Rafal was an eternal dragon of promises. Kept, given, made; some concrete and dissoluble until the grave, others merely and innocently suggested in life. Whether Maria had recalled one such suggestion and promise mattered, in the grand scheme of things, very little. Ultimately, it mattered only that Rafal himself had recalled it months after the fact, honoring his informal duty to fulfill it true. Mattered most that he should remember it on this particular celebratory day.
And one particular, celebrated girl.
The infernal wings of a bat; the long, sleek length of a serpent; the terrible maw of a beast. The shadow of this tripartite combination—that of a great and chimeric dragon—swallowed the buildings below. Small, to large, as he circled the premises then landed with a shake of the cobbled path before Maria. He let out a puff of steam from his nostrils. Within inhuman scarlet orbs radiated an unmistakable air of intelligence. They nictitated, then trained with proud focus.
"Maria, it is I, Rafal," a distorted voice announced, hauntingly resonant, as well as distinctly familiar beneath that veneer. "I have come to deliver you both well wishes and reasons to rejoice. If you should recall, during my birthday I once made the suggestion that we may take to air in my dragon form for yours. Well. That day has come, and I intend to make it true. To grant you the experience of a lifetime like none other."
Of course, the black dragon was not only patron to all manner of promise, but planted straight in the heart of the monastery. Little, frightened humans cowered at the edges of the vicinity. Larger, ghost-white humans quivered at the knees. Still, the transformed Fell Dragon paid them no mind, unaffected and nonplussed. He lowered to the ground, hindquarters and all, as if only to say 'hop aboard'.
"There is treasure to be found and a world of dragons to behold. If it should please you, we will depart at once."
In a way, she thinks promises are much like flowers... or the seeds of them, perhaps. To promise is to plant that seed in your earth; to fulfill it is to bring it to blossom. Some may bloom easily, while others might never sprout -- planted at the wrong time, in the wrong soil, or perhaps stolen away entirely. She may mourn them, but she has never begrudged them their unblossoming; she only tends her garden faithfully, and loves each and every color.
Maria may not recognize this florid flower at the first, but certainly, she can recognize a dragon when it flies overhead! Where others see the shadow and press themselves into nooks and crannies and the comfort of stone, the little princess of Macedon brings a hand to her brow, the better to turn her gaze upward to the sky.
She may say she can recognize a dragon-- and she does!-- but the one that makes itself known now is unlike any she has seen before. Dark thorns cut the jagged contours of its form against the sky, still warning of a lethal grace where she has seen others warn of power; yet there is brightness in it too, vivid like the sunset in dreams, cast across the sky with each wingbeat.
And she knows that hue, doesn't she?
"Rafal?" She calls his name curiously, reaching toward the crown of sunlight in the sky. It is only a guess, and a bold one at that, but there is a certainty to it that only Maria of Macedon can claim. After all, he is not like the wyverns of her homeland, but his shadow feels much the same.
Her hand moves back and forth, each arc wider than the last, and with each silly wave her expression grows only more effulgent. Were it not for the great gust of his landing, who knows if she would have stopped? Yet she tumbles back a step or two, laughing as she regains her balance with the unkempt kiss of wind now planted upon her crown.
"It's really you!" Both arms rise this time, as if to try, valiantly and in vain, to match his great stature with her greeting. Still she does not shy from the attempt -- rather, as some cower and others still flee in search of shelter, the little princess runs toward him. Only when she stands squarely in his gaze does she nearly skid to a halt, shoulders bouncing with a breath of realization. Right!
"Hee hee... I thank you for your kind wishes, and gratefully accept this gift." The humble skirt of her uniform fans outward, her head bent briefly, respectfully -- and then a rosy-hued eye peeks up at him from beneath etiquette. It sparkles as though it has caught the light of some great and wondrous thing, gentle in its edges and fond all throughout. It does feel an honor, doesn't it? To be trusted with so incredible a gift.
Then she rises, hastening to take him up on his offer, each touch and step made carefully as she climbs onto his back. Dragon he may be, but so too is he her friend; his hurts are always her worry. And, once she has settled upon his back, Maria laughs again.
"Rafal, did you know?" She cups a hand to her mouth, for it is still a very special secret: "You look really, really cool!"
