"Roar…"
Bemused, he knew his growl was far too gentle to rouse the human. He snorted, then flared his nostrils, sending a puff of warm air into the room, lifting the bedspread and sending loose papers
into the air. Ambrosia didn't stir.
"ROAR!
This time, his roar was a thunderous song that rattled the small cottage. Frightened, Ambrosia sprang out of bed and knelt behind the bedside table. Peering over her long-tangled hair, she surveyed the room for danger. Her eyes landed on him, and she placed her hands on her hips.
"Neep." She said, frustrated. "You can't wake me up like that. I could die." She placed her hand on her heart. Chuckling, he moved his tail to point at the clock on the wall. She blinked at him in confusion, then traced his long scaly tail until she reached the arrowed tip. Naturally, her eyes continued up the wall to the clock.
____
"No, no, no, no!" I yelled while dashing into the bathroom. Twenty minutes before the performance started, I hadn't even put on my makeup. Snatching my toothbrush, I scrubbed my tongue. I could hear him chuckling in the corner of my room.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" I spoke to his mind while splashing hot water on my face.
Perking up, he spoke back, "I did wake you up."
Rolling my eyes, I replied. "Sooner, why didn't you wake me up sooner?" I spun back into the room, throwing my closet door open, scanning for my outfit. Unwinding his tail, he moved to his feet and waddled out of the room. Neep's wings created a powerful gust of wind in the room, sending a stack of books tumbling onto the floor. I could feel the warm air from his wings against my skin. I swore under my breath as I tugged my hip scarf over my shoes. Why did I put them on first?
"Twenty minutes!" I cried. "Neep, the luminaire festival only comes to town once every thousand years. Do you know how long I've waited for this?" I yanked my dance bag off the chair, stumbling past the massive dragon, and stood in the doorway, glaring at him. Neep just watched me, his amber eyes half-lidded with that lazy, amused gleam. He tilted his
head, his great nostrils flaring as he inhaled. I had the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh.
"Darn, you!" I cursed as I raced down the stairs, my boots slapping against the wooden steps. The door slammed behind me with a sharp thud, and I broke into a sprint across the yard, my heart pounding in my chest. I hit the end of the driveway and skidded to a halt, the gravel crunching beneath my shoes. The city horizon lay ahead of me like a labyrinth of stone and sound. I scanned the streets. The distant clang of a hammer from the blacksmith's forge rang in the air. My mind spun, trying to come up with a solution. Neep's wing was still recovering. He couldn't hold my weight. I tapped my foot in frustration. The train station was a few blocks down, but the clock on my wrist mocked me. Seventeen minutes. Too little time. There was no way I'd make it on foot, not with the streets clogged with market goers, and the crowds around the town square were always a nightmare.
I turned, frantic, and spotted a small street vendor cart just pulling away, its horse straining against the weight of the cart. Not worth the hassle. My options dwindled as I looked around in panic. I was stuck. My only option was to walk through the edge of town. I looked around,
desperate for something, anything, that could get me there faster. And then, through the trees at the edge of the main road, I saw it, glowing, the Skyrail station, its golden tracks gleaming under the vibrant sky.
I swallowed hard and ran.
The streets blurred around me as I raced down the path toward the station. I could hear the rhythmic cling of my coins as my foot hit the pavement, my breath coming in sharp bursts as the city seemed to stretch farther ahead with every step. The world was alive with motion, the chatter of merchants, the rattle of cartwheels, the hum of distant conversations, but all I could focus on was the platform as it edged closer. My chest burned with effort, and I knew I was cutting it close. Two hundred and fifty golden marble steps stood between me and the platform. My lungs burned and my legs screamed, but I couldn't stop. And when I reached the top, the view of the city stole my breath. The sun was high in the sky, casting its warm glow over the sprawling metropolis, where tall towers brushed the clouds, and the jade-trimmed sidewalk glimmered in the sunlight. It was beautiful, but there wasn't much time to admire it. The skyrail's horn blared, an urgent, mechanical squeak that cut through my thoughts.
No!
I pushed myself harder, my feet touching the steps as I sprinted toward the train. I dug deep and leapt as hard as I could, my body flying. My fingers caught the edge of the guard rail just in time, and I scrambled, pulling myself up onto the machine's final cart. Strapping my dance bag to my chest, I hung on for dear life, my heart pounding as the train shot forward. The city flew past in a blur of colours and sound, the wind rushing through my hair. I made it. The six-minute ride was just enough to restore my energy and hope. Stepping out of the cart doors and onto the platform, I breathed a sigh of relief and made my way through the festival gates. The crowd was thick with excitement, voices carrying as the flickering lanterns swayed in the breeze.
"Let me see your pass, ma'am!" A festival attendant glanced at the pass before his eyes flicked back up to me, his expression tight. I fumbled through my bag, handing him my pass with shaky fingers.
He muttered, stepping aside. "Get moving."
I rushed past him, my boots pounding against the earth as I made my way toward the backstage area where performers were gathering. I made two steps before another figure emerged from the
shadows. A woman, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, approached me with a stare that could freeze water. She wore the festival's signature black vest and a well-worn pair of boots. She clutched a clipboard in her hand and scowled.
"Ambrosia." She said my name like it was a curse. "Where have you been?" I opened my mouth to explain, but she didn't give me the chance.
"Two minutes. You've got two minutes before your cue." The stage manager's voice sliced through the air.
With a few extra minutes in my pocket, I pulled on my headscarf, slipped on my anklets, and adjusted my veil. As I reached into my bag to grab my hand cymbals, a cold jolt shot through me. They weren't there. My fingers fumbled through the bag for a second time, panic rising in my
chest. I could feel my face flush, my breath quickening. The cymbals were the most important part of my dance.
"Where are they?!" I muttered, turning the bag inside out as if I could make them appear by sheer will alone. But it was no use. They weren't there.
I bit back the frustration, pulled myself together, and took a deep breath. Make it work. Dance through it, even without them. With the music already building to a lively crescendo, the crowd roared as I stepped onto the stage. Deep and steady, the drums vibrated in the soles of my feet. I felt the rhythm course through my veins, a pulsating presence in every nerve. My fingers fluttered, adjusting the folds of my scarf as I stood still for a single moment, letting the music gather. Then, with a single fluid motion, I spun.
As I whirled through my steps, the music swelled louder, driving me forward. I could feel the excitement building around me, the crowd leaning in, anticipating the next part of the performance. With every step, the energy of the music lifted me higher, my scarf trailing in a
stream of gold as I whipped through the air. My body bent, twisted, and arched into the moves I had spent years perfecting. But as I danced, the missing cymbals gnawed at the edge of my focus. The beat wasn't quite right without them. The sharp clangs that would've echoed in
perfect rhythm were gone, and it felt as though the dance was incomplete.
Then—thwack!
A loud, sharp clang of cymbals rang through the air. Cutting through the music like a blade. My heart skipped, and I wobbled mid-spin. The cymbals crashed again, and the sound filled the air like lightning.
Where did that come from? I glanced up.
And that's when I saw him.
Neep, soaring just above the stage. His eyes locked onto mine, bright with mischief, and his long tail swayed with the rhythm of the music. He was supposed to be at home, getting rest, but here he was clanging my cymbals.
The crowd's gasp was immediate, followed by a roar of astonishment. He was playing the cymbals as if he'd done it a thousand times before, each strike landing with precision, his wings fluttering between hits, creating a sound that mirrored the pulse of the drums. Neep circled the stage in a slow, graceful arc, his wings beating as he played with rhythm. He was in perfect sync, his wings fluttering between strikes. With each clang, my steps flowed.
I spun faster, my body responding to the music in a way I hadn't expected. The cymbals cut through the air, their sharp chimes punctuating my every movement. I lost myself in the dance,
the music, and Neep's rhythmic clanging filling the space. The crowd was cheering louder now, their applause thunderous. Their energy, their admiration, fueled me, and I danced harder and faster, letting the rhythm take me over.
When the last note of the music rang out, I shook my hips once more, my arms flung wide. The stage was silent for a heartbeat. And then applause exploded. I stood there, panting, sweat trickling down my neck, my heart racing in my chest. As Neep circled above, his wings catching
the light, a proud gleam in his eyes as he looked down at me. I bowed to the audience, feeling the weight of the moment. Neep flapped once more, his wings creating a gust of wind that ruffled my veil and sent the crowd into another round of cheers.
I couldn't help but laugh as I caught his eyes again, my heart full.
Thanks, Neep.
Bending his head in a bow, he acknowledged the crowd's applause and excitement. The day had been saved; it felt like everything in the world was perfect.