Flo and the Giant
By Sarah Matanah
The cold, thin air burned her lungs, but Flo kept pumping her wings, pushing herself above the clouds. It's important to be really far from the ground when you start a triple somersault. Flo had done one once, but she wasn't sure she could do it again. When the stream below the cave looked like a sliver of broken claw, she tucked her wings and tail and twisted hard. Wind roared past her ears. Her stomach squirmed against the base of her throat. In the middle of the second twist she realized that she had her eyes squeezed shut. She opened them and braked so hard that her wings almost ripped out of her back. She was in cloud up to her ribcage and found herself eyeball to stoop with an enormous and very solid looking pink house. Her stomach was now in its usual place, but quivering. Not that she was afraid—she was a dragon after all! It just made her nervous to find a house hanging where dragons who were flying around the upper atmosphere could bump their heads. It didn't help that the doorknob was as far from the stoop as Flo was high.
Ignoring her stomach, Flo flew to the second-story window. She saw a room with a fire red carpet, a canopy bed probably as big inside as the dragons' cave, and a random pile of stuff that almost covered both of them. Suddenly a giant human in a velvet dress sprang across the room, grabbed Flo's foreleg and dragged her through the window. Before Flo had time to react, the giant was crushing Flo's wings in an embrace that smelled of sweat and nutmeg. Flo squirmed free, ready to fight if the giant tried to grab her again.
“Welcome, beautiful dragon,” the giant said. Her teeth were white and sharp and rimmed with gold. She shook silvery blond bangs away from her eyes. “I'm so glad you came to visit.”
“I didn't,” Flo began, but the giant's nostrils were suddenly bigger and her eyes smaller. Both the nostrils and the eyes were too close to Flo to ignore. “I mean I would have visited, but I didn't know you were here.”
The giant's face cleared instantly, “Of course you would have,” she simpered. “My name's Snowdrop. I'll call you Bluebell, because of your color.”
“My name's Flo.” Flo said. “Um, I think my moms want me home around now.”
“Oh, but I haven't even shown you my toys yet.” The giant covered both Flo's wings with her big moist hand and pushed her toward the pile of stuff that peaked at Flo's eye level and spilled across the floor and the bed's curtains.
Flo twitched her wings free, her irritation vanishing as she gazed at the jumbled collection of the mystical, magical, foreign, and expensive. Just on the top layer Flo could see a jeweled statue of a camel with a dragon's head, a thick red book with a rusted lock, a sleeping chicken, a harp in the shape of a singing woman, two crystal balls, and a ruby the size of her fist.
“It's okay. You can play with my toys.”
Flo still didn't like the giant's tone, but she wanted to see Snowdrop’s things more than she wanted to argue. She picked up the harp. The carved figure's eyes snapped open. Flo almost threw it across the room.
“What can I play for you, my lady?” the harp-woman asked. Her voice was so beautiful that it took Flo a moment to realize she'd asked a question.
“Anything you like, really.” Flo knew battle songs from Mama D, who liked to sing about clan wars, thrashing her tail so hard that treasures bounced around the cave floor. Mama G sang songs from tragic gryphon operas in a quavering voice. Nothing Flo could think of seemed worthy of the harp.
“Something lively,” the giant cut in. She had wrapped a purple turban around her head. It covered her ears in big lumps of fabric. “If Bluebell gets bored she won't stay with me, so don't let her get bored.”
The moment the harp woman's wooden hands touched the strings Flo forgot all about making excuses to leave. The notes plummeted into each other in waves that crashed then pulled back and caught themselves, thrilling through every muscle in her body. Everything around her seemed to sparkle and pulse to the beat. Why had she wanted to go home? Compared to this, home was nothing but a junk-filled hole in the dirt.
The giant smiled. She tapped her fingers against her thigh with a sound like an ax hitting a tree. “That's better,” she said. “Now we just need to dress you up.”
She pulled a silver cape from the bottom of the pile and draped it over Flo's back so it spilled down between her wings. Flo twisted to look at it. It slid across her scales like a waterfall. Suddenly she had to spin and twist and flip the cape so it swirled around her. Everything disappeared except the music. Then Flo's toe caught on the carved claws on Snowdrop’s bed. She stumbled against the harp. The tune stopped. Flo looked around, surprised to find that the room was dark. Her muscles ached. Her feet were sore.
“You're spending the night, of course?” The giant said. She had changed into a pink nightgown. She looked like a grub.
Flo started to say that of course she wasn't but before she could open her mouth the giant said “Harp, lullaby. Now, you fool!”
The harp immediately began to sing and pluck her strings. The carpet felt soft beneath Flo's tired feet. She started to sink down into it, but just then the harp hit a sour note. Flo's eyes snapped open. The harp looked distressed, her wooden hand reaching for a string that hung loose. It must have snapped when Flo fell against it.
“Stop the lullaby,” Flo told the harp. “I'm leaving. You can play a march.”
“No, no,” the giant cut in, talking very quickly, “Bluebell must be tired after all that dancing. Play something restful, harp! I command you!”
Flo grabbed the harp. She dragged her claws across the strings, playing a chord so sour that it squirmed in her ears. The harp tried to pluck a soothing tune around Flo's talons, but Flo kept playing. Every sweet note was followed by an ugly clash.
“Let your strings go limp and sing, you fool thing.” The giant shouted.
Flo covered the harp's mouth and dove out the window. She didn't even try to fly, just let herself fall. The harp's mouth moved against her hand. She couldn't feel any breath, but a faint soothing hum came from under her palm. She was so tired. She almost let her eyes close, but then the air rushing past her ears drowned out the muffled singing. The moment she could no longer hear it she felt terror instead of sleepiness. She jerked her eyes wide. The tops of the trees hung level with her toes. She spread her wings, but hit the ground hard.
“Stop that, can't you?” she said irritably. The pain in her legs and feet was enough to make her wide awake. The harp stopped.
“What's wrong?” Mo said. She'd landed almost on top of him.
“Hey, Mo,” said Flo. “I've been practicing a new trick. Want to see?” She put the harp down and whispered to it, “Harp, could you play something dramatic to introduce my trick, and then I need a tune with a swing to it.”
The harp nodded. She even looked like she might smile. She fixed her strings and began to play. The music pounded around Flo, louder than ever. She pushed herself into the air, far above Mo, carefully avoiding any clouds. She and the music both paused. The music shifted to a slow, swinging beat that made Flo feel like she was dancing. She flipped tail over head and head over tail twice and one more time as the earth lifted to meet her feet. She spread her wings and bowed.
“How did you do that!?” Mo asked. Then he forced a yawn. “I mean, I could do that, no problem. Where did this come from?” He picked up the harp and strummed it. The harp folded her arms.
“Triple somersault.” Flo informed him, just in case he'd missed any of it. “And this is the harp I won in a battle with a giant.”
Mo almost didn't look impressed.
Sarah Matanah likes to write fantasy and science fiction. She is learning how to play the guitar, but so far she can only pick and not strum. She works in day care and lives in Minneapolis with her wife, children, and adorable Houdini-like mutt. She has told many stories about Flo and Mo, but she can’t remember most of them.
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