Comarth & The Selwyns

It was a mild, yet bright August day and fourteen-year-old Leythan was lying, stomach down on a lounger in the gardens of the Selwyn estate. He was resting his cheek on a sketching pad as he drew, numerous times, details of her face and her body in a rose-covered gown, just as he'd dreamt the night before. Absent-mindedly, he reached to his hair to play with it, but realised it wasn't there. He'd cut it short. She said she didn't like long-haired boys. She said he looked like a girl, and he didn't want that.

LEY-TEN!

She hadn't said it in a way to be unkind, but he wanted her to see him as a boy - a boy who could be perfectly right for her. He sighed, wistfully. Soon they would be in their fourth year together, and he needed to step up his game if she was ever going to be his girlfriend...

LEY-TEN!

He flapped at a winged bug that had buzzed around his ear. Well - now he had his hair cut right, and he knew her favourite flowers: pink roses. Now he just had to behave the complete opposite of what was natural to him, and he'd have her. It can't be too difficult. Memphis Rowle seemed to know what to do, to get girls. He didn't really like Memphis, though...

"Ley-ten! Ley-ten!"

Every single hormone in his body went from girl-loving to brother-hating in a second flat.

"What, Comarth?!" he thundered, covering up his drawings with his arms as he met his brother's eyes in a contemptuous snarl.

Six years old, weedy and bug-eyed: his little brother stared back at him, unperturbed by the manner in which he was greeted. There were scars - like pimples - still red and blotchy all over his face, arms and legs.

"You shouldn't be out here, you're still not well--"

"Look, Ley-ten, look," he cried, pushing something red and shiny in his face. "Look what Mummy got me! It's from the dragon who killed me then I wasn't killed, then gave me pox and then I nearly died again 'cus of that and - and - then everyone cried, and you cried, and you thought I was dead and--"

Leythan sat up, turned the parchment over, and frowned, looking at the ring Comarth was showing him. "That's a bit macabre of Mother to give you a ring. Dragon blood? From the Vipertooth that almost killed you...?"

"Yes - yes! And - and Ley-ten..."

"Thhhhhha. Ley-THHHHHHHA-n. Not Ley-ten."

"Thhhhhha," Comarth repeated, giggling. "So - so... um. Mummy said it's 'cus I'm strong and brave and when I see it I'll 'member that. But I love it 'cus I love dragons! They're so amazing! Did you see how it went woooooooooosh, and - and roared and the sky turned orange with fire!"

Every single hormone in his body went from brother-hating to brother-loving in a second flat, and he was hugging him. Comarth squealed in protest, but Leythan went on hugging him. He'd never know how terrifying it was for them: they thought he was gone for good. He wouldn't know how his parents argued - cried - guilt-ridden, exhausted, terrified - thinking he wouldn't get out of it alive...

But there he was, months later, saying he loved what nearly killed him.

"I can't breef..."

He let go of him. Comarth continued to talk to him about dragons, long after the sun had set and the pair of them had gone back to the house together. Comarth was always, and will always be, quite unapologetically - his natural, loony self.

Leythan decided he wouldn't cut his hair again.