Red Queen
Hers is the cave
men fear to enter,
the gleaming of scales
like well burnished armour,
her great body coiled
deep into darkness,
guarding the hoard,
her brood is the treasure.
Like coals her eyes burn,
Red Queen ever watchful.
Greed
The greed of men for dragon eggs
(veined with gold and silver, sweated
from the dragon’s furnace heart)
brings them creeping in for plunder.
Hear their bones crunch underfoot.
The Natural Historie of Dragons
How Dragons fly. How to recognise
their spoor from clawprints in ash.
The incandescent breath of Dragons
and their origin in realms
of greater heat and violence.
How their fiery hearts stagnate
in the clemancie of our Aires,
whence their generations dwindle,
as if consuming themselves.
Who, nameless amongst their kind,
recount no Histories. Who are feasted upon
by their own young. Who cannot abide men.
Who nest within mountains and do not sleep.
Whose thoughts are Melancholic.
Being from elsewhere, dragons enable magic of sorts.
Within earshot, a man’s sense of purpose leaks away.
(Discouraged heroes blame themselves, but it is not that)
When close, the certainty grows our world resents them.
(Men slay dragons for their hoard, but it is not that)
When touched, the future is seen, though it wastes the flesh.
(Wizards age quickly and blame mortal men, but it is not that)
A perilous magic of slashing claws, coughs of flame, sudden teeth.
David Barber - from The Book of Dragon Lore by David Barber
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