Write about an apex predator in your world. How does it hunt and survive?
Encounter the Dragon
You are the hero.
Your quest has been long
but now,
at the end of your journey,
at the apex of the hill,
You see your prize.
A golden apple?
Forbidden fruit?
Fleece from a flying golden ram?
Whatever it is
hangs from a tree,
as always,
and between you
and the fulfillment of all your dreams
the predator awaits.
The dragon.
The serpent.
The guardian of secrets.
"How many licks
does it take
to get
to the center
of a Tootsie Pop?"
A riddle!
Was this not what the old lady warned?
The dragon is wily
and holds forbidden wisdoms.
This one,
like a sphinx,
plays with its meal.
"I know not this . . .
tutzipop?
The word is foreign to my tongue."
The dragon roars!
Or laughs.
Perhaps it has
more humor than appetite.
"Then riddle me this instead.
how many teeth
are in the mouth of a dragon?"
"Um . . . "
"No peeking!"
It clamps shut its mouth
and talks through closed lips.
"That would be cheating!"
A wrong answer,
and you'll be eaten.
Run away,
and you'll be eaten.
Attack the creature,
and you'll be eaten.
So you think,
and you think,
and you think,
and you think,
and you smile.
"An even one-hundred!"
The serpent smile fades.
"How do you figure?"
"Cadmus killed one such as yourself
at the founding
of seven-gated Thebes.
A monster!
A terror!
A . . . um . . . no offense?"
"None taken,"
says the dragon,
"Go on."
"He harvested the teeth,
planted them in holy soil,
and fifty warriors sprang up."
"That's fifty,"
says the dragon.
"How did you arrive at a hundred?"
"And another fifty at Colchis
to challenge Jason.
Those were said to be of the same source."
"Perhaps there were more,"
the dragon suggests.
"Perhaps Cadmus set aside
three batches of fifty,
or five,
or ten.
Perhaps he discarded a remainder,
to make an even number."
You falter,
filled with self-doubt,
"But no!
Cadmus was a prudent man,
founder of a city,
the sort who would use half and keep half,
fifty and fifty out of a hundred.
Aetes was a tyrant,
the arrogant son of a god,
who used his full force
to destroy a perceived threat,
fifty out of fifty.
There could be no more."
"Excellent!"
the dragon roars.
"You have slain me.
Take your reward."
"Truly?"
you ask, ever wary.
"How can this be?"
"My kind are predators
of thought, not flesh.
Safe from us are sheep and cattle,
creatures of the forest,
and the crunchy bones of men.
My kind consume
logical falicies,
false premises,
deduction errors,
non-sequiturs,
and on, and on.
We hunt by dangling
shiny baubles of wisdom
and prey on the fools
who try to collect.
You have provided no meat today,
and for that,
the wisdom you seek is yours."
"But what of you?"
you ask with concern.
"As ages pass and men grow wise,
with every discovery,
with every advancement,
as literature and art
collect
and advance humanity
toward universal truth,
what happens to dragons
who feed only on foolishness?"
The dragon roars!
but this time,
you recognize
the laughter.
"Have you seen the world of men?"
the dragon asks.
"My kind will survive
and thrive
in your world
forever."
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