Second Place: She Who Had Been Painted

She Who Had Been Painted

by Brian Lockwood

Second Place

Sunrise had come, but Edrick had already painted enough of those in his opinion. In fact, he didn’t even notice the shades of color shining over the landscape beyond his window. He loaded another two jars of paint into his satchel without giving the view a passing glance. The pack was rather full, but he wasn’t sure what supplies he’d need for the project. After all, he’d never painted a dragon up close.

He referred to the piece of parchment on his work table and wrote “red paint - 1,” and scratched out the number next to “green paint,” replacing it with the number “3.” The list included things he’d already considered and packed; a wide variety of art supplies, cloths for both fair and bad weather, a bedroll, candles and a sparker, and simple food that wouldn’t require a cookfire. Edrick wasn’t sure whether it was possible or wise to make one near the nest.

Looking up, he scanned his studio for any other items he may have forgotten. His table was splattered with paint stains that had lost all hope of being wiped clean. The floor was similarly speckled with droplets of color, especially near the window where there were several standing easels and unpainted canvases nearly as tall as he was. Jars of paint and pigment lined the shelves of one wall, and sticks of charcoal rested in an ornate box near a pile of reference sketches.

Satisfied, Edrick lifted his pack and carried it in front of him through his house. He had to, for if he wore it now the canvases strapped to the back wouldn’t fit through the door or the stairwell, and the pack was stuffed so much that edging sideways wouldn’t work either. As he stepped outside and locked the front door, he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves.

“You’re really going to do this?”

Edrick turned to see his older sister Darsa, leaning against the waist-high fence at the edge of his yard. Her golden hair matched that of the rising sun, and in their younger days she’d been more than grateful to sit as his model with that mane on full display with a winning smile. Now, however, the hair was surrounding a glowering pale face. Her arms were crossed across her chest in disapproval as she surveyed his pack and traveling clothes.

He bit his lower lip but held her gaze. “I am.”

She shook her head. “You’re a fool.”

Edrick tried to laugh, but it mixed with a gulp on the way out. “Yes,” he said. “Tomlin thinks so too.”

“Tomlin’s more worried he’s going to lose his best customer,” Darsa said. “I’m worried for my brother’s life.”

“I know,” he said. He kept hold of his pack so she wouldn’t see his hands shaking. “Don’t think I haven’t considered what might happen, but if I succeed it will be the greatest portrait of my life.”

“It will be the last portrait of your life, and it won’t even be finished because the beast will eat you!” Darsa countered.

Edrick swallowed hard, but looked directly into his sister’s eyes. “I have to try.”

Darsa pushed off the fence and came to stand directly in front of him. She brought the soft aroma of gardenias with her. She was half a head shorter than him, but he still had to keep himself from cowering at the furious stare in her eyes.

“Dragons,” she began, “have razed entire villages to the ground. Killed whole armies and some of the most powerful spellcasters ever known. And now you’re going to walk right up to one’s own nest, with no weapon or spells, and think it will just pose politely for you like any other model?”

These thoughts had lingered in Edrick’s mind, almost word for word, for months. Almost immediately, in fact, right after he’d first been inspired to paint a dragon this way. He’d nearly abandoned the notion several times as his mind conjured terrifying ways it could end. He could be eaten, burned, or ripped to pieces. He might just fall off the cliff before even reaching the nest in the first place. Some of these fears had made their way into his dreams, causing him to wake in the middle of the night with his heart racing.

Yet each time, he remembered why the idea had come to him. 

“Every depiction of a dragon I can find portrays them as dangerous monsters causing destruction and death,” he explained. “Images that make us afraid.”

“You should be!”

“Oh, I am,” Edrick admitted. “But what if there’s more? What about a dragon might be hidden behind our fear? Haven’t you noticed that every image you’ve seen is either from afar or is based on someone’s recollection? No one has ever made a true representation of a dragon.”

A flicker of fear broke through Darsa’s anger. “That’s because anyone who’s managed to get close enough has died.”

For a few moments neither of them spoke, and Edrick realized that even through his passion and determination, the two of them still felt the same dread. The sun was truly up now, the colors fading from the clouds. Edrick reached out an placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder.

Darsa reached up to place her own on top. “I can’t stop you, can I?” she asked in a soft voice..

Edrick shook his head, and his sister’s anger finally melted away to reveal the love and fear for him. She stared at him as though she’d never see him again. Deep in his chest, his heart felt like a solid lump heavy enough to anchor him to the ground. Before he let that weight tether him, he squared his shoulders and pulled Darsa in for a hug.

“I’ll come back,” he told her. “I promise.”

The journey to Cloudbreach Bluff took nearly two weeks, and Edrick wondered if his arms could even lift a paintbrush by the time he reached his destination. He kept himself well, but had never traveled every day for this long. The last three were the most difficult, for he had to leave the road and travel overland towards the summit in the distance, uphill. Finally, however, he reached a path that wrapped around to the cliff face, which he would need to traverse to reach the top. A new dragon’s nest had been reported to be there, and sensible people had been avoiding it for months while the nobility decided what to do about it.

It was at this point when Edrick seriously considered whether he was more afraid of the dragon, or of heights. He edged sideways along the path, gripping the rock face and praying that the weight of the pack would pull him over for a plummet to the ocean below. He had to stop several times wo wipe off his hands and calm himself before making another attempt, and he slipped twice before reaching a gap in the cliff with a rocky overhang. This spot, he decided, would be his campsite, for the stone roof would protect him from weather, and as long as he tied himself securely to one of the large boulders at night he wouldn’t fall to his death.

After a rest and a small meal, Edrick left the pack behind and followed a small slope leading toward the summit. As his eyes drew level with the top, the wind gusted into his face, making his eyes water. He grabbed at the ground and emerged from the dip to get a good look.

There was indeed a nest at the top of the bluff. It was the same shape as a bird’s nest, but that was where the similarities ended. Claw marks all around it showed that it was more of a hole dug in the earth, then layered with grass and other softer things. Yet there was also piles of animal bones strewn about where the dragon had eaten its meals, stripped bare of all flesh so that even the insects weren’t interested. Edrick glanced around, his stomach churning, and wondered again whether Darsa had been right.  Then, breaching down through the clouds high above, he saw it.

The silhouette of a grown dragon.

At first, Edrick stood frozen in terror as the massive creature glided toward him. Then he dropped to his stomach in the tall grass. He wouldn’t make it to the edge of the bluff before he was spotted. The dragon’s immense shadow passed over him, and moments later he heard the wings flap as it settled over the nest, buffeting the air around him and his hiding place. He dropped his face to the ground and put his hands over his head.

A low snarl caused Edrick’s blood to run cold. The creature had sensed him, surely. Predatory birds could spot things on the ground with ease; why couldn’t a dragon? Or it had smelled him, for he was perhaps only a hundred yards away and sweaty from travel. Perhaps it could even hear Edrick’s hammering heart. Darsa had been right. He was dead for sure. Every instinct told him to back away, to run. To get back to his home and family and never leave his house again. With each breath, Edrick thought it would be his last.

Yet the dragon did not come for him.

He lay there for a while, not daring to move. But when several minutes had passed and he still lay alive and whole in the grass, he chanced a glance upwards. The dragon rested in its nest, positioned in a strange mixture between a coiled snake and curled up cat. It’s head was still a few feet off the ground, but was facing away from him toward the ocean, as thought it were enjoying the view. The light of the setting sun reflected off its scales, which were jade green. Every so often, its fleshy wings would push out to catch a breeze, then settle back along the dragon’s sides.

Even as he shook with fear, Edrick took in these details out of pure artist’s habit. The way it moved, even while sitting still. The way the colors faded into one one another along its long body. The angles of the teeth, though from this far away that was more difficult. He found himself wishing he could get a closer look at its eyes.

Hours passed, then sun dropping below the ocean horizon, and finally it looked as though the dragon would go to sleep and he could make his way back to the overhang. Very slowly, crawling on his belly, Edrick inched back toward the path.

Snap.

He gasped as his hand cracked one of the bones he hadn’t spotted. The dragon’s head whipped around, then it leapt into the air. Edrick stood as if to run, but the dragon flew the distance between them so fast he hadn’t even finished straightening up. It crouched on all fours in front of him, and a jet of flame sparked from between its teeth. Then, to Edrick’s utter surprise and horror, the dragon spoke.

“WHO ARE YOU?”

It was as though he were hearing two things at once. The dragon’s roar echoed off the bluff, a sound more terrifying than any animal Edrick had ever heard. But, at the same time, the question boomed inside Edrick’s head in the common tongue, as though he understood the dragons sounds as some kind of language.

It took a moment for Edrick to find his voice. When he did, he asked, “Did you…just speak?”

“I SPEAK,” the dragon snapped, and again the sound of its snarls and the voice in Edrick’s mind were equally loud. He instinctively clasped his hands over his ears, which made the dragon twitch.

“Forgive me!” Edrick apologized quickly. It was taking almost all his strength to remain standing. “I’ve never known dragons can talk.”

The dragon tilted its head, considering him. “WHO ARE YOU?” It shouted again.

“E-Edrick,” he said. “Edrick Jandon.”

“AND WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

Edrick winced. The dragon was speaking so loudly that his ears were starting to ring. Perhaps the dragon understood this, for it lowered its head to be level with Edrick. Then it opened its mouth and and growled, more slowly.

“Why. Are. You. Here?” The words formed in Endrick’s mind, and he had the impression of a king speaking slowly and in a commanding voice to a peasant kneeling before his throne.

“I…I want…that is to say…I wish to…to paint a dragon. To paint you,” he amended, thinking it best to make it clear he wouldn’t take just any dragon.

The dragon’s eyes narrowed. Edrick gulped. Did it even know what a painting was? “You. Have. No. Sword,” it observed.

“No.”

“You. Are. Not. A. Spell. Caster.”

“No.”

“So. You. Do. Not. Wish. My. Death.”

“Absolutely not,” Endrick said. “You’re…magnificent.”

The dragon said nothing. Instead its whole body moved with slow, deliberate breaths. Edrick tried not to look away, sweat gathering on his brow and soaking the back of his tunic. He waited, not knowing if these were his last moments.

Finally, the dragon sat back, and its head rose to be a good twenty feet off the ground on its long neck. The scales rattled as it shifted, gazing down at Edrick. Then it opened its mouth and hissed into the night.

“Come. Back. Tomorrow.”

Releasing a breath Edrick hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he smiled for the first time. “Thank you,” he said, and in impulse have gave a slight bow. Then, walking backwards so as not to break eye contact, he made his way to the small dip before turning back down the side of bluff.

When Edrick came back up the path the next day, it was to find the dragon awake and waiting for him. This time he had his entire pack with him. It still felt odd, and more than a little frightening, to walk towards something he knew could kill him as easily if is he’d stepped on an ant.

“Good morning,” Edrick said, no really knowing how else to begin. The dragon bared its teeth and snorted, and the impression of a laugh came to the front of his mind.

“It is,” the dragon said. This time the words felt smoother in his mind, less formal. And not nearly as loud, though they still reminded him of an older man who was in the early stages of going deaf. Still, it was manageable.

“It has been long since I spoke to a human,” the dragon said, as though picking up on Edrick’s thoughts. “I am not used to weak ears.”

“I’m…I’m honored,” was all Edrick could think to say.

“You should be,” it replied.

Edrick blinked, then shook himself, then shrugged the pack off his shoulders and opened it. He unstrapped the canvas and laid it flat on a suitable rock, then started collecting his tools. The dragon watched in complete silence with blazing eyes, and Edrick felt as though he were a schoolboy again, emptying his bag for a teacher determined to catch him in wrongdoing.

He’d taken out his easel, paints, pallet for mixing, and water. He set the canvas on his easel, but when he pulled the last items out of his back the dragon suddenly reared. Edrick screamed and ducked, shuddering in place.

“WHAT IS THAT?” The dragon roared.

Edrick looked at the object he was clutching in his right hand, then slowly held it out toward the dragon, resting it on his palm. “It’s a paintbrush,” he squeaked.

The dragon slowly lowered its head until its snout was inches from the brush, then sniffed. The brush was perhaps a foot and a half long, ideal from long strokes and backgrounds.

“It smells not of magic,” the dragon said, returning to its lower growl. Edrick could detect something like suspicion in the words.

“It isn’t magical,” he said. “It’s just a brush. Watch.” He dipped it in the blue paint, applied a streak to the canvas, then turned it so the dragon could look. He did it again within view, and the dragon seemed to relax.

“I see,” was all it said.

Edrick frowned, then an idea occurred to him. “Did you think it was a wizard’s wand?”

The dragon bobbed its head in an unmistakable nod. “I thought it might be a trick,” it said.

Edrick cursed himself. Dragons had been fighting wizards, sorceresses, and heroes for centuries, and while this one had likely seen hundreds of farming implements it had clearly never seen a paintbrush. Of course its first thought would be to consider it a weapon.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I understand your fear.”

“I do not fear you, human,” said the dragon with a contemptuous grunt. “Your kind only make me angry, not afraid.”

For the first time, annoyance managed to break through Edrick’s nervousness. “My kind make me angry too sometimes,” he said, “but we have something called manners, dragon.”

The dragon made a strange motion with its neck, and for a moment Edrick thought he may have gone too far. Then he realized the dragon was startled, and he decided to press his advantage. “For instance,” he continued, “I gave you my name, but you have not given me yours. Such an exchange of names is a sign of respect.”

Despite his outward confidence, Edrick stood holding his paintbrush in a sweaty hand as the dragon decided whether or not he deserved its respect. Then it nodded. “The sounds cannot be made in your mind,” it said, “but it means ‘she who flies between oceans and sings many songs.’”

“Dragons are named for deeds they do?” Edrick asked, fascinated.

“Yes,” she said. “The eldest of us have long names, for they have done many things.”

Edrick thought about that. “That means…are you a young dragon?”

“What?”

“Well, it doesn’t sound like you’ve done many things yet.”

She huffed but didn’t seem to get angry. “I have much time to prove myself,” she said.

They were silent for a moment, then Edrick spun the easel back around to face him. “Well, I’d like to call you Jade, if that’s permissible.”

She tilted her head at him, and her tail twitched. “Jade?”

“Yes,” he said. He took two of his jars and mixed the hues together until he got the color he wanted, than applied it to the canvas. “It’s the color of your scales.” 

It took a long time for her to consider the idea, but eventually, she said. “I accept. You may call me Jade.”

Edrick smiled. “Alright then,” he said. “And now, I’d like to paint you.”

“How much longer will this take?” Jade asked with an elongated growl that Edrick had come to recognize as a sigh. 

It had been five days, and he could tell she was starting to grow impatient. Their first attempt had been disastrous, for Edrick hadn’t been able to find a pose he liked where Jade was also comfortable, unless she was coil-curled. That, he’d concluded, was a horrible way to show of a dragon’s grandeur and powerful body. So he’d switched from trying to paint her directly to making quick sketches of poses in charcoal, then referencing those for a final image. Today, he was finalizing her head, for it had taken the full five days to even consider coming this close to Jade’s teeth on purpose.

“Actually, I’m nearly done,” he said, smiling into Jade’s left eye. He’d been excited to discover that each eye had two pupils, though she’d been unable to explain to him why. It was such a wonderful detail that no one had ever known, having never been this close to a dragon and lived. 

Jade’s bottom pupil focused on Edrick. “I smell no fear on you anymore.”

A warm sensation traveled up from Edrick’s chest. She was right. As the painting had come into being and his focus on the art took over, his fear had slowly left him. Jade’s roars and growls had become familiar, her somewhat smokey oder a pleasant scent, and even her size seemed less intimidating.

“Oh don’t worry,” he chuckled, brushing a bit more green onto the scales surrounding her eyes to blend the colors. “Dragons are still terrifying things. But I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

Her tail flicked up and back down once, which Edrick equated to the way he bit his lower lip to buy thinking time. “I have liked painting with you as well.”

“Well,” Edrick said with a final swipe of his brush, “I think it’s finished.” He stepped back and adjusted the easel so Jade could take a look.

Instead of flying, Jade was posed in an almost regal stance. She was back on her haunches so that some of her underbelly could be seen, and her wings were half open so as to see the light flesh but not take up the entire canvas. Her head was in three quarter profile, neck fully extended to bring the head in close to show those magnificent eyes, as though she were looking at the viewer. Her mouth was partly open, as though about to speak or sing, and behind her was the ocean beyond the bluff. Sunlight danced on the waves and her scales, linking the two together in harmony. Nothing about the painting implied terror, only a dragon’s majesty.

Just as Edrick no longer feared Jade.

“This is painting?”

He nodded. “I hope people see this and think beyond what we have always assumed. That’s what art does for us. It shows what’s in our mind.”

She tilted her head. “If they do change, that would be for the good.”

A grin spread across Edrick’s face. “I think you’ve accomplished a new deed.

Jade swiveled to look at him. “What would that be?”

“The next time you see one of your elders, tell them to add the name I’ll give this painting.” I gestured to the portrait. “How does ‘she who flies between oceans, sings many songs, and has been painted’ sound to you?”

Several moments passed before Jade gave her own wide grin. Something that would have caused Edrick to cower in fear a fortnight ago, but now only made him proud.

“I think,” Jade rumbled, contented, “that I would like that.”

Winning pieces are published as received.

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Fiction Potluck

July 2026

Third Place Winner:

Brian Lockwood

Brian is an American author and has been pursuing writing for over twenty years. He is a graduate of the State University of New York at Oswego's creative writing program. He was selected as the winner of Magicfest, a previous publication from the Writer's Workout, and has participated in several of their other events. While he prefers to write in the Science Fiction and Fantasy genres, he also enjoys writing theater and poetry.