Wyrd
Beginnings
I need air, thinks the young Dragon, I need to see out of this darkness.
He pushes with his snout and neck. Crack. The sound echoes audibly across the cave walls. Suddenly his lungs fill with air and he tumbles out onto the ground.
" Hello little Wyrd ", says his mother.
So that's my name, he thinks.
He takes a breath and tastes the odor of his siblings. He was small. They wouldn't bother him. But he slinked off to be sure. Deep inside he knew if he wasn't bigger soon, they would find him, and kill him. Luckily, their father had been ready, and had meat on hand. He tentatively approached the carcass, then darted forward. Only to be blind-sided by one of his brothers. He rolled with him and came up on top. He didn't know how he did it.
But then another sibling bowled him over, and he was being attacked from both sides. He quickly got to his feet and lashed his barbed tail at them. They backed up quickly out of range, but as soon as he turned to face them, they were upon him. He had only one chance and didn't know if it would work. He turned and went straight up the cave wall, gripping with his pads and claws. The brothers did not follow. They were too big and bulky.
He started when he couldn't see himself. He had completely blended in with the cave wall. The brothers became confused and left. He crawled down the wall and landed lightly on the ground. He turned deep blue with black stripes. He didn't know backed up against the wall and put his back end up the wall. It immediately turned the color of the wall.
It's camouflage! he thought.
He dragon-dashed to the carcass, snatched a leg, and ran off with it. He heard the angry squeals behind him and ran faster, for he knew his brothers were after him. He found a hole he could only just fit through with the leg and squeezed down it. He found it opened up into a sealed off cave. Just big enough for a hatchling like him to live in until he got strong enough. He heard the others scrabbling at the entrance, trying to get in. He settled down and began tearing at the leg. He even ate the bones, crunching happily at the thought of being left in peace for the first time since he was content and settled to sleep.
When he woke, he was hungry again. But he knew his siblings were against him. Waiting, watching. He padded quietly, with his claws retracted, to the entrance and sniffed. Nothing. That was good at least. He then crawled up the cave wall, and made his way back to where he was hatched. He hung above mother while she slept.
The others were gone, and he made sure he wouldn't hit mother before dropping to the cave floor.
She woke with a snort and said, " I was wondering when you were going to make your way back. It was only a matter of time."
He went to be near to be with mother at last, but she pushed him away.
" Father has declared you and outcast, but we already named you, so at least you have that. I can not comfort you, and I am sorry." she said.
He quietly peeped, " But mama…"
" No, I am truly sorry. You must go now, I hear Father and your siblings coming. Quickly! " , and with that, she shoved him away and he ran. He ran in his misery, his pain, his sadness that he knew he would never be able to be a part of his own family. He was condemned to be an outcast, nothing more.
He ran to a cool current of air, and came face to face with Father. Father glared and Wyrd glared back. Then his gaze faltered, and he ran between Father's legs. He ran into the open. He was temporarily blinded by the bright sunlight. His first thought was green. So much green.
He half ran, half slid his way down the gravel covered mountain-side. He ran, and ran, and ran. When he stopped, it was near dusk, and he was breathing heavily. He thumped to a nearby stream he heard, and drank until he felt he might burst. He then keeled over by the stream.
When he awoke, the pain and misery returned and attacked him once again, and he himself attacked a tree. When his rage was spent, the tree was nearly in two. He cracked it once with his tail, and felled the tree. And again the pain and misery returned.
He thumped to the ground and keened. He keened for his loss, his pain, his anger, his misery. He was angry at Father, angry, even at Mother, though she'd done him no wrong, only conveyed a message. But she also had done nothing about it, never even lifted a was angry at his siblings for trying to kill him. He felt these and other feelings he could not describe. And he was angry at , angry at himself for not fighting back. If he had fought, he would still be home, not an outcast.
He steeled his heart, and had grow the past two nights, and was twice as big as when he hatched. This was no hatchling peep. It echoed through the mountains, then died out. His anger would not subside. He was angry and he knew why. He was righteous in this knew instinctively he would not be able to breathe fire for a while, and his wings would make an appearance some time after he would first breathe fire. But he also knew he was not at a disadvantage. Dragons grew quickly, and he was no exception, he was in fact a prime example. No, he would be fine.