To hopefully make up for my negligence in the writing field, here is a short story for you all:
Perpetually interested in stories of any sort, Passamaquoddy often talked to different animals for entertainment. On one occasion he even asked me to tell some human stories. Every time story night rolled around the corner he was the first to line up. He always loved to hear the ones about adventure, daring, and outright courage. The night Sunset told her story, Passamaquoddy wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks.
When the ducks were just ducklings, they went on an adventure. Each had their own goal, and almost all of them succeeded in achieving it. Everyone but Passamaquoddy, who, in his heart, wished to find a dragon. He didn't find one. But, being a determined duck, he once again made an attempt at this goal.
Because the ducks have been together since their childhood, they have developed a certain type of bond, that only comes when one is in constant company with another. It is because of this bond that they agreed to assist Passamaquoddy in his desire to find a dragon. It did increase their willingness to help, the fact being that all of them held a firm conviction in the existence of dragons. Without much ado, they all had their gear packed up and were headed off into the great unknown, where they hoped to find a dragon.
On the first day of their excursion, the sun was shining and the wind was blowing softly. They missed their field where they had often taken a nap, but the thrill of hunting the dragon overpowered all other sentimental feelings. They traveled fast, and to speed up their progress into the unknown borders of WKH, they soared low across the ground, yet it was high enough for them to avoid having to maneuver through the weeds the goats had left to eat.
Their expectations to find a dragon, coupled with their enthusiasm for the task, often resulted with shouts of “Dragon!” and “I see wings!”, even though it might have just been a tree branch or a shadow playing off of a rock. Despite these apparent set-backs (because each sighting had to be properly investigated), they knew that this is what ducks were meant to do. Ducks were made to find the dragons, and in so speaking, hunt them.
Why they decided to leave their home, with all the comforts and luxuries of the pond beside it, for the unknown, is a mystery to those do not understand the complexities of the nature of ducks. They left home because they were bored of the guineas cackling in the tree and the singing birds that come in the early morning. They set off on their adventure because they knew what beautiful things were, but they had not the hardships and the trials to compare it to. The ducks' dilemma could be likened to a philosophers question: when one has experienced only good things how can one measure the absence of good without first having encountered some bad? Whether they actually understood this, or it was more of an the impulse to find a dragon, I have doubts; yet, I digress.
It is not to be supposed that they left entirely lighthearted, or without having attempted this same feat before. They had in the past got themselves packed up, ready to leave, just saying the last goodbyes, when they would find themselves distracted. Ironically, the items that made them stay were also the items that, in part, were making them leave. They would want one last drink from their pond, or one last look at the chicken coops, or one last look at the wild birds, and then they would not find it in their hearts the courage and determination to quit their owner's roof.
Also, let it not be presumed that they went upon this quest without any sort of preparation, save that of food and basic supplies. They had been told stories of the dragons by the older hens, who loved to hate the dragons as much as anyone. Of course, these dear old hens always said that their was nothing to fear, for dragons had become extinct many years ago. Needless to say, this did not stop the ducks from heading out to find dragons.
Now we shall head to the part of the story when the ducks find themselves in a strange place. Up until this point, their guide map, if you will, was the tales of the dragons from the old hens. When they awoke, their instinct informed them that based on a change in the atmosphere and tension of the forest, a dragon was near. The clouds were not clouds today, no, it was smoke emanating from the very nostrils of the beast they sought. The light reflecting off the dirt road was a shadow of the dragon's shining tail. The sunset fire that they had looked upon every night since a young age was different, it was red, red with the blood of the dragon. In the middle of that night the horn was blown, the horn that signaled the rising of the ducks. They were close, very close.
Passamaquoddy awoke with a start, not sure if the horn had been real or not. His comrades lay sleeping under the blanket of stars that sheltered them. The guineas were asleep in the tree, ready to sound the alarm should any strange beast try to trespass. The fireflies buzzed around lighting up the night with their little lanterns, and the quiet tune of the crickets had the effect of a lullaby. Before Passamaquoddy lay his head down to return to sleep, he muttered to himself “the death of a deathless dragon, that is the life of a man”.
For those who are interested in the oblique reference, please read G.K. Chesterton's THE HUNTING OF THE DRAGON.
Sit in on dozens of practical workshops from the leading authorities on modern homesteading, animal husbandry, gardening, real food and more!LEARN MORE