Page 20 of Forged Flight

“I will.”

With a final wave, he turns and disappears into the flow of villagers, his white coat slipping between colorful market stalls until it’s swallowed by the crowd.

Chapter Five: Micah

Maple gallops through the meadow, leaving winding trails of flattened grass in her wake. Her oversized pink tongue lolls from the side of her mouth, flopping against her chin with every bounding step.

When she reaches the far end of the enclosure, she throws herself into a muddy puddle, wriggling onto her back and rolling with unabashed delight. Her tail thumps against the ground hard enough to splatter mud in every direction.

“Oh, dear,” I mutter to myself.

After a week cooped up in the clinic kennel, she’s bursting with pent-up energy. One minute she’s racing circles around the pasture, the next she’s pouncing on butterflies.

The fenced-in area takes up most of the meadow behind my house. A shelter sits in one corner, lined with a thick bed of hay. Nearby, there’s a shallow pond for drinking and splashing, a pile of oversized toys for her to chew on, and a heat lamp tucked beneath the shelter’s roof to keep her warm on chilly nights.

She’s one spoiled baby dragon.

I settle beneath the sprawling tree at the edge of the pasture, grateful for the patch of shade. My satchel lands beside me with a soft thud as I pull out my weathered notebook and a pencil.

Maple doesn’t even notice. She’s too busy chasing a rabbit across the meadow, her little wing stumps fluttering with determination every few strides.

A smile tugs at my lips.

I flip to the next blank page of my notebook.

Day 10. Weight: 58.5 pounds. Appetite excellent. Activity level exceptionally high.

The pencil scratches steadily across the paper.

Wings remain underdeveloped. No signs of joint pain despite functional absence. Displays normal social behaviors. Continues investigating novel objects through play.

I’ve been documenting everything since the day I found her. Every meal. Every sprouting baby tooth. Every new behavior.

As far as I’m aware, Maple is the first documented dragon with congenital wing hypoplasia to survive past hatching. Every observation feels important. If another dragon is ever born with this condition, maybe these notes will help another veterinarian understand what to expect.

Maple suddenly stops beneath a wildflower patch. She crouches low, eyes locked on a fluttering butterfly.

Then she springs.

For one hopeful heartbeat, her tiny wing stumps beat furiously against her sides, fluttering as though she expects them to lift her into the air.

They don’t.

She lands right back in the grass with a frustrated huff, smoke exhaling through her nostrils.

I instinctively tense.

Maple merely sneezes, shakes the dirt from her nose, and immediately charges after the butterfly again as though nothing happened.

I chuckle, making another note.

Repeated failed attempts at flight observed. Exhibits slight frustration. Maintains playful behavior immediately afterward.

That’s the remarkable thing—she doesn’t seem to know she’s different. Or maybe she does and simply doesn’t care. Either way, she refuses to let it slow her down.

My pencil hovers above the page.

Congenital wing hypoplasia is almost always associated with environmental exposure during embryonic development.