10 October 2012
In the cold reaches of Tibet, where peace reigns supreme, a sleepy old dragons slumbers and snores. His breath warming his toes. I
His beautiful scales sparkle and glow, colours of the rainbow that shimmer and shine. Reflected in the crystals that surround the old boy, the colours weave magic and vibrate with a sound. This is in part why the Dragon still lives and breathes, for he's old as the hills and should be long gone. Deep in the cave all dripping with crystals, the wise and kindly dragon lived happily alone.
He had spent his long life on quests that were fearless and bold. He was renowned the world over for his great courage and perseverance...he would never, never give up.
His name was Jade warrior and was such a formidable fighter that most feared to go anywhere near. The braver folk, the ones that were strong enough, the ones that really knew him, saw a different side altogether. For the Jade warrior had many other great and wonderful traits, kindness, gentleness, and great healing powers to name but a few.
His healing powers came from his scales, which were an iridescent rainbow hue, each one bore the colour and quality of a particular healing balm.
One day whilst basking in the delight of a glorious Autumnal day he was surprised to hear a rasping, wheezing noise assail his ears. Around the corner, along the path came a man. He fell and stumbled as he approached and lay in a heap at the dragons feet. The Jade warrior, gathered himself, sucked in a huge quantity of air and blew. Hard!
A circle of fire enclosed the man, as he drifted into a deep dreamless sleep.
The Jade Warrior then got to work and plucked some scales from his side. Green for infection and boosting the cells, Mother of Pearl to stop any bleeding. Red for energy and to help him feel well, and blue for peace and healing and anything else that might be needed. Each colour accompanied by a fiery great whiff of the Dragons great breath, so healing and comforting, even with all the sparks.
Jade Warrior sat by his patient that bright starlit night and wondered of magic and galaxies of swirling dust clouds. A brief memory stirring of when he was born. The night a long one, for the man, but not for the Dragon. To him but the blink of an eye.
In the gold morning light, (he had forty winks) he awoke to the sounds of singing, and the glorious sight of his 'patient' up and around, not a mark to be seen, and no shuffling gait, just a hale and hearty friend returned to him from the dead.
Dragons Breath✨ • Opuss № I