I Called, and a Dragon answered. Not any Dragon. Not a Sky-dragon. Something more. Someone more. I could tell by the Voice. The depth and texture. The resonance and light. The Calling. The Connection to my innermost Self…that Self which I am beginning to believe – coming to know – that is my real Self. I would not be a Dragon-rider. I would be part of a symbiotic relationship: learning, sharing, and growing on the next loop higher on Spirit’s Spiral. I was shown a vision where to meet, and advised to bring some type of saddle, for the Journey would be long. The Dragon disclosed that “It” was a “She”, and her name was Asyrra.
I left my Elfhome, sending a Call for Ikthar, my Sky-dragon friend. We met out on the Western meadow, and he flew towards his Home. I shared with him what had happened, and my need for a riding saddle.
“There’s only one place I know,” he said. “It is to the northwest of my Homeland. Within that place is a Village, of mixed populace – Elves, Dwarves, Trolls, and the like… plus others you have yet to meet in this Realm. They make riding accessories, like what you’ll need, and many other wares for Journeys. It is also a gathering place for such Flyers to trade, barter, and share stories of their adventures. They can be kind of clannish… if you know what I mean… and not really open to Outsiders or Outworlders. It can get rough sometimes, but seldom out-of-control. I will set down here at their Landing area and let you off. They know me well, and so that should help you somewhat in being allowed to enter their village.”
“You think I’ll have trouble?”
“No – not trouble. You just won’t have the credence, reputation or standing among them that will facilitate your interaction with them. They may ignore you, or even refuse to listen or sell you the goods you need.”
“Well, I guess I’ll take my chances, then. I know this is the right Way. So, I’ll just see where it leads.”
“Fair enough, Lady. Just give a Call if you need assistance or support.”
“I will surely do that. Fare well, my Friend.”
And he took off, after I had disembarked, vanishing into the mid-afternoon sun.
It was not a long walk from the landing area into the edge of the Village. All of this particular place was built along the coastal cliff-line that most likely connected south to the Sky-dragons’ Home. I could hear the distant Song of the ocean upon beach and boulders. Soon, the open land became populated with huge trees and lush green vegetation. I began to see buildings, in trees and on the ground. One building seemed to hover in the air, and another was an earthen mound, of some sort, that continued beneath a small lake off to my right. The air was filled with a cacophony of voices, busily interacting as family, friends, and business traders, in far more tongues than I could have imagined, never mind identified. No one paid me much attention, as most had seen Ikthar drop me off. I had a sense that sentinels guarded the Landing area, and watched for intruders.
I walked along a well-worn path, checking out the many stores of food, crafts, wares, and Journey outfitters as I passed. I paused outside one such outfitter’s store, and saw the kind of saddle I had envisioned as “right”. I cautiously entered the dim-lit building.
At first, I was blatantly ignored but I paid no mind to it. I wandered over to where a few saddles were displayed. It was then that it occurred to me (a little late, as usual, I know) that I had nothing to barter or pay with, unless someone had need for healing, or wished to hear stories or flute-playing. I was about to touch that saddle – a supple, dark leather “softie” saddle… the kind that’s quilted to provide a cushioned support.
“Dinna touch that, Lass.”
A stoic voice, quiet but intense, spoke from behind me.
I turned slowly to face what surely had to be a cross between Dwarf and Elf, although I had not known such to exist. There had always seemed to be an unwritten agreement about not mixing races, where I had journeyed… although there was Chip, of course. He was the son of my Dwarf friend, Smashfoot, who impishly disclosed her great-grandfather’s indiscretion with a fine Rock Troll lady. Looking closely at the person in front of me now, I could see a grace in his features and movement, while his hands were larger and more worn than found on any of the Elves I knew. Nor did I know of any Elf that worked with leather and silver.
“I’m searching for a Dragon-saddle.”
At my voice, the other customers in his shop turned to look at me, as well.
“Are ye now.” A statement, not a question.
“Yes… and I like the look of that one.” And I pointed to the one I had almost touched.
“It’s not for sale.”
“There’re none of them for sale. Not for the likes of ye. Ye dinna belong here.”
“I was Called to come here.”
“Oh, were ye now. And just who’d be Calling ye here? It’d be a right mischievous and foolish Dragon to send ye as a Stranger, here.”
I just stood there, quietly. “Nevertheless, here I am.”
“Well, then, Lassie. What be the Name of this here Dragon that ye say”… and he winked at the crowd around him… “called ye here?”
You’d have thought that Time had stopped, for all of them stood transfixed – conversations dropped in mid-sentence, gestures halted in mid-air, steps stopped in mid-move.
As if the Name, in and of itself, had touched a pond of the Void and sent soundless ripples over every piece of Creation… or at least in this store.
And then the Trader shook himself, looked intensely at me, and then laughed.
“Well, why dinna ye say so aforehand, Lass?”
Looking in the direction of a younger version of himself, he spoke, “Brok, fetch this saddle down and wrap it very carefully so the Lass can carry it easy.”
The young’un hesitated, but the Trader just raised his eyebrows and voice a bit. “Dinna ye hear me, Lad? Get going afore I have ye shoveling the stables out.”
At that, the young’un scooted past me and proceeded to carefully prepare the saddle for carrying.
“Mind ye, Lass, ye’ll be a-needing some of these as well,” and directed my attention to the nice accessories that the richer Flyers might use.
I sighed. “Thank you, sir, but I’ve not enough money or trade for the saddle, much less all the finery and such.”
“Oh, dinna mind the cost. We all know your Dragon. I canna charge you a thing for all She’s done for the Villagers hereabout. Take what ye’ll need and dinna worry. Name’s Clayben.” And he extended his hand.
I shook it.
I was curiously struck by the sudden turn-around, both of the Trader and others nearby. Now, instead of being ignored, I was being deferred to. I didn’t particularly like either. Still, it made it easier getting directions to the Place that Asyrra had said to meet Her. In fact, Brok guided me to the exact area, keeping his distance and standing guard wordlessly, until he heard Her whisper to both of us, “I come.”
Like a drop of blue-sapphire rain, She manifested out of the sky. The vision of Her Presence grew as She neared, not only in size but in intensity and texture, in warmth and Song. Her sapphire-blue scales shimmered and sparkled like deep ocean pearls in the moonlight. Ah, truly, there were no words to describe what I saw. It was not just appearance; it was Beingness. It was far beyond anything I had encountered yet, except for the Unicorn, in this Dimension (and the Archangels and Yeshua in the Human Dimension). Asyrra was as uniquely awesome and unfathomable as any of Them.
She landed effortlessly, keeping Her wingwinds from toppling either Brok or I. She didn’t seemed bothered by his presence, but rather as if expecting him.
“When you are ready, Brok, and if you wish, you will be Called. I have said. You may leave now.”
After the shock washed over his face, he grinned in child-like wonder, and raced off home.
“Now, Child, let’s see how this saddle thing works.”
After almost an hour of wrestling it onto her properly between neck and wings, I tied the final knot.
“Climb on, then, and let’s be going. We’ve a bit of space to cover before our first stop.”
And we lifted off.