Calmer Shores

by Orderly Disassembly

Prologue: Singing Strings

Birds flitted from tree to tree while chirping their morning tunes. The many insects of the wood buzzed and droned all over. Animals both large and small walked, ran, and sprinted to where they needed to go. All of this noise, all of this clutter, was bathed in the warm orange light of dawn.

An ashen gray teenage dragon stirred in his slumber. Sunlight pierced his curtainless window and stabbed at the drake’s eyes. A soft groan escaped his lips as he rolled over. Though it was too late, he had been awakened and daylight was not to be wasted.

With a short grumble, the worriless wanderer dragged his feet through his tiny wooden hut. One step took him from the center of his bedroom to the door, an opened door later, and Benedict stood on his porch. However, he had to duck to get his horns through the doorway.

The gray beast sighed as he went through his morning stretches, leaning into deep lunges and pulling his arms into awkward positions. As he finished, the drake flicked the door closed with his tail and admired the word carved upon the wooden plane’s surface.

Benedict.

A name. An old name. His name. Benedict smiled at his handiwork. While it took a while to adjust to being a dragon, having claws and splinter-proof scales were definitely plusses in his book. With a light heart and a smile on his face, Benedict snatched the fishing rod from its usual resting place: the spot next to the rock that served as the drake’s porch.

Benedict spun on his heel and strolled down a worn dirt path. Head swaying to an unheard tune, Benedict swept the surrounding brush with his gaze. Eventually, he spotted a white ball of fluff sticking out from a bush by the edge of the dragon-made road. Benedict’s smile grew in warmth as he called out.

“Hey, that you, Sir Pawlington?”

The rabbit tail poofed into the bush before a fuzzy white face poked out. Sir Pawlington had a wrinkled frown that instantly smoothed out into a wide smile as it waved. Then, Pawlington’s eyes went wide before its white body disappeared in a puff of dust.

Benedict cocked an eye-ridge before shaking his head. Another smile crossed his snout as he continued on his journey.

Several minutes passed in silence before he reached his destination, the river. A content sigh escaped the gray drake as he sat down at the water’s edge.

He calmly dipped his claw into the earth directly beside him and came back with a large wriggling worm. Benedict impaled the doomed limbless being on his fishing hook before casting his line out deep into the slow-moving water.

Several more minutes passed as Benedict’s mind descended into a serene static. He saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing, and for the moment, he was nothing. Contentedness spread from Benedict’s chest with a warmth resembling the sweet, poisonous, numbing embrace of liquor.

Of course, this haze didn’t prevent him from feeling a slight twitch in his line. A moment later, a sharp tug came. Benedict reacted by reeling in his line. Several more yanks came from the water, each more desperate than the last, but the misfortunate marine being faced a force with no equal. A power like no other. The Gods themselves trembled at such unbridled strength.

Benedict growled as his face descended into a malicious grin. “I’m hungry, and you’re lunch! No way out noodle brain!”

With one final yank, a fish the size of Benedict’s chest flew into the air. The silvery marine behemoth flopped through the air and the drake was already drooling at the thought of his upcoming meals. The filet-bound future was one that the fish did not agree with and the scaly monster made its complaints known. Benedict stopped its pathetic flopping with a claw that went in one eye and out the other. The flopping slowed, then stopped, and a few moments later even the twitches ended.

Nodding, Benedict went to grab the fish by the tail to sling it over his shoulder. The gray drake turned towards an opening in the treeline directly behind him and went back whence he came.

The trail was the same as before: a small dirt path crowded by underbrush and shaded by trees on both sides that hung over the road. The sun filtered through the leaves in narrow beams of light, the bright spears stabbed downwards and speckled the green corridor, bringing forth previously unseen yellows, brighter browns, and lighter greens. Occasionally one of the small residents of the wood would scamper across the trail: a squirrel here, a hare there, but Benedict saw neither head nor tail of Pawlington.

He kept a steady pace, once more bobbing his head to an inaudible tune, and gazing into the forest. Birds chirped, rodents chittered, and the wind howled. Benedict listened with rapt attention to the song of the forest, the boreal ballad, drowning out the secret that he would never share. Benedict sighed as he absorbed the discordant harmony.

It took him about half an hour to arrive. Benedict was breathing heavily and his heart beat against his ribcage. The fish was far heavier than he originally thought, but he’d live. A few seconds later he passed his abode and went down another trail. This one lasted for all of a minute before it widened into a circular clearing. At the center lay a circle of rocks that was filled with ashes and surrounded by a ring of dirt.

Benedict trudged closer before he dropped the fish to the grassy ground with a satisfying splat. He rolled his shoulders and twisted this way and that. Finished with his stretches, Benedict strolled over to the fire pit and grabbed a metal spike. With a single jab, he drove the metallic spit in through the fish’s mouth, and all the way through with the end jutting out near the tail.

With the thunk of metal on wood, Benedict dropped the spit onto a pair of holders that would have kept the meat just out of the fire, if there was any right now. Seemingly unsatisfied, he strolled around the nearby forest for a bit to gather wood.

When he returned from his jaunt, he found a tiny wooden wolf hopping up and down below the skewered fish.

“Now now, little one, that isn’t for you.”

The timberpup spun to face Benedict and barked at him. However, before he could respond, the living pile of wood rushed him, pouncing upwards, trying to get its leafy tongue all over Benedict’s face.

“Oh ho, down boy, yes you can have some later, but I’ve gotta cook it first.”

The little pup growled and Benedict responded with a scowl.

“Don’t take that kind of tone with me, little one! Do I need to talk to your parents ‘bout manners, hm?”

The tiny wolf whimpered as it bowed its head.

“Aw, don’t worry bout it little guy, just don’t act like that again, capiche?”

The timberwolf yipped happily as it bounded around the dragon.

Benedict stepped past the feisty sapling to set the wood in his arms under the fish. After tossing the wood down, the drake took a deep breath in, and let loose a torrent of orange flames upon the firewood.

The wolf jumped back, hackles raised and teeth bared. The little wooden creature kept its distance as it flicked its gaze between Benedict and the fire. However, Benedict just rolled his eyes.

“Little one, that wood isn’t your kin, and I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

The wolf remained in its spot.

Benedict sighed before saying “Fine, be like that then, means more for me.”

With a smile, the drake turned back towards his lunch. For a few minutes, the pup held its ground, but the odors of roasted fish and the grumbling of its stomach eventually dragged the timberwolf forward. The thing shied away from the dragon, but it was still closer than before.

Benedict paid the standing puppy no mind as he stepped forward and snatched the spitted fish right off its holders. He tore off a chunk of the tail and tossed it to the wooden wolf, but kept the rest for himself. The drake sat down with his prize in his lap, steam still coming off the meal. With a toothy grin, he brought the fish to his mouth… and spat it right back out. The drake grabbed at his tongue, trying to massage the stinging out of it.

“ ‘ot ‘ire ‘rooh o’ i’side, ‘ot ‘ire ‘rooh o’ i’side.”

The drake shook his head as his eye ridges came together in anger.

“Gah, I still don’t get how I can breathe fire but not eat hot food.”

Before Benedict could continue on about the illogicality of it, a white blur dashed out of a nearby bush. When the high-speed object came to a stop and the dust cleared away, a rabbit was revealed. Sir Pawlington hopped in place while he waved one of his fluffy paws above his head, revealing a bundle of thin plant fibers.

“Oh, so that’s why you were in such a big rush.”

Pawington hopped up next to Benedict, set the cargo down, and sprinted back into the woods. Benedict sighed at the display before he eyed his meal once more.

A single claw extended from its natural sheath and Benedict used it to slice the fish open. Steam bellowed out from the creature’s innards. After the thing cooled down, brunch went on without a hitch. Though the wooden wolf did try to come back for seconds. However, all it took for the thing to leave was Benedict shooing it away.

He groaned as he stood up.

“I think that-”

A loud belch shook nearby trees and sent distant flocks of birds into a panic.

“-was a bit much.”

The dragon picked up the strong, stringy fibers and started lumbering off. The vibrant greens blurred around him and the golden light of noon turned the air into a sparkling haze. His dazed and dazzled eyes made no note of the movements of the forest as he hiked down his path.

Benedict’s vision came back into focus as he neared his home. He stood at the opening into the woods and smiled at the scene.

His little cottage was made from a huge amount of thick vines tied around a quartet of trees in close proximity to each other. The great oaks being the pillars that held his walls up fit the names carved on them well. Or so Benedict thought.

Just as he was about to step out, he heard a woodpecker begin its staccato assault on a tree. The rapid-fire clacks filled Benedict’s ears and he froze on the spot.

His eyes dried out quickly under the strain he put them through, scouring every bush, dark crevice, and little nook and cranny that could hide an enemy.

A fire ignited in his chest as his throat constricted. Quick, deep breaths tore through his throat as Benedict desperately tried to calm himself, leaving a sore mess behind.

Tense muscles coiled, ready to jump to cover at the slightest twitch.

The woodpecker stopped its vigorous pecking for a moment to examine Benedict. A chirp accompanied a tilt of its head as it continued staring at him. After a few moments of quiet, Benedict managed to pull himself together with a shake of the head. A weak smile crossed his lips.

“I’m sorry little one, but could you do that somewhere else please?”

The tiny bird hopped from place to place on the branch it resided as it chirped at him some more, all the while pointing a wing at the hole.

“I’m sure it was, but-”

Benedict took a deep breath before continuing on.

“-but it really causes me some issues, so could you please, just find somewhere else?”

The bird dipped its head in thought before shrugging its wings and flying away.

Benedict sighed in relief as he shuffled over to a workbench that jutted out of an opening in the vines that made up the walls in his house. His bundle of soft fibers made no noise as Benedict set them down. He eyed the plants with annoyance before sighing.

“Sooner I start, the sooner I finish.”

With that, he began the agonizingly slow process of threading the plant matter into usable string for his favorite instrument. After Benedict got the pattern down, he let his mind drift into the same daze it took on at the lake. However, every once in a while, a claw would slip, or a fiber would get stuck, and Benedict would have to zone in again.

Each time his zen-like state was broken, Benedict’s patience grew thinner. Each catch of the fragile thread cost him his bliss. Every time his claws slipped so much as an inch, he had to waste more effort on correcting it. Those damned strings would not allow him peace.

After a couple of hours of fiddling with the unholy strips of fiber, Benedict finally set down a complete string. He sighed and leaned onto the bench, careful to not accidentally pull it out of its bearings.

A moment later, Benedict straightened and snatched the string to head inside. With barely a few strides, he strutted around the corner and into his home. A moment of searching led his gaze to a lustrous, polished wooden box. Inside lay his baby, the love of his life, his most prized possession.

Benedict reverently flicked the clasps open and lifted a violin out. The instrument was a chestnut brown, held no patterns save the natural grains of the wood, and shone with the bright orange light of a setting sun.

A grin split Benedict’s face as he brought a matching bow out from the same case. With a single stride, he left his home once more. Instead of dawn, he was greeted by dusk. Orange covered the distant horizon but bled to a deep royal purple, and a midnight blue heralded the coming night.

A few steps later saw Benedict standing in front of his abode. With a gentleness that one used with newborns, he fiddled with the knobs on the instrument's head and occasionally drew his bow across the vibrating strings. The background noise of the forest began to quiet as Benedict finished tuning. With violin and bow in hand, he began to play.

The bow whispered across homemade strings in a slowly descending bass. A sharp high note would punctuate the end of every descent but lead into another deeper stroll downwards in the octaves.

When the notes reached their lowest point, Benedict yanked the bow across to flitter between two extremely high notes. Only to begin the descent once more.

However, before the progression could cross the middle pitch, he reversed the melody. Bringing the string of music higher and higher. Benedict held the last note for a moment before dropping to a bass octave again. He beat a slow, dramatic rhythm against a nearby log with his tail as he pulled long strokes from the singing violin.

The tension in the air built and built as the music grew more and more intense. The melody began to quicken and raise in pitch once more, leading to Benedict beating the hollow log faster.

The finale began with a drawn-out high note that bled into a fluttering descent that trilled through the upper octaves and slowed in the lower ones.

The piece ended with a simple trio of ascending notes.

Benedict had closed his eyes during the performance and when he opened them, he laughed. He found himself surrounded by all sorts of denizens of the wood. Everything from timberwolves to tallows were present. Benedict even saw Pawlington jumping all over the crowd.

The applause was a deafening series of howls, chittering, chirping, and even buzzing from the smallest of the crowd. When the cacophony died down, Benedict smirked.

“I suppose that means you like it, hm?”

He got another thundering reply, and with a laugh, Benedict spoke.

“An encore? Wonderful!”

And so a set of strings joined the orchestral majesty of the boreal ballad, sung by the followers of the forest Everfree.

Author's Note:

special thx to my editor 
UnamusedWaffle - Fimfiction

(Yes, he was even needed in the author’s note).

DarthBall - Fimfiction

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