This week’s word is…

✨ GHOST ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

Pick one of my characters that sounds interesting, and whichever one has the most votes will get a full description!

Feel free to do the same ;) Characters can be from fanfiction or original, they don't necessarily have to be a character you made up--the point is to have fun describing them.

I took this in a sort of "explain a character badly" direction, which I'm not sure was the point, but it was fun XD Also, I have way too many characters, so I'll be making several of these, picking randomly across my main fics and original stories, until they've all been picked, because I can >:D

Shard - This is the protagonist of my dragon rider story, The Ambassadors. In this world, humans and dragons have been at war for as long as anyone can remember. A dragon egg gets almost literally dropped into Shard's lap, and when it hatches and he sees the helpless, innocent baby dragon, Shard knows that he can't just let it be killed like his fellow villagers would want. So he runs away with his new friend, until eventually they find their way to the Ambassadors, the small group of humans who have bonded with dragons and act as liaisons between the two races.

When I first came up with this story, I thought it would be interesting to play around with the whole "St. George and the Dragon" thing, so I had Shard be raised by a priest. But I am sick and tired of fantasy stories that have priests or some kind of pseudo-Christian order that is very clearly based on Roman Catholicism, but everyone from that religion that you encounter is evil, sexually perverted, holier-than-thou, or all three at once. I figure we've all seen enough of those kinds of characters in fantasy, so why not go the radical route of having the priest in my story actually be a good, kind, humble man who is able to see past the prejudices of the day and help Shard save his baby dragon?

And so, because I had Shard being raised by a priest, I also had him be very devout in his faith - with some hiccups and stumblings along the way. But instead of tired-out conclusions like "God isn't real" or "because some people who claim to be God's followers are clearly evil, that must mean God is too" or a dozen other variations I've seen in fantasy (and other stories), I have Shard keep his faith throughout the story. Though at times he doubts his own worthiness and struggles with temptations, he never once doubts that God is real. Prayer is a habit that comes up regularly in the story, and is a steady source of comfort.

Originally, I just kind of transplanted a vaguely-Catholic Christianity into the story for simplicity's sake, complete with actual Bible verses and everything. Since then, I've been working on developing my own thinly veiled Christianity for this fantasy world, in which they worship the Great Eagle, who sent his son to the earth to rescue humanity from the Great Serpent. It will fool no one, but hopefully it will be a pleasant, refreshing surprise for my readers that there are no evil priests in this story.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 31

Welcome to Day 31 of the Chesterton Challenge! Believe it or not, we've reached the final day! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post (or add to them, if you wish).

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Conclusion

In his many articles, essays, books, and stories, Chesterton presented plenty of conclusions--and our Challenge reaches its conclusion today! Use the word however you like--explore the conclusion of a mystery, present a conclusion about some issue in life, explore endings of all kinds. Be creative!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

The sun slowly set, like a ball of fire sinking into the golden hills. Stars began to poke through the fabric of the night sky. Crickets chirped, and small animals rustled through the grass, emerging from their dens in the twilight.

Shard leaned against the warm, firm side of his best friend, who watched the sunset in silence with him. He was bigger than the largest horse Shard had ever seen by now, his enormous wings stretching out like a huge black tent when he spread them before surging up into the sky. No longer was he the scrawny, adorable little baby who'd clawed his way out of an egg on Father Mark's table.

And yet, Shynael was still the same as he'd ever been. He curled his long neck around until his head rested in Shard's lap, nuzzling at Shard's hand until he started rubbing the smooth scales on his nose.

His purr was getting deeper and stronger, just like his voice. The baby dragon was growing up.

Shard wondered if this was how Father Mark had felt through the years, watching him as he grew taller, as his voice deepened, as he began to grow hair on his chin. The day swiftly approaching when no one could say he was a child anymore....

Shynael had been alive for a much shorter time; he wasn't even a year old yet. But already he was so much bigger than Shard—too big for Shard to simply scoop up in his arms and carry to safety. Not that a huge, flying lizard with sharp teeth, claws, and a spiked tail needed much protection. Shynael was the one protecting him now, more often than not.

The firelight danced across the dragon's scales, as smooth and black as obsidian. Shard could see a miniature campfire reflected in each individual scale. His whole body seemed to flicker, like he was a being made of the fire beneath his skin.

For a moment, Shard seemed to step out of himself, looking down at the two of them in that vast empty space. The two unlikeliest of friends, a human and a dragon slowly falling asleep wrapped around each other. Anyone who saw them—anyone in the whole entire world—would take one look at them and call them abominations. It was unnatural.

And yet...was it? As Shard's eyelids tugged downwards and his thoughts unraveled as he slipped closer to sleep, he looked at those thousands of flickering flames. He thought of the bonfire in the village square that they would light during the Phoenix Festival. The fire that burned the Eagle-Son alive for the sake of all humanity. That was unlikely too. Unnatural. The son of the Great Eagle, letting himself die a horrific death for people who didn't even have wings? Why should he care?

And yet...he did.

Maybe, just as those little fires in Shynael's scales were faint reflections of the campfire, so were the flames of affection that burned in his and Shynael's hearts. They were a dim reflection of the blazing inferno that had consumed the Eagle-Son. With love.

Shard's eyes slid shut, and the thread of thought was lost and long forgotten by morning. But his hand still rested on Shynael's head, and Shynael curled a little closer in his sleep.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 30

Welcome to Day 30 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the birthday creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post (or add to them, if you wish).

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Adventure

As Chesterton famously said, an inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered, and an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered. Over the course of the month, we've had our share of inconveniences and adventures, and I'd like to honor that with today's prompt. Send characters on an adventure, pay homage to your favorite adventure tales, or just plain enjoy the adventure of creation!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

“Glaive? Can I...ask you a question?”

“Clearly you can,” Glaive grunted, “because you just did.”

Shard lowered the rag with which he was cleaning his armor. Glaive insisted on teaching him, not only how to use his weapons and armor, but how to maintain them. As tedious as it was to regularly clean, oil, and repair a full suit of leather armor and scale mail, it was significantly easier than learning dozens of parries and thrusts and forms. In a way, it was even relaxing—especially after Glaive had run him through his paces for an hour till every breath seared the back of his throat like he was a fire-breathing dragon himself.

“Why did you become an Ambassador? What's your story? The others have told me a little of where they came from, but you haven't said a word.”

“Of course not. Because my story is one of adventure and renown. A riveting tale of heroism and chivalry.”

His tone was drier than a piece of bread left out for a week. Shard hastily ducked his head and focused on his work instead.

With a deep rumble like thunder, Gyvael lifted her head from where she'd been napping in a patch of sunlight. She reached out her long neck and nudged Glaive—gently, but strong enough to make his armor jingle like a coin pouch.

Seeming to understand this unspoken reproach, Glaive readjusted the mail shirt in his hands, but began to speak as he worked. “I was a knight,” he said shortly. “I fought to protect my lord and my land from our enemies. Which included dragons, of course.”

Shard forgot all about the armor he was cleaning as he looked between Glaive and the enormous purple dragon lounging behind him, shuffling her wings and shifting to keep as much of her body in the sun as possible. Knights were always the ones people talked about slaying dragons, and yet....

“Word reached us that a dragon had been seen in the area,” Glaive continued, “killing livestock and making a nuisance of itself. So all of my lord's knights rallied together and rode out to meet the dragon in battle.” He fell silent for a moment, mouth twisting as though he tasted something sour. The scar running down the side of his face looked more vivid than usual, and Shard wondered if that day was when he'd received it.

“We killed the dragon.” Glaive kept rubbing his cloth over the same spot over and over again, his eyes glazed over. “Working together, receiving many wounds...we killed it. Her. We killed her.”

“You did not know any better,” Gyvael suddenly spoke up, watching him with one great golden eye filled with compassion. “You acted as you had been taught—as did she.”

Glaive's hands fell still, and he closed his eyes. For a moment, he looked old, the weight of more years than he had seen settling on his shoulders. “Then we went into the dragon's cave,” he continued softly. “And we found an egg there. An egg that glistened like an enormous amethyst.”

Shard glanced over at Gyvael. The warmth of her gaze almost took his breath away. She looked on her mother's killer with such affection.

“The others wanted to destroy it, lest it hatch another dragon and leave us in the same predicament as before. But...when I saw it...I couldn't do it. I managed to convince them we should bring it back to our lord as a prize. Let him decide what should be done with it. I think I said something about how beautiful it was, like a gemstone.”

Tipping back his head, Glaive gazed up into the branches of the tree spread like a canopy over them. “Gyvael hatched that night. And I knew then...I knew everything had changed. She was alive. She spoke to me. She was just a baby, and I...I had killed her mother. I had trained my whole life to kill her mother. And everything I had known and valued in my life...was wrong.”

Shard was almost afraid to breathe. He'd never seen such an open, vulnerable expression on Glaive's face before. In this story, he could hear echoes of his own, only more tragic. He couldn't imagine the conversation they must have had. The thought of telling Shynael he'd killed his mother....

Abruptly, Glaive bent over his armor again and began scrubbing away as if he could wash away the memories once and for all. “So I fled. I took Gyvael and fled for both of our lives. And eventually we found our way here.”

Shard could tell from the closed expression on Glaive's face that he was done talking about it. Slowly, he returned to his own work. All the same, he was aware of Gyvael inching out of her patch of sunlight so that she could lay her head next to Glaive.

The hand that had once been covered with her mother's blood reached over to touch her snout briefly before returning to his task.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 25

Welcome to Day 25 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Home

Chesterton's work is full of appreciation for the comforts of home, and he advocated for the virtues of caring for home and appreciating the land you come from. You can create something based on the general concept of home, be inspired by something from your home, or just plain create something while at home. Interpret the prompt however you'd like!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

Setting down his goblet of water and picking up his sword again, Shard called, “Come on, Shynael. Let's go home.”

Shynael looked up from where he'd been playfully sneaking up on a crow that had flown into the sparring arena and started preening itself. When Shynael stretched luxuriously and trotted over to meet Shard halfway, the crow let out a hoarse croak and flapped away. They were the only ones left in the sparring arena; Glaive and Gyvael had left as soon as the lesson was over, but Shard needed to catch his breath, so they'd hung back.

As Shard buckled his sword around his waist again and swung himself up onto Shynael's back, he finally realized the word he'd used. Home. He actually thought of the Ambassadors' headquarters as home.

Holding onto one of Shynael's spikes with both hands and squeezing his neck with his knees as Vannasai had been teaching him, Shard braced himself for the breathtaking leap into the air. Shynael's huge wings beat the air, putting the crow's black wings to shame as he leapt into the air and broke through the branches of trees creating a canopy over the arena.

Shynael leveled off once he'd crested the tops of the trees. The whizz-whoosh of his wings and the howl of wind in Shard's ears was loud enough to make it difficult to carry on a conversation, but neither of them minded the silence after another long, exhausting day.

As the the tallest tree in the forest drew closer and closer, Shard wondered when exactly this place had begun to feel like home. He'd lived his whole life in the same small village, only occasionally making the trip to the next town over with a farmer's family so he could pick up paper and ink for Father Mark. That had been the only home he'd known, and he'd never stopped to wonder what it would be like to leave it, because he'd assumed he would live out the rest of his days in the same chapel where he'd grown up, and then be buried in the graveyard behind it.

But then Shynael had changed all of that, and he was thrown out into the world. He'd wondered if he would ever feel like he belonged again.

Shynael dove through the branches of the tree that housed the Ambassador headquarters with the familiarity of someone who flew this route every day. Green leaves brushed against them on all sides, not even a twig snapping at Shynael's passing. In moments, the stone amphitheater-like structure they called home came into sight, nestled amongst the enormous branches of the great tree. Shynael landed lightly in the center of the courtyard at the bottom, well away from the long wooden tables off to one side where they took their meals.

Glaive emerged from the cave-liked opening that led to the baths, raising a hand in greeting as he made his way to his room. Shard waved back. A bath sounded good. Soaking away the aches and pains of the day....

But he stayed on Shynael's back as his dragon hopped up two tiers of the bowl-like structure, till they reached their room on the top level. These rooms were smaller, more fitting for a dragon of his size. Shard slid down to the ground when they reached the cave-like doorway, and they walked in together.

Perhaps if he hadn't been thinking about home, he wouldn't have noticed the way his shoulders instantly relaxed as soon as he set foot in their room. The bedchamber that had once seemed so vast and cavernous, with its wardrobe full of rich clothes and its enormous four-poster bed with a quilted green bedspread, now felt as cozy and familiar as the little room at the back of the chapel he used to share with Father Mark.

Unfastening the pieces of his armor and setting them down on the trunk at the foot of his bed, Shard glanced across at Shynael, who delicately pinched a log of wood between his foreclaws and set it in the fireplace, before blowing a narrow stream of fire onto it, until the wood caught the blaze. Ever since he'd gotten the knack of breathing fire, it was his favorite task.

Shynael looked over his shoulder at him. “What?”

Realizing he'd been staring, Shard quickly bent to unfasten his greaves instead. “Nothing, just...you wouldn't be doing this if not for me.”

“What, making a fire?” Shynael snorted, sitting on his haunches and curling his tail around his feet. “'Course not! You wouldn't either, if you had fire in your veins like us dragons.”

“Yes, but I mean....” Shard dropped his greaves on top of the pile of his armor, frowning as he tried to put his thoughts into words. “Neither of us would be here without the other, would we? Living here. Calling this place our home. I'd be back in the village...you'd be with your mother somewhere....”

Shynael cocked his head to one side. “Sometimes I wonder where she was from. It would be nice to at least be able to visit, you know?”

A cold finger seemed to slide down his spine. “If we found out where that was...would you want to live there instead?”

Would it even work for a human to live somewhere in the dragon kingdom other than this small no-man's land carved out for the Ambassadors? Shard knew no human town would put up with a dragon living in their midst, and he had to assume it would be the same for dragons.

“No,” Shynael said thoughtfully. “I like it here. You know when we had that audience with the Dragon King? Everybody was looking at us strange—even at us dragons. I guess we don't really act like most dragons, carrying humans on our backs and living with you and everything. But nobody looks at us strange here, because everybody's like us. This is where we belong.”

A slow smile found its way onto Shard's face. “Yes...I think you're right.”

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 24

Welcome to Day 24 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Nightmare

Chesterton had a taste for the strange, unusual, and frightening in his fiction, and it offers some potential for a different kind of prompt, if you care to try. Explore something that frightens you, get inspiration from a haunting dream, maybe write something a bit spooky--you can interpret the word however you'd like.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

Blood.

Screams.

Burning, burning, burning in his chest, behind his eyes, in his throat....

Shard jerked upright with a huge gasp. It took him a moment or two of staring into the darkness, listening to the ringing silence, before he remembered he was safe in his bed in the Ambassador headquarters.

His heart galloped like spooked horse, but there was none of the awful, desperate burning. None of that loss of control.

Drawing a ragged breath, Shard shoved his blankets away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The stones beneath his feet were cold as he groped his way through the darkness to the table, where a goblet and a pitcher of cool water sat waiting for him.

With trembling hands, he somehow managed to pour some water for himself without spilling too much of it. He could barely even see the hand in front of his face as he gulped the water down. Only a few embers still glowed in the fireplace. It had to be very late.

For a moment, Shard stood still, staring sightlessly into the night and listening. All was still and silent. It was like he was the only living thing in the whole world.

The only living thing...because his only companions were the echoes of screams, the memories of violence, staring eyes of dead men fallen on the battlefield....

With a shudder, Shard set the goblet back down on the table and fumbled his way over to his dragon's alcove. As he drew nearer, he became aware of the slow, steady breathing of a very large being. Much larger than him. Much stronger. Perhaps...even capable of keeping the nightmares at bay?

Smooth scales met his shaking fingers. Solid warmth under his palms. Then a shifting, shuffling sound as Shynael stretched and yawned himself awake. “Shard...?”

Shard found one of the many pillows Shynael used as a bed and sat on it, resting his back against Shynael's smooth, warm belly. He didn't say anything, not sure he could keep his composure if he so much as opened his mouth.

Shynael repositioned himself, draping one wing over Shard like a blanket and curling his long neck around to lay his head in Shard's lap. He snuffed at Shard a couple times, his smoky breath washing over Shard. Shynael could probably smell the residual fear and tension in Shard, if he couldn't feel the way Shard clenched his arms about himself to stop trembling.

Shynael began to purr. The vibrations pulsed in a constant, thrumming pattern against Shard's arm, jittering all the way through him and pulsing against his bones. Maybe Shynael was just falling back to sleep, perfectly content to sleep beside Shard like they used to do out in the wild when the nights got cold. But it also felt like Shynael was pushing back the fear, banishing the tremors running through Shard's body by filling him with warmth and comfort instead.

Absently, Shard rubbed the smooth scales on Shynael's nose, soothing himself as much as the dragon. Before long, they both slipped back into slumber.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 21

Welcome to Day 21 of the Chesterton Challenge! Already the end of our third week, if you can believe it! Make sure to explore the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: War

Because Chesterton wrote a lot about war, whether it was WWI, the Battle of Lepanto, the war fought by King Alfred, or the war fought over Notting Hill in the far-future year of 1984. The concept offers plenty of potential for creative pursuits--write about a fantastical war, or about a simple war of ideas, war with yourself about what to create--however you want to interpret it!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

“Is there a problem?”

With a start, Shard looked up from the sword in his hands. It was a beautiful weapon, the hilt fashioned to look like a dragon curled around it, its outspread wings forming the crosspiece. The blade was long and sharp, glistening in the sunlight. But...his hands felt dirty just touching it.

“Why do I need sword lessons?” he asked in a small voice.

Glaive raised an unimpressed eyebrow, looking him up and down pointedly. “Because you look like you barely know which end to hold. You said you were raised by a priest?”

Shard stiffened. “What of it?”

“I highly doubt your priest spent much time teaching you the art of war,” Glaive said dryly. “Therefore—lessons.”

“War?” Shard's voice came out in a high squeak. He hastily cleared his throat. “But...I thought we were supposed to be ambassadors! Aren't we supposed to prevent war from breaking out?”

Glaive let out a mirthless laugh as he turned to pick up his own sword from where it lay on the table behind him. The scar on the side of his face stood out in sharp relief, starting at his jawline and just tweaking the corner of his eye before disappearing into his hair. “What makes you think we're always successful?”

The last shred of hope bled out of him, and Shard's heart fluttered down to his toes, deflated. There was no getting out of this. No sitting on the sidelines. No running away. His fingers curled around the hilt, and he almost thought he could feel blood on his palms again. He could almost hear the screams.

“I don't want to kill anyone,” he whispered.

“Good.”

When Shard dragged his gaze upward again, he found Glaive watching him keenly. His eyes, usually half-lidded and almost bored, remained fixed on Shard's face, as if he could read more than the mere words Shard spoke.

“All the more reason to learn how to fight,” Glaive said. “I would be more reluctant to teach you if you'd come here eager for bloodshed. That's not what we're here for. We are here to protect. To negotiate. Even if sometimes we must negotiate with steel rather than words.

“Be slow to draw your sword,” he continued with a curt nod. “But do not leave it in its sheath when there are lives it could save.”

Shard felt his eyes drawn to the glistening blade once more. For a moment, he almost thought he saw bodies reflected in the metal. Bloody bodies littering the hillside, eyes staring back at him in horror....

He swallowed hard. “But what if...what if I lose control? What if I can't stop myself?”

He looked up at Glaive, and he thought the older man's eyes softened slightly, like he knew the fear that clenched Shard's heart. “Control is one of the things I will teach you, Shard. Don't think you're the first man to walk this path.”

For the first time, Shard realized he had no idea how old Glaive was. In that moment, he seemed as old as the mountains, as old as the trees. Had he stood in Shard's shoes, once upon a time? Did he know this heavy weight?

“Fear not,” Glaive murmured. “I will ensure that you do not set foot on the battlefield again until you know how to fight...and how to put away your sword.”

Shard found himself straightening, his head lifting to meet Glaive's gaze. Perhaps there was still hope.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 20

Welcome to Day 20 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to explore the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Spirit

Because yesterday was Pentecost, but I didn't think of this word's Chestertonian prompt potential until today. There's the Holy Spirit, the spirit of each individual person, ghostly spirits, being in good/bad/holiday/etc spirits. If you want, there's even the alcohol kind of spirits (very Chestertonian). Pick whichever definition you like to inspire your creative works.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

“So if Glaive and Gyvael are teaching us how to fight,” Shard said, “and Vesper and Vannasai are giving us flight lessons....”

“Our lessons will be about your soul-bond,” Legacy said, retying the bit of string holding her long black hair out of her face.

“Soul-bond?”

“My mother told me about that!” Shynael piped up eagerly. “That's the magical bond you make when you choose a mate, right?”

Linygae trilled softly, looking down at the smaller dragon with amusement. “Yes, but that's not the kind we're talking about.”

“It is similar, though,” Legacy said, crossing her arms comfortably over her chest and leaning against her dragon's shoulder. “The soul-bond between a human and a dragon is a magical bond that makes the two almost a single entity—not to be entered into lightly, not easily broken without...dire consequences. And just as between two mates, we cannot have more than one soul-bond at a time. Which is why none of us,” she swept a finger in a big loop to include all of the Ambassadors, even the ones not currently present, “can have a mate.”

Shard was sure his cheeks were as red as Linygae's scales, and he would have been more than happy to drop the subject, but Shynael was curious as always.

“We can't have a mate? But my mother told me that's what I would do one day, when I'm fully grown—leave the nest and find a mate. She said that's the way of things.”

“She was right,” Linygae said, humor still lingering in her voice, “for an ordinary dragon. But we Ambassadors are not ordinary dragons—or humans.” Her amber-colored eyes slid over to glance at Shard. “Was there not a moment when you accepted Shard into your soul? When you chose him for your own?”

Shard looked up at his dragon, remembering when he first held Shynael's egg in his arms, staring between it and the enormous body of the dragon who had ripped through the village. The desperation in her eyes as they met his, as he reached out a hand towards the egg...and then a moment of clarity, of peace, as if she knew somehow that he would never harm her son.

He wondered if that was the moment his soul had become bonded with Shynael's, that moment when he had chosen to cup the fragile egg in his arms and take it to safety, rather than dashing it against the ground like so many others would have. Or maybe the moment had been when he'd first seen the baby dragon struggling out of the eggshell, eyes bright and heart beating with life. Or maybe it was the moment he'd decided, once and for all, that he would protect the life that had been entrusted to him.

Shynael cocked his head to one side and looked at Shard thoughtfully. “I...almost forgot,” he said slowly, “but...I think I heard you. In my egg. I heard you talking, Shard. I don't think I could understand you yet, but...you said something, right up next to the egg, and it was like...I woke up. That's when I started to hatch, I think. Like I was trying to get out and see you.”

“Oh,” Shard breathed. “I'd forgotten all about that. People were starting to gather, and I was afraid they'd see your egg and take it from me. So I hurried into the chapel, and...I don't know why, but I said, 'Don't worry. I'll keep you safe.' I didn't know you could hear me....”

They looked at each other for a long moment and smiled. In that moment, Shard could feel the soul-bond between them without a doubt. It was like reaching out into the darkness, and another hand slid into his. The hand of a little boy with black hair and golden eyes, looking up at him with Shynael's toothy grin.

Then he blinked, and he was looking at his dragon once again.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 18

Welcome to Day 18 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to explore the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Friendship

Chesterton had a gift for friendship, often making friends even of his ideological enemies, and his works feature tons of friendships between very different people. You can use this word however you'd like to inspire your creative works.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

Vesper gathered up the bloody bandages and rags in her arms, turning to leave.

“Vesper,” Shard called after her, from where he lay carefully propped up on pillows in her bed. “Thank you.”

She hesitated, but said nothing, then ducked her head and hurried away.

Shard sighed, letting his hand drop onto the blankets. He felt smooth scales under his fingers, and looked over to find Shynael nudging his nose under Shard's palm. Shard obliged, rubbing the smooth scales in circular motions. Purring, Shynael settled into a more comfortable position lounging against the side of the bed.

“I don't understand her, Shynael. She saves my life, nurses me back to health...but she won't talk to me.”

“Humans're al'ays strange,” Shynael mumbled sleepily.

“She's shy, that's all.”

With a start, Shard looked over at the alcove filled with large pillows that all of their rooms had, designed to be a dragon's bed. Vannasai lay there now, her deep green scales almost black in the shadows. No wonder he hadn't noticed her before, especially when she'd been keeping so quiet.

“Vesper is very lonely,” Vannasai said softly, still watching in the direction Vesper had gone. “I am her only friend...and sometimes I fear I am not enough.” She turned her gaze back to Shard. “I think she needs human companionship...but you've seen how the others treat her.”

Legacy dismissively ordering her around like some kind of servant. Advent's snide comments sending her away in tears. Glaive...well, Shard didn't think he treated her badly, but he didn't really talk to anyone much outside of lessons.

Guilt squirmed in Shard's belly, twinging almost as much as the slowly healing sword wound. Yes, he'd noticed Vesper's interactions with the others, he'd idly wondered what history lay behind them, but what had he done about it? He'd been too busy with his own concerns, trying to find his place among the Ambassadors, working hard in his lessons so he could pull his own weight.

“It would be nice to have a human friend,” Shard admitted aloud.

Shynael stopped purring. “Hey, what about me?”

With a chuckle, Shard tickled him under the chin. “You'll always be my best friend, Shynael. But it would be nice to have someone I could talk to who understands what it's like to be human. Isn't it the same for you?”

Shynael thought for a moment, then leapt to his feet and bounded over to Vannasai. “You'll be my friend, right?” he said brightly, rubbing his head against the larger dragon's neck.

With a pretty little trill of laughter, Vannasai playfully nipped at the spot on Shynael's head between his horns, like a big sister ruffling his hair. “We already are friends, silly. Don't you remember that day we played tag together? That's what friends do, isn't it?”

“Oh!” Shynael gave her a toothy grin, then lolloped back to Shard and grinned in his face. “Hear that, Shard? I made a friend!”

Shard laughed until the pain in his abdomen forced him to stop. When the stabbing pain subsided and he opened his eyes again, he noticed Vesper standing uncertainly at the foot of the bed. How long had she been there?

When their eyes met, Vesper hastily looked down at her feet as usual. “Vesper,” he said, and though he made his voice as gentle as he could, she still flinched as if he'd shouted instead. “I hope we can be friends too. I'm sorry I didn't try to get to know you better before...all of this. But you've already been a good friend to me. You saved my life. So...I'd like to be a better friend after this, if you'll let me try.”

Vesper's voice was hardly above a whisper when she said, “You...don't have to....”

“I want to.”

She raised her eyes to his at last, and gave him a tentative smile. “I'd...like that.”

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 16

Welcome to Day 16 of the Chesterton Challenge! The exact midpoint of the month! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Love

Kind of a big prompt, but it was a big theme in Chesterton's work, which was full of love for people, love for God, and love for the world. You can interpret the prompt however you'd like to inspire all sorts of creative works.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

“Shard?”

Shard looked up to find his enormous black dragon creeping into their room like a dog with its tail between its legs. He walked so slowly and carefully, his claws barely made a sound against the stone floor.

“Are...Are you all right?”

Shard nodded. He didn't know why he did that. He certainly didn't feel all right. He stood in the middle of his room, exactly as he had when he'd first entered it. He hadn't bothered to take off his armor, except for his helmet lying at his feet where he'd dropped it. He still held his sword in his hand.

Blood streaked the blade, drying in brownish-red rivulets on the shiny metal. His hand was red, too. Both hands were. He raised his left hand, staring at the dried blood caked under his fingernails, in every crease of his palm....

The sword fell from nerveless fingers, clanging loudly onto the stone. His hands shook as he stared at them, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. His black armor seemed to tighten around him, clenching him in a prison of blood and metal. Frantically, Shard ripped at the buckles and straps, flinging every piece of armor off and throwing it on a heap on top of his sword.

But he couldn't get rid of the blood, the feel of it between his fingers, the taste of it in his mouth, and he knew he was filthy down to his core, rotten all the way through....

Something rough, warm, and wet suddenly swiped across his cheek. Shard looked up in surprise, just in time to see Shynael's head lower towards him again, his enormous tongue reaching towards him to lick his face again.

Over and over, Shynael licked his face, his neck, his hands, washing away the blood, sweat, and dirt like a cat bathing her kittens. His movements were slow and gentle, nothing that would startle Shard. He didn't recoil in disgust from the taste of human blood, didn't shudder at the memory of what he'd seen Shard do. He just kept licking Shard clean.

Closing his eyes, Shard saw in his mind's eye a little boy with black hair and golden eyes, standing on tiptoe as he gently wiped a warm, wet cloth across his big brother's face.

A hot tear leaked out of the corner of Shard's eye, and Shynael licked that away too. He accepted the tears just as readily as he accepted the blood.

A sob broke free, and for the first time, Shynael stopped licking him. Instead, he curled his long neck around Shard, resting his head on Shard's shoulder, and started to purr. Slowly, Shard's arms encircled his neck, and he laid his newly clean cheek against the smooth black scales.

The vibrations of Shynael's purring surrounded him, vibrating him down to his very bones. More tears followed the first, splashing against Shynael's neck, but neither of them moved or spoke. They didn't need to.

Shard almost thought he could feel that little boy in his arms.

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 15

Welcome to Day 15 of the Chesterton Challenge! If you haven’t already, make sure to check out the creations linked in the notes of yesterday’s post.

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Surprise

I've just learned about and been watching Chesterton's play The Surprise, and that seems like a great prompt for the middle of the month. You could write about characters learning something surprising, explore something that surprises you, etc. You can even take it as an open prompt that lets you surprise us with whatever you want.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

A meme for the sudden tonal whiplash (hopefully in a good way) at the end of Act 1 of my dragon rider story:

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 12

Welcome to Day 12 of the Chesterton Challenge! Don’t forget to check out all the creations shared in the notes of yesterday’s post (or to share some if you’re finishing up an entry).

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Mother

Because it's Mother's Day in America, and Chesterton had a mother. They had a pretty good relationship. There are prompt possibilities here, just go with it.

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

Shard added another large stick to the campfire, then leaned back against Shynael's welcome warmth. The nights were getting chilly. He'd lost all track of time, but autumn must be drawing near.

Shynael was the size of a cart horse now, creating a perfect backrest for Shard, and his huge wings unfolded into an excellent shelter when it rained. Shynael shifted, curling his long neck around so he could rest his head in Shard's lap. A deep, contented rumble began in his throat as Shard began rubbing the smooth black scales on his nose.

“Shard,” he mumbled through the purr, “do you have a mother?”

“Everyone has a mother, silly.”

“But you never talk about her.”

“How can I?” Shard chuckled, tickling him under the chin. “You're too busy telling me about your mother.”

The purring pitched upward into a sharp trill, and Shynael yanked his head out of Shard's reach. “So tell me about her now.”

“I can't,” Shard sighed, staring deep into the dancing flames. “She died in childbirth.”

“Oh.” Shynael's head sank down onto his foreclaws again. “And you don't remember her talking to you before you were hatched?”

“I've told you already, humans aren't like that. We grow inside our mothers, not in an egg. I suppose mothers can talk to their babies, but I don't know if the babies can hear. Or understand. We don't get a chance to teach our children anything until they're out here in the world with us.”

“That sounds hard,” Shynael murmured. “Did you even know how to talk when you were borned?”

Shard thought of the newborn babies he'd seen when accompanying Father Mark on a blessing visit to trace the pyremark in ash on the baby's forehead. “No...right at the beginning, we don't know how to do much more than cry.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing into the fire. Shard found his eyelids drooping sleepily when Shynael finally broke the silence. “Maybe in the beginning it's a bit like being in the egg. Do human mothers carry their babies around with them everywhere they go? And teach them how to walk and talk and everything about the world?”

“That's right.” At least they do when they're alive, he added silently.

Shynael turned to look at him with a smile. “That's exactly what my mother did! So we're really not that different.” Suddenly his face fell. “Only...your mother didn't do that, did she? She never even got to start.”

A sharp pang in his chest. Shard had thought he was over his grief toward his parents. He'd never known his mother, and had few memories of his father. It wasn't like he'd known them all his life and suddenly lost them. They were practically strangers to him.

But every time he saw a mother swoop in to rescue a child that had fallen and skinned his knee, every time he watched a boy run to greet his mother or a grown man help his mother hobble into the chapel, Shard had been acutely aware of what he'd missed out on his whole life. What he would never know, as long as he lived.

Smooth scales against his cheek startled Shard out of his thoughts. Shynael rubbed his cheek against Shard's, nuzzling against him like a cat, purring loudly. “I wish you got to meet her,” he whispered. “I wish she got to tell you all about the world.”

Shard reached up and wrapped his arms around Shynael's neck. “I wish you got to meet your mother too.”

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 11

Welcome to Day 11 of the Chesterton Challenge! Don’t forget to check out all the creations shared in the notes of yesterday’s post (or to share some if you’re finishing up an entry).

Today’s Optional Prompt is: Color

Reading Chesterton's work makes it clear that he loves his color words--he clearly had an artist's eye. Today's prompt is a great excuse to make colorful artwork, write color-filled poems or descriptive prose--whatever you like!

Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post. (Don’t forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge.)

Now go forth and create!

Shard finished off his goblet of wine and set it down next to his empty plate on the floor beside him. He and Vesper had taken their evening meal up to the higher tier of rooms, sitting on the edge of the balcony that ran around the entire circle. From there, they could watch the colors change in the sky through the leaves of the enormous tree that held the Ambassadors' home, as well as watch for their dragons when they returned from the hunt.

“Advent said something today I didn't understand,” he remarked, kicking his legs over the side of the balcony so they dangled freely in the air.

“Don't pay him any mind,” Vesper said softly, still nibbling on her piece of bread. She pulled her grey cloak closer about herself, as if the air had suddenly grown chill. Shard half-expected her to pull up the hood and shuffle away, as she'd been wont to do when he first joined the Ambassadors, but she stayed put.

“Don't worry; it didn't bother me,” Shard said, waving his hand dismissively. “It's just...we had a sparring match today, and...well, he won.” He shrugged; that was hardly a surprise. He had a feeling even the timid, gentle Vesper could best him in a swordfight. “But then he said, 'I guess color doesn't count for everything.'”

“Oh.” Vesper relaxed a little, pushing the remains of her meal aside and brushing crumbs off her lap. “He was referring to the color theory.”

“Color theory?”

“Yes. You know how some of us humans would say red hair means you have a fiery temper? Or blonde hair means you are vain? Well, the dragons have something similar, but about the color of their scales. Red dragons are supposed to be the strongest, blue dragons are the fastest, and so on. Every color has a meaning.”

“I see.” Shard leaned back on his hands and grinned over at her. “And what about green dragons?”

Rosy patches bloomed in Vesper's cheeks, more than the reddish light of the setting sun could account for. Turning her head aside and tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind her ear, she murmured, “Kindness. But it's all nonsense!” she hastily added. “Just superstition. There's no way the color of your scales could determine your personality.”

“Of course. But let me see if I can guess what purple dragons are known for.” Shard thought for a moment, imagining Glaive and his huge purple dragon who taught him and Shynael how to fight. Not to mention all the long conversations they had after lessons were done. “Hmm...wisdom.”

Vesper's eyes flew open in shock. “How did you know?”

Shard laughed. “Maybe there's something to the superstition after all. But go on—tell me what black dragons are known for.”

Subdued once more, Vesper looked away. “Maybe...it would be better if you forgot about the color theory.”

Shard leaned forward, all levity forgotten. “What is it? Go ahead, you can tell me. I promise I won't be offended.”

Vesper turned her head back in his direction, but she just stared at her hands in her lap. “Black dragons are very rare...as you saw when we went to the Dragon Assembly. But...the first time we went to meet the Dragon King, Linygae told us. Black dragons are thought to be the most....”

Her voice died away, but Shard wasn't about to let this go. “The most what?”

The whisper was soft, but he heard it clearly in the still air. “Vicious.”

Now it was Shard's turn to stare at his hands in his lap. He almost thought he could see blood on them again. Thick, red liquid pouring over his skin, getting into every last crack and crevice, so deep it was impossible to wash out....

Shard closed his hands into fists, and when he blinked, there was no more blood dripping from his fingers. “Is that why you were so nervous around us when we first came here?” he asked softly.

“I'm nervous around everybody.” Her smaller hand reached over and found his, slipping between his fingers and holding on, despite the blood that stained him even though it wasn't really there anymore. “Don't worry about it, Shard. The color theory can't be true—I know it because neither you nor Shynael is vicious at all.”

He squeezed her hand and looked up at her with a sad smile. “Well, it's right about one thing. You are very kind.”

The Chesterton Challenge: Day 7

Welcome to Day 7 of the Chesterton Challenge! The end of our first week! Don't forget to check out all the creations shared in the notes of yesterday's post.

Today's Optional Prompt is: Play

Chesterton wrote a handful of plays, and encouraged the general concept of play. You can use whichever definition or interpretation of the word you like. Write a piece of a screenplay. Write about characters playing a game, a sport, an instrument, or a role. Play with a new art medium. Whatever you like! Have fun!

Don't forget: anyone is allowed to join in the fun at any point during the Challenge. Even if you haven't created anything for the Challenge yet, or don't plan to create something every day, you're welcome to join in as often as you like. Whatever you create, make sure to show us or tell us about it by reblogging or replying to this post.

Now go forth and create!

Shard was barely halfway through his portion of rabbit when Shynael hopped up from his pile of bones by the campfire and said, “Okay, now let's play!”

Raising an eyebrow, Shard looked at the eager little dragon, not even as big as a cat, quivering from head to toe with eagerness. “I thought you said your feet were tired.”

Shynael rolled his eyes. “Well, not anymore.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Shard focused on his meal. “Well, my feet are still tired. We've been walking all day.”

With a long-suffering groan, Shynael flopped onto the ground and rolled onto his back so his legs stuck up into the air. “We've been walking forever. I wish you could fly like my mother could. Then we'd already be in the dragon kingdom!”

Shard sighed, but he had to admit Shynael had a point. They weren't making very swift progress like this. Especially because Shard had no idea where he was going or how far they would have to walk until they reached the border between the two kingdoms. Maybe Shynael would be big enough to fly himself by the time they found it.

“Shaaaard, I'm boooooored! I wanna plaaaaaaaaay!”

“All right, all right.” Shard finished up the last of the rabbit and wiped his greasy hands on the grass, then reached for his waterskin. “But let's not run around just yet.”

Shynael flipped over onto his front again, flattening his wings on his back and opening his eyes as wide as they would go. “Aw, why not?”

“Because if you run around too much right after eating, you'll just end up being sick. But I can teach you another game. How about I Spy?”

“Oooh, how do you play it? Tell me, tell me!”

“Well, I say...I spy something black. And now you have to guess what it is.”

Shynael let out a trilling sound like a high-pitched purr. Over the weeks they'd been together, Shard had come to realize this was how Shynael laughed. “That's easy!” he cried. “It's me!”

Chuckling a little, Shard said, “Okay, now it's your turn.”

Shynael scrunched up his face, peering around himself. “I spy something...wriggly!”

“Wriggly? Like a worm?”

“Aw, no fair! You saw where I was looking!”

“No, I didn't!”

“Did too!”

“Fine, then why don't you go again?”

“I spy something that looks like a cheater.”

“Shynael!”