“That’s not quite what it looked like,” Ivan growled. The delicate dragon rattle at his exclamation. The dozen pieces of wood and string that formed its body swung forward and back, their circuit constrained by the knotted twine that secured them to the ceiling.
“If I made it look real, it would terrify the baby,” Juliana responded, her fingers entangled in Ivan’s unkempt hair, “And besides, it was so long ago.”
If it were not for her words, her reassuring presence, Ivan was sure he would have sunk down into himself. When he remembered, really remembered, sometimes he wouldn’t speak for days. The dragon’s wings flapped gently, support strings creaking as they transferred force from part to part.
“It exhaled flame like a demon, every breath set the land aflame,” his eyes were distant and growing further by the minute.
“But you slew it, dear,” Julianna’s voice was calm, “And you will have another tale to tell your son when he is born.” She grasped his hand and, gently but firmly, moved it to her stomach. “Not long from today, you will have to choose: adventures or family.”
“I have already chosen, you know that,” Ivan stared deep into her eyes, the scabbard by the door long forgotten. A new journey stretched before him.
Written as part of Sunday Photo Fiction.
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