Fall’s Fiery Duo: Phoenix and Dragon in Autumn Water

A Contest of Questionable Talents

It was a perfect autumn day in the enchanted forest, the kind where the trees shed their golden leaves, squirrels planned their tiny revolutions, and somewhere, a centaur was probably wondering if he could pull off skinny jeans. In the middle of all this, a young phoenix named Blaze was making a ruckus, splashing around in the forest pond like it was his personal birdbath.

Blaze wasn’t alone. His partner in crime, a baby dragon named Scorch, was right there with him. Scorch, despite having the scales of a dragon, was terrified of fire—ironic, considering he lived with a walking bonfire like Blaze. But today, it wasn’t fire he had to worry about. No, today was all about causing as much watery chaos as possible.

“Last one to splash the biggest leaf has to clean the other’s nest for a month!” Blaze shouted, his fiery wings sending water droplets and a couple of startled frogs flying in all directions.

Scorch puffed up his tiny chest. “I don’t even have a nest, you overgrown feather duster! And good luck beating me—I’m part water dragon!” he bragged, which was true only by Scorch’s exceptionally generous definition of evidence. He had a cousin who swam once. The same cousin also peed in the pond, but no one talked about that.

Blaze eyed the giant maple leaf floating nearby. His beak curled into a grin. “Prepare to be dethroned, lizard breath!” With a screech, Blaze flapped his wings with all his might, launching himself into the air. A blur of fiery feathers shot toward the leaf, his wings glowing against the autumn sky. The leaf, in all its golden glory, was about to be obliterated by the splash of the century.

Except… Blaze had accounted for everything except how heavy his dripping feathers had become.

His first heavy wingbeat carried him barely above the pond. The second achieved considerably more enthusiasm than lift, and the phoenix plummeted. He hit the water with an epic belly-flop that sent ripples across the pond, a wave of water shooting up and drenching Scorch from snout to tail. Blaze emerged, sputtering, his feathers plastered to his body like a soggy chicken.

“Nice one, Blaze! Maybe next time aim for the water instead of trying to fly through it!” Scorch roared with laughter, his wings flapping in delight. Blaze shot him a glare, but with his drenched appearance, it wasn’t exactly intimidating.

Scorch’s Big Moment

Feeling cocky, Scorch decided to show Blaze how it’s done. He flapped his wings and paddled toward the floating maple leaf. “Watch and learn, Blaze. This is how a real dragon does it!” He smirked as he prepared to unleash a tidal wave with his own splash. He pumped his tiny wings, took a deep breath, and dove.

What he didn’t realize was that there was a rather sizeable fish in the pond—one that had taken a particular interest in Scorch’s wiggling tail.

Just as Scorch was about to dive, the fish chomped down on his tail with an audible snap. The baby dragon yelped, his dive turning into a flailing mess of wings, tail, and water. He spun in circles, trying to shake off the fish, his attempts only managing to launch him into a spectacular, but very undignified, belly-flop of his own.

Blaze burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the forest. “Well, well! Looks like you’ve got your own problems to deal with now, Scales McFlop!”

The fish, perhaps thinking this was all a game, continued to chase Scorch, nibbling at his tail every time he tried to take flight. Scorch screeched and flailed, sending sprays of water everywhere. By now, the pond had become a battlefield of flailing limbs, fire-colored feathers, and the occasional fiery sneeze from Blaze, who was too busy laughing to care about getting wet again.

At one point, a pair of ducks, clearly annoyed by the ruckus, paddled over to investigate. They quacked indignantly. Blaze opened his beak to explain that this was a sporting event of considerable importance, sneezed, and sent a spark into the dry reed caught across one duck’s tail.

There was a tiny hiss. A curl of smoke. Then a silence in which even the fish seemed to reconsider its social circle.

“Blaze,” said Scorch.

The duck looked back at the smoking reed.

“Oh,” said Blaze. It was not one of his better speeches.

The Duck Had Conditions

Scorch was frightened of fire. He was also close enough to see that waiting for someone braver would be a very stupid idea. He slapped both little wings into the pond and threw a sheet of water over the duck’s back.

The spark went out. So did the duck’s remaining tolerance.

“I believe,” Scorch whispered, “I have achieved the biggest splash.”

“I believe,” said the duck, “you have achieved my full attention.”

She shook herself, inspected her feathers and pulled the blackened reed free with her beak. Her tail was wet rather than burned, which was fortunate for everybody. Her expression suggested that the matter of compensation remained very much alive.

Blaze waded closer, keeping his beak pointed firmly away from her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I gathered that. If this was your plan, it was an exceptionally poor one.”

Scorch tried not to laugh. The duck looked at him. He discovered a sudden professional interest in the pond bottom.

The second duck indicated a sheltered patch of bank. Their splash contest had washed leaves and mud over the little landing place between the reeds. It had taken the ducks most of the morning to clear it.

“You can start there,” she said.

For the next half hour, the forest’s most dangerous sporting partnership became its least efficient maintenance crew. Scorch carried leaves in his tiny forepaws. Blaze hauled sticks with his beak. Every time either of them prepared a remark, one of the ducks inspected a particularly muddy corner and found another job.

The fish followed Scorch as far as the shallows, looked at the work, and sensibly returned to deeper water.

“Coward,” Scorch muttered.

By the time the landing place was clear, the maple leaf they had been competing over had drifted into the reeds without once acknowledging their talents.

“So,” Blaze said, “about the nest bet.”

“I still haven’t got one.”

“You made the biggest splash.”

“On a duck.”

“The rules didn’t specify.”

The duck cleared her throat.

They agreed to call it a draw. They also agreed to come back the next morning and check the landing place, an arrangement the ducks appeared to regard as the first intelligent thing either had said.

Eventually Blaze and Scorch returned to the quiet shallows, away from the reed bed. The young phoenix folded his wet wings. Scorch let his tail rest on a stone where the fish couldn’t mistake it for an invitation.

“That was… actually pretty fun,” Scorch admitted. “The first bit.”

“Next time,” Blaze said, “smaller splashes.”

“And no sneezing at the spectators.”

A golden leaf settled between them. Blaze looked at it. Scorch looked at Blaze.

From the landing place came a single, deeply authoritative quack.

They watched the leaf float past.

It was a very impressive leaf. Neither felt the need to prove anything to it.