2024-06-27 - paleozoic.003

Green. Blue. Brown. Bronze. Gold.

Colors. Dragons. Similar, but different. Wings, teeth, talons -- flame and not.

Seth is most quiet when the harper visits, when they sing the songs of Importance that, instinctively, they know will cement themselves firmly in heart and soul.

Green. Blue. Brown. Bronze. Gold.

All dragons, but all different. Each with a purpose. Each singular in their own way.

Seth thinks and thinks and thinks. They will be one of these five, one day. They know this, deep in their bones. They will join brothers and sisters and all others in the skies.

And yet, for all the songs sung, Seth roils. So many questions they have, and all unanswered.

Why? Why green and blue? Why brown and bronze? Why gold? Why all these differences? Why so many of one, so few of the other? Why speak with thinly veiled disdain of one? Why praise the other? Why must responsibility be handled to a specific color, but not considered for another?

It seems limiting. Constricting.

'I don't want to be any of these things,' they think, thoroughly disgusted with the lot. 'So I will be none of them.'

They are young. Far too young to understand that their hide will one day bring with it all the expectations of that title. But it is a nice dream to think that they will be different, that they will rise above expectation and carve their own future, undefined by green or blue or brown or bronze or gold.

Perhaps one day they'll realize what an impossible dream that truly is...