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The Dragon Maker

Elizabeth Baxter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Baxter

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The Dragon Maker

Color was leaking out of the land like running paint on an artist’s canvas when Olivia finally persuaded me to put my work away. My arms ached and my eyes leaked tears of fatigue. Yet I still found it hard to stop. Wasn’t I abandoning that which needed me most? My creature lay on the canvas before me: an image of conception waiting to be born.

Olivia took my hand and, with quiet murmurings, led me from my studio and into the glass dwelling we called home. She might have spoken, muttering words meant to sooth me, but I did not hear. I had nothing to give her. Everything I had, everything I was, had already been given to my creation.

You see, I am an artist, the last of my kind. And I have a duty.

When did we lose our love of art? When did we stop appreciating beauty? Some say it was the day they felled the last tree, a Giant Redwood, hundreds of years old. Others say it began the day the last tiger choked out its final breath on a hunter’s bullet. Or perhaps it was the day the seas became too saline to support life and the song of the deep, which had sung for eons, fell silent.

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