Never Before Seen

This is what happened when I got tired of books full of wise, mysterious dragons and wanted a story about a plain old dragon.

As soon as she saw the cave, Matilda was intrigued. Caves were mysterious. Caves could be filled with any manner of treasure or wonder. Caves were unclaimed, enigmatic, untamed and wild. And most of all, Matilda didn’t have anywhere to stay. Caves were warm.

                The mouth of the cave was very large, large enough to drive a wagon into. There was no evidence of human presence, however. There were no wagon tracks or signs of a nearby encampment. That suited Matilda fine. There was a reason she was so far off the forest path. There was no reason to risk running into brigands or slavers.

                Matilda stood on the edge of the cave and peered inside. She expected it to be short and dark, but she found the opposite was true. It stretched and twisted so she couldn’t see how far it went. A series of cracks in the ceiling let in enough light for her to find her way.

                I guess I can explore just a little, Matilda thought. I won’t get lost unless there’s a fork down there somewhere.

                Matilda ventured down the tunnel. The dirt floor was packed as hard as rock. There were a few stunted stalactites hanging from the ceiling. She heard the wind whistling through the holes in the ceiling, like the cave was breathing.

                The tunnel turned gently, and Matilda couldn’t see the entrance anymore. She pressed on as the tunnel dipped and turned again. She examined the walls and ceiling of the cave as she walked. The stone was grey with splotches of smoother tan rock. A few small trickles of water moistened the mostly dry stone. A strip of moss grew near the cracks in the ceiling.

                Matilda guessed she had walked about forty acres when she saw the tunnel widen into a deep chamber. The tunnel sloped down at that point, so Matilda couldn’t see the ground. The chamber was the size of a large ballroom and the ceiling was high and domed. A smaller chamber was attached to the larger one by a stone arch.

                When Matilda was close enough to see the floor of the cavern, which was about three feet deeper than the rest of the cave, she saw the ground was littered with thin scraps of something. They looked like pieces of bark stripped from a birch tree.

                Matilda stepped down into the cavern, picked up one of the scraps and turned it over. That’s when she realized it wasn’t bark at all. The cavern floor was littered with thousands upon thousands of paintings.

                There were paintings of every type imaginable: oil paintings of beautiful women in exquisite dresses, watercolor paintings of peaceful waterfalls, tempura paintings of bowls of fruit, paintings of animals, paintings of plants, paintings of buildings, paintings of landscapes.

                Matilda sat next to the pile and sifted gently through the paintings, careful not to rip them. As she reached for another one, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye.

One of the rocks in the smaller chamber was moving. It seemed to unfold and raised itself off the ground. It stretched out like a snake and towered ten feet above her. Then it turned to look at her. And that’s how Matilda found herself looking up into the face of a very large and very scary dragon.

 Judging by its neck, it had to be forty feet long.  It was a subdued hue of orange, like copper mixed with the tan stone from the cave wall. It had a stout barrel chest like a bull and a solid, hefty build. Its tail was about as long as its neck but skinnier. Its wings were folded on its back like a moth and they were a slightly paler shade of orange. Its eyes were solid black and it had two tapered black horns that followed its slanted forehead and curved smartly at the ends. All in all, it was a plain, no-nonsense looking dragon. But all Matilda could see was that it was a very big dragon and she was a very small girl.

The dragon looked down at her. At first he looked surprised, like she was some mouse that had run across its foot when it was sleeping. Then it craned it neck to look closer. It seemed to assure itself that she was really there. Its face wrinkled above its eyes and it drew its neck back like it had seen a two headed cat.

“Excuse me,” it said in a polite and surprisingly quiet voice. “This is my home. You can’t just come into someone’s home.”

Matilda made a quiet sort of noise that meant nothing in any language.

“Uhh… I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was your home,” she squeaked. She tried to melt into the floor, but it didn’t work.

“I suppose you didn’t,” the dragon said.

He hauled himself to his feet and lumbered into the larger chamber, where he thumped down next to Matilda.

 “Every once in a while this happens. I thought nobody would want to tramp this far into some empty cave, but every so often you prove me wrong. Well, I guess you didn’t mean to trespass, so I will not gobble you up like some dragons I know would.”

Matilda found herself sympathizing with the bemused dragon. “What are you going to do?” she asked cautiously.

“I have a system,” the dragon said matter-of-factly. “See all those paintings?” He stretched his neck at the pile.

“Yes, they’re very pretty,” Matilda replied.

The dragon puffed up his chest and ruffled his wings.

“That’s my hoard. There are more paintings there than you’ve seen in your life, I’m sure. Trespassers have to add one painting to my collection.”

“That can’t be your hoard,” Matilda said. “Dragons hoard gold and jewels.”

The dragon peered down at her. “Which of us do you think knows more about dragons?”

“You,” Matilda admitted. “What kind of painting do you want?”

“It has to be a painting of something I have never before seen,” the dragon said. “You may look through all the paintings in that pile, and when you know you’ve got something new, paint it for me and you may be on your way.”

“Look through all those paintings? That will take forever!” Matilda objected.

“Then you might as well get started,” the dragon said. “You may stay with me until you finish.”

“Oh, may I?” Matilda said. The dragon ignored her.

“Since you’re going to be here awhile, we may as well get to know each other,” the dragon said. “I am called Skarn.”

“I’m Matilda,” Matilda said.

Skarn just sat there. He looked nonchalantly at the hoard.

“All right, I’m going,” Matilda said, picking up a painting

Four hours later, Matilda had looked at all the painting she ever wanted to see in her life. When she closed her eyes, she saw brushstrokes.  Skarn sat quietly watching. When she looked at him he looked like a living piece of art.

“Couldn’t you have put this in some sort of order?” She said. “They’re scrambled up every which way.”

“Feel free to organize them as you see fit. The next painter will mess them all up anyway.” Skarn said.

Matilda started arranging the paintings according to their contents out of spite. She wasn’t sure how organizing Skarn’s paintings was going to spite him, but she was determined to spite and that was that.

Another hour later, Matilda still hadn’t made a dent in the paintings. The sun was dipping below the cave ceiling and she was having a hard time seeing. She turned to Skarn, who was still watching her placidly.

“Don’t you have anything else to do?” Matilda asked crossly. “I don’t mean to complain, but it’s getting hard to tell what these paintings are.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t do to have you go blind.” Skarn said. “You may continue in the morning. I shall show you to your room.”

He led her to a nook in the wall of the smaller chamber. It held a small bed, a nightstand, a table with one chair, and an easel. There was a rug on the floor. It had a knitted paintbrush on it.

“Why would you have a room like this? You’re a dragon.” Matilda said.

“After the first few trespassers had to sleep on the floor, I felt rude.” Skarn said sheepishly. “I thought they might as well have a few things. Anyway, make yourself at home. I’ll be over here in my chamber.” He curled up and blended into the rocks.

Matilda took stock of her situation. She might be able to sneak out, but Skarn was taking up quite a bit of room. It would be hard to squeeze out. Furthermore, there was a serviceable bed in here. If she left she’d have to sleep outside.

There was no reason she shouldn’t at least wait until morning. She sat on the bed. There was a small hole in the ceiling above the bed. Enough starlight came in that it wasn’t completely dark. That suited Matilda. She wasn’t scared or anything, but it was okay to have a little light. Once she got used to it, the room was pretty cozy. There was one thing, though. She got up and flipped the rug over.

 

When Matilda woke up the next morning, the sun was just peeking through the crack in the ceiling. Skarn was nowhere to be seen.

He’s pretty quiet for such a big old whale. Matilda thought. She looked at the tunnel that led out of the cave. This would be the optimal time to go if she was so inclined.

Then she heard something thumping down the tunnel, and Skarn’s head poked into the chamber. He was holding a basket in his mouth.

So it goes. Thought Matilda. Tomorrow will work just as well anyway.

Skarn meandered over to Matilda’s room and dropped the basket on her table.

“I didn’t know what you prefer, so I brought a few choices.” He said.

Matilda looked into the basket. There were apples, assorted nuts, some lightly smooshed berries, and a few fish.

“Will that suffice?” Skarn asked politely.

“It suits me fine. I always say my favorite food is whatever I don’t have to cook.” Matilda said. She ate the berries, since she figured they would go bad first, and then an apple. Somehow she wasn’t very hungry.

She looked at the pictures. She was sure there were more in the pile than had been there last night. They stared back at her and laughed.

She scowled at them. She’d show them who was boss.

Skarn settled on the other side of the pile and watched as she searched.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Matilda asked him again.

“Usually I sit around and look at my paintings.” He replied. “So now I am sitting around looking at you looking at my paintings.”

Matilda rifled through the paintings. They blurred together. She was sure she had seen every type of painting invented.

She turned away and looked at a crack in the ceiling just to see something other than paint.

“If I’m going to have to sit here all day, we might as well have some conversation. Anything to give me a little distraction. What do you like to talk about?”

“Paintings.” Skarn said.

Matilda imagined the world’s biggest painting, filled with nothing but Skarn dying horribly a thousand different ways.

“Fine. What’s this a painting of? Is that real, or can I just make up an animal and get out of here?” She pointed to a painting of a humongous animal covered in gray armor.

“That’s a rhinoceros. They live far away.” Skarn said.

It became clear to Matilda that Skarn spent a lot of time alone. She wasn’t sure he knew what a conversation was.

“So, do you get out much?” Matilda asked nonchalantly. “I can’t imagine a dragon would have much to do in town.”

“Everyone always asks me that,” Skarn said. “I have seen everyone who lives within fifty miles of here. So you can’t just draw some local.”

Drat, Matilda thought.

Finally, she figured that if Skarn was bound to discuss only paintings, she’d just have to make the best of it.

“Which one’s your favorite painting?” She asked him.

Skarn padded over to his chamber and pointed his nose at the wall.

“This one wasn’t from a trespasser. It was from some art lover who heard about my hoard and wanted to come look. I told him he had to add a painting, but since he wasn’t an intruder he could paint whatever he wanted,” He said.

Matilda examined the painting. It looked like a bunch of broccoli on a blue background.

“What is it?” She asked Skarn.

Skarn looked at her piteously. “That’s everything! It’s the world from so far up it’s like you can see it all at once, and all the people blur together like little dots of life. I suppose you wouldn’t understand, but to someone like me, it’s the whole world.”

“Oh…” Matilda said. It sounded a lot prettier when he said it like that. “Well excuse me for not having wings.”

“Well, he didn’t either. I took him up. I suppose I could take you sometime if you wanted. Nobody should have to go their whole life without seeing something that pretty.” Skarn said.

Matilda wasn’t sure about that. It sounded like a long way away from the ground. Especially for someone without wings.

“Thanks very much, but I should probably think about what I’m going to paint,” She said. After that she didn’t try to make conversation anymore. It was a pleasant day anyway, as far as sifting through endless paintings. Skarn sat by her and commented on them every so often, telling stories about the more interesting ones.

As Matilda lay in bed that night, she pondered what she could draw. She was pretty sure she’d seen just about everything in the world in that pile. She’d learned about new animals and new places all over the world. Even though she was annoyed about the whole situation, that was nice.

She supposed she could paint the inside of an apple or something, but she had no idea how to paint the inside of an apple. It would just be a black sheet. That seemed like cheating, and Skarn had been nice to her, so she felt like she should do this right. She had plenty of time to think.

 

Five days later, Matilda noticed that she had spent a week with Skarn. She’d been faithfully plugging away at the pile of paintings, though she’d been moving a little slower. She found herself spending more time listening to all of Skarn’s stories about the world and, mostly, his paintings, and sometimes she told him about her life, which she didn’t think was nearly as interesting.

“And since then, I was on my own,” She finished a story.

“When I broke open my egg, I was already alone. All dragons are, I guess, at least all the kinds I know,” Skarn said.

“Don’t you meet with other dragons or have gatherings or anything?” Matilda asked. They had to have made the eggs somehow.

“Most dragons do, but I don’t move around much. I like my cave. My paintings are here,” Skarn said.

Matilda could see why he liked it so much. It was remote enough that there was privacy- most of the time, Matilda thought wryly- and it was homey and cozy, even if it was made of hard stone.

Matilda looked back at the painting sitting on her lap. It was a building. Matilda didn’t know what it was or where it was, but now that she knew it was there, she knew she couldn’t paint it. She picked up a painting of a vase full of flowers and silently cursed the painter. Why couldn’t he have painted just one kind of flower? Now she couldn’t paint any of those.

“Did you paint any of these?” She asked Skarn.

Skarn sighed and looked down at his claws.

“I wish I could. I can’t paint with these big claws. I’ve tried again and again. Even when I find a big enough paper and a big enough paintbrush- now that’s a long story- I can’t make the paint go the way it goes in my head. I guess I’ll always have to look at all these pretty paintings and never make one,” He said.

Matilda didn’t like seeing Skarn sad. He was such a nice sort of dragon.

“Wait. If you hadn’t taken that art man up in the sky, he wouldn’t have been able to paint the world for you. So it’s like you made that painting, and it’s the best one you have,” She pointed out.

Skarn looked at the painting, and then at Matilda. He couldn’t really smile, since he had a beakish nose, but he looked happy anyway.

“You’re right. I guess I did make something pretty after all. Thank you, Matilda. I’m glad you were here to say that,” He said.

                “I’m glad to be here too,” Matilda said. She turned away and grabbed another painting to examine.

 

After that, Matilda hardly bothered to search. She spent most of her time with Skarn. She went out and helped him pick berries and catch fish. Skarn was better at catching fish, but she was better at picking berries. She rearranged her room and picked some flowers for the table. Then she asked Skarn for some nails and started hanging some of his paintings around the wall. That turned into an all-day affair as Skarn agonized over which paintings he wanted hung and where exactly he wanted them. He didn’t understand why they had to be on walls only, so she ended up climbing onto his nose to put some of them on the ceiling. Matilda suspected that every other day or so she was going to be up there rearranging them all.

She looked at one or two paintings every day, as much out of curiosity as anything. Then, one day, she looked at the very last painting. It was an orange. Just one solitary orange in the center of a canvas. Matilda was disappointed that the artist had been so unimaginative. He must have been dying to leave. He was probably one of the earlier ones, too, since an orange was so basic.

“Is that the last painting?” Skarn asked when she was done looking.

“Yep, that’s it,” Matilda said. She wasn’t sure what to do. She’d never thought she would reach the end. She felt like starting over again.

“I guess now you can start painting your addition,” Skarn said. His neck drooped and he looked at the ground.

“I’m sick of paintings. Right now the last thing I want to do is think about paintings,” Matilda said.

                And for a long time, she didn’t.

 

Despite herself, Matilda began to grow fond of all of Skarn’s paintings. They reminded her of him, and he was pretty nice. She rearranged them regularly and tried to spread them out so the greatest number could be seen. Skarn was out gathering stuff anyway, so she didn’t have much else to do.

                The sound of clicking claws reached Matilda. She turned and saw Skarn coming back into the cave. Something was draped askew over one of his horns.

                “Matilda, I got you something!” Skarn said. “Come see!”

                Matilda slid the thing off Skarn’s horn and looked at it. It was a dress. It was faded grass green and was the sort of simple dress she could play outside in and not mess up.

                “I saw a whole line of dresses drying on a farm and suddenly I realized you’ve been wearing the same clothes since you came here. I figured you must be tired of them by now, so I grabbed one. Don’t worry,” He continued hastily. “I left a whole bunch of fish behind. The family can buy a better dress. And I took a green one, since everything around here’s sort of orange and brownish.”

                Matilda hadn’t even realized she hadn’t changed in ages. She couldn’t remember the last time she had another set of clothes. Suddenly her dress seemed dirty and worn.

                “Thanks, Skarn,” She said. She didn’t quite know how to react, but she wanted Skarn to know that she really did like it. “I’m going to put it on right now! But you can’t look.”

                Skarn didn’t quite understand, since he was always naked, but he turned around.

                That night, after Matilda reluctantly put her old dress back on to go to bed, she lay awake thinking about what had happened.

                Saints alive, Skarn sure is a wonderful dragon. He didn’t eat me when I barged into his house, he told me about all his paintings, he brings me food every day, and he even got me a dress just because he thought I’d like it. I should do something for him. What do dragons like? Skarn only likes one thing… I got it!

                Matilda got out of bed and snuck past Skarn to his pile of art supplies. She picked up a canvas and spread it out on the ground, anchoring it flat with some rocks. She looked at the paints. She didn’t know what most of them were, so she started with the ones she did. Watercolors were no good since they needed water, and then she’d have to sneak all the way out of the cave. Then she decided since she didn’t know anything anyway, she might as well use any old paint. And she got to work.

                It was dark when Matilda started, and she had to use the bit of moonlight that came through the cracks to see her work. It wasn’t dark when she finished. She didn’t have that much to paint, but she agonized over every stroke. This had to be perfect. It had to be the kind of painting Skarn could be proud of, and he had the best paintings in the world. She used brushes of every size and for some strokes she used her fingers so she could be sure the paint went exactly where she wanted. She tested every color she could find and mixed dozens of batches on scraps of canvas. She despaired over every mistake, real or imagined, and only determination to do something for Skarn kept her from disowning her work and destroying all evidence of her failure.

                And then, just as the cave was getting bright enough that Skarn would wake up any minute, she was done. She looked at her creation. It wasn’t what Skarn deserved. It wasn’t as gorgeous as his painting of the sky. It wasn’t even as good as the stupid orange. It looked tortured and pathetic, like she had something wrong with her hands. But it was what she had and it wasn’t going to get any better. Anyway, she knew how nice Skarn was. He’d like it anyway. She hid it carefully under her bed and got back in just as Skarn sat up.

                “Good morning, Matilda,” He said after he yawned. “I guess I should go out and gather some supplies. Don’t let the cave burn down while I’m gone!” And he lumbered away.

                Matilda just sat on her bed. She thought about her painting and wondered why she’d hidden it. She wasn’t waiting for anything. She was just so nervous about it and worried Skarn would take one look and be so horrified he’d burn it right up.

                Well, it’s no use making him something if you never give it to him, she thought. I guess I’ll just have to do it.

                Matilda puttered around the cave while she waited for Skarn to come back. She tried rearranging the paintings, but looking at them reminded her of how dumb hers was. She took it out and looked at it again. Maybe it wasn’t that bad after all. It didn’t really matter anyway. Skarn would like it. That was the reason she made it, after all.

                She heard Skarn coming down the tunnel and started like she’d been caught stealing cookies. She rolled up her painting and hid it behind her back.

                Skarn sauntered in carrying something. Matilda didn’t notice what it was, but it was probably food. She waited until she put it down.

                “Hey Skarn,” she said. “I got you something.”

                “Ooh, what is it?” He said excitedly.

                She held out the canvas and unrolled it.

                The forms were simple and roughly drawn, but they were plainly recognizable. There was a stocky, disproportionate dragon and a frizzly girl in a green dress. The girl was standing with her arm around the dragon’s neck and he had his head curled around so he could look at her. The colors weren’t all inside the lines and the dragon’s legs were widely varying lengths. It looked like the kind of art only a mother would love.

                “It’s us!” Matilda said, in case Skarn couldn’t tell.

                Skarn didn’t say anything. He looked at the painting, first like he couldn’t believe it was there. He stretched out his neck to look closer, like it was so pretty he had to look twice to appreciate all the prettiness. Then he looked up at Matilda.

                “It’s the loveliest thing I have ever seen,” He said. “It makes all my hoard look like scraps of paper. It’s the best present I have ever gotten. Thank you so much, Matilda.” He looked at the painting some more, angling his neck to see every bit and peeking around the other side of the paper in case there was more pretty hiding there.

                Then his neck stiffened and his eyes went wide. He drooped all along his crescent shaped body and Matilda saw a tear fall down his nose.

                “Skarn! What’s wrong?” She asked. Surely her picture wasn’t that pretty… or hideous.

                “I have to let you go now,” He said. He looked like a wilted flower.

                “Why?” She asked.

                “I have never before seen a friend,” Skarn said.

                Matilda wasn’t sure what to say. She looked at her painting and then back at Skarn. When she thought about it, she’d never really seen a friend either. She’d lived on her own as long as she could remember. She’d accidentally done just what she needed to get free, but she didn’t feel free at all. She felt alone.

                “I guess I did paint something you’ve never seen before,” She said. She didn’t like the way that sounded. It sounded like she’d won some battle against an enemy. She rolled the painting back up and held one end. The other rested against the ground. She wanted to say something else, but it seemed so ludicrous. She shuffled one foot across the ground.

                “I could just stay anyway,” She said nonchalantly. “If you don’t mind.” She looked up at Skarn.

                Skarn looked back at her and pulled his head back like a startled goose.

                “You want to stay? With me?” He said it like she’d offered him all the paintings in the world.

                If Matilda hadn’t been so nervous she would have smiled nervously. “You’re my friend.” She finally managed.

                Skarn couldn’t smile very well, being a dragon and all. That didn’t stop him from looking happier than anything Matilda had ever seen. His tail lashed and he tossed his head. His eyes curled upward and it seemed like even horns were smiling.

                Matilda felt just as happy as he looked.

 

Skarn insisted that the only place to keep Matilda’s painting was right over his den. He moved his painting of the world over Matilda’s bed. When Matilda went to bed that night, Skarn was still looking at her painting, and he was still looking when she fell asleep.

                The next day, Skarn stayed home. He said it was a perfect day to look at paintings. Matilda wasn’t fooled. She knew that for him, every day was a perfect day to look at paintings. She sat with him and helped him look through the piles. They started adding more to the walls and ceilings. Everywhere Matilda looked there were paintings. The entire cave was made of canvas, paint, colors, and brushstrokes. She looked at Skarn and he was a painting too. She wondered if he saw her the same way.

                That suited her just fine.

 

 

 

The End

Author's Note

I hope you enjoy it. If I get enough help and improve it enough, I might even send it to some magazines and try my luck.

Reviews

[MJ]

I really admire your tone. It's not overly elaborate where it makes it difficult to read and it's not too simplistic either. Really, I thought all of the content was pretty spot on. The only thing I'd suggest changing besides reviewing your grammar in a couple of places is indenting your text and putting spaces between the lines. It improves the flow for the reader. This was good though!

[Faeth Webb]

Thanks! I wasn't sure how to format for this site so I just pasted it as is.

[Euodia]

Loved it! Your writing captures the attention of the reader right away. I would just suggest editing your text a bit for reading purposes, to make it easier.