Across the lunch table, Gallus pressed the tips of his talons together, his thumbs upright like goalposts. He stuck his big, stupid griffon face between them and smirked.
“You’ve got nuthin’,” he said. “Nuthin’, nuthin’, nuthin’.”
“She’s beating you six-two,” said Sandbar.
“Shush, ref.”
Smolder, in the zone, paid no attention to her friends. There was only the orange scale pinched between her claw and the table. There was only the goal.
Mimicking her opponent’s smirk, she looked him dead in the eyes and flicked the scale right between them.
“Seven-two,” counted Sandbar.
Gallus grumbled, rubbing his forehead, and went to fetch the scale. Smolder reclined in her chair and took a victory swig of her water.
“Does it hurt when a scale falls off?” Sandbar asked her.
Smolder shaped her claws into goalposts. “Not really. Happens all the time.”
“Will it grow back?” Gallus asked. He began lining up his next shot, his tongue stuck outside his beak.
“That one won’t. But the next time—” Smolder paused so Gallus could fire the scale over her shoulder. “The next time I molt, which should be in about six months, they’ll all grow back.” She grabbed the table and leaned back, fumbling for the scale.
“Oh,” Sandbar said. “Say, how do you know so much about dragons?”
Smolder froze, her claws an inch away from the scale. She tried to respond, but her throat tightened, forbidding every answer.
“She’s been a dragon her entire life,” Gallus said, to the rescue. “On the list of dumb Sandbar questions, that’s gotta be top five.”
Sandbar blushed. “Well—! I don’t know! She’s just super knowledgeable, is all. Like a dragon textbook or something.”
Quietly, Smolder grabbed the scale and lined up her next shot. She waited for Gallus to set up the goalposts again, but he was too busy scratching the bottom of his beak.
“You don’t suppose…” he pondered, “she’s a changeling, do you? Studying how to be a dragon so that we don’t discover her true identity and reveal her secret changeling plan?” He looked at Smolder fiercely. “You’re not a changeling. Are you, Smolder?”
Smolder flicked her scale between his eyes again.
“Gah—!”
She winked. “Eight-two.”
“I wasn’t ready!”
“I’ll allow it,” Sandbar decreed.
Smolder felt a tug at her elbow. At first, she thought another scale had fallen off. But when she turned, she saw a lot more than just one scale.
“Hi, Smolder,” Spike said, his claws behind his back. “Can I, um, show you something?” He glanced at Smolder’s friends. “Like… in private?”
Smolder rose from her chair, sighing. “Yeah, I guess.” She stretched noisily. “Hey, Sandbar, sub for me?”
Sandbar pumped his hoof and took her chair. “Your shot,” he told Gallus. He placed his hooves on the table and pressed them closed.
“Aw, c’mon!”
Spike pulled a box the size of a cutlery drawer out from under his bed. He undid the flaps and stepped back, gesturing with his claws at the contents inside.
Smolder blinked. “You brought me up here to show me your comic book collection?”
“Should I be worried?” Spike asked.
“Worried?” Smolder pulled out one of the plastic-wrapped issues. The Power Ponies Vs. The Mare Of Masks!
Spike plucked the comic book from Smolder’s claws and pressed it to his chest. “Careful! That’s an original print.” His shoulders dropped. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” he mumbled.
“Oh, Spike… First hoard?”
“N-not exactly.” Spike looked away. “Last time I collected stuff, I kinda went on a… super-sized rampage.”
Smolder bent over and elbowed him on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, kid. All dragons have hoards, it’s how we’re wired. Gold, jewelry, gemstones. Even books. But you gotta make sure you’re hoarding something you actually want. Something special to you. Plus, it helps if you know that nobody else will ever want to take it from you.”
Spike looked up. “So, my comics…”
“Totally safe.”
Spike nodded. “Okay!”
Job done, Smolder turned to leave without saying a word. The dragon goodbye. But Spike, not well-versed in the dragon goodbye, called after her.
“Hey, thanks for always teaching me dragon stuff!”
“Anytime.”
Smolder heard the little padding of Spike’s feet, coming towards her. She sped up and reached for the door handle, but he beat her there, stepping into her escape route. “Hey, Smolder?” he said.
“…Yeah?”
“What do you hoard?”
The door handle crunched inside Smolder’s claw.
“Nothing,” she said. “Bye, Spike.”
Spike elbowed her in the knees. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I’m your friend! You can tell me.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to.”
Spike tutted, wagging a claw. “Lemme guess. It’s not very dragon-y, is it? Like dresses or something?”
“Yes,” Smolder said. “It’s dresses.”
With a flick of her tail she brushed Spike aside, snaked her way through the door, and marched down the hall.
Smolder rushed inside her dorm room, slammed the door, and all at once her muscles abandoned her. She let her wings hang, her posture crumple, and her arms swing by her side. Her body felt heavy and lopsided—the right shape, but the wrong weight. The right color, but the wrong hardness.
She stared down at her claws. They were dull. Of course they were dull.
With a light step, Smolder went to her bed and pulled out a box from underneath. It was the size of a cutlery drawer. With a throaty sigh, she tipped the box over, and a mountain of paper fell to the floor. Books, articles, maps, pictures, journals, notepads. Lava surfing guidebooks, dragon molting textbooks. Stories about dragons perched on hoards, and the doomed travelers who faced them. All of it annotated, all of it scribbled on.
One by one, Smolder picked up a page, or a book, or a picture, and tossed it across the room, unsatisfied.
She uncovered a stack of poems written by her brother, bound by a paperclip. The top one was one of his firsts, and one of Smolder's favorites.
Stink of Sulfur.
Sharp rocks. Under my claws.
It’s Good. To be home.
Smolder turned the stack of poems over. It was the only thing in the pile she wanted, yet she couldn't part with any of it.
She'd tried.
Atop her pile of information, Smolder sat and hugged her knees. She wondered what it would be like to transform into someone else.
She wondered what it would be like to transform into herself.