feeding him some more instead. But he’d not only used trial and error: he’d made a plan, albeit a simple one, and succeeded.

But even more awe-striking was how expressive my dragon was. Triumph, confusion, pleasure, and anger – all kinds of expressions had flitted over the little dragon’s face, and I didn’t think it was just my imagination. Leaf had just proven that dragons were intelligent – but were they also sentient?

[So, yeah... I posted the first chapter(s) of this forever ago, but then I gave up on the novel and didn't post anymore. But now I'm coming back. *insert evil laugh here*]