I do not own the Age of Fire series—E.E. Knight does.

Flight of Sire and Dame: A Retelling

Part Two

"Do you think you can fit down that corridor?" AuRon the Grey rasped, still sick with pain from his encounter with Starlight.

The pair of drakka among them looked up at him eagerly. "Oh, yes, Lord AuRon," they said, "we can do it."

"Off you go, then." He watched them scamper away down the corridor. They deserved the honor of rifling through Wrimere the Wyrmmaster's ledgers; he had been told all about their role during the counterattack earlier, and after they had lost Taraya, Ranashe, and Habthea, they could at least say they had helped to avenge their friends and spare their siblings any more torture.

Flanking him at the entrance of the corridor, just off of the landing cave, were Shadowcatch and Black and the two bronzes, Sharpclaw and Hawkhit. While the dragonelles had been looking for their hatchlings and speaking to Hart, they and some of the other males had been defending the Isle from loyal dragons and their riders. They had found Varl on their way back to the compound, for which he was grateful, and even now the human was leading the remaining Guards in disposing of dead hatchlings and dragons in the caverns. Natasatch had decided to go with him, as a measure of safety, in the event some of the other females became incensed with his presence near their eggs.

"We've found the ledgers, Lord AuRon!" one of them called. Varl had managed to get the Guards to admit where the Wyrmmaster kept all of his notes. The man must have foreseen an event like this. His tomes had been moved from his own living quarters to a small cavern at the end of a long, narrow, and winding tunnel. A human could barely fit, even a withered old man like Wrimere, and by AuRon's reckoning could only allow a small child or woman, or the very tip of a grown dragon's tail past the walls. The two drakka, however, were long and lean—like his sister Jizara, Spirits bless her—and with their smooth scale and sound sii and saa could slip through the passage easily.

"Very good, girls," AuRon called back. "Bring them here." Varl had said everything the Wyrmmaster had observed, beginning with his encounter with Revenan's parents, was in those volumes. He desperately wanted them so they could be burned and forgotten.

One scurried back, and she looked miserable. Sharpclaw asked gently, "What is the matter, Selianna?"

"Dapheelia and I are not strong enough to lift the books. They're very thick and heavy. We even tried to each lift an end and move one at a time, but they were still too heavy."

"Really?"

"They're the large books hominids use in...in...the ceremonies they have when they talk about their gods and all..."

"Sermons," Hawkhit offered.

"Yes, that's it! They're big, leather-bound books of that size, and there are several of them," she replied, brightening a bit.

"No wonder you couldn't lift them," AuRon said. "I wonder how hominids manage with manuscripts like those, even if they aren't decorated."

"Decorated?"

"Yes. I've seen ceremonial books that are encrusted with jewels and metalwork—if a drakka struggles with plain leather-bound books, I cannot even imagine how they tote special ones around!" (Selianna's mouth watered at the thought of jewels.)

"Hmm," Hawkhit mused. "Wait here a moment."

"Where are you going?" asked Shadowcatch.

"I will have some of the other young ones to help them, or maybe drum up some help from the Dragonguard." He moved off, limping on his wounded left saa. Those males who were still loyal to the Wyrmmaster's cause had not backed down easily, which was not unexpected, and the large bronze had faced Shieldwall in one such fight. Riderless and fighting on instinct, the copper had lost to Hawkhit, but not before tearing his leg open with his teeth.

Sharpclaw addressed the young female. "Were you able to read anything in the books, like a title on the fronts or sides of them?"

She drooped sadly. "No. I do not know how to read."

"I see," he murmured. "Well, no matter, we'll soon sort through them."

AuRon was appalled—he had seen the Guards reading to young hatchlings in the cave when the Wyrmmaster had given him a private tour! How was that possible?

The bronze read his mood. The storybooks we knew in our youth are written in a human language we hardly understand, he thought.

What?

It is the same hand used by the generals and their human soldiers in the field, as well for messages the Wyrmmaster wrote for his vassals when he made a decision.

You mean the pins they had me carry?

Sharpclaw nodded, as Shadowcatch and Selianna stared between them. I was a courier for a time, as were several others. I knew enough to read the name of the person for whom the message was intended, and where they were located in Wrimere's empire, but no more. I think everything they presented to us was written in a hand they invented, so we would not become wise to their plans. 'Kept us dumb as an herbivore and at sii's length, I suppose, only able to recognize a word here or there. You are more educated than us, in that regard, and you could probably figure out their system.

So, even you could not read his books?

Probably not, and I was a fighter, and I doubt the breeders (excluding you) know more. As for the females...

"I understand," AuRon said aloud. If a grown male could not figure out what had been written on parchment, after years of exposure as warriors and messengers, the females were much worse off.

Shadowcatch chimed in. Had I ever gotten a hint of what the drakka were privy to, there would not have been any war, Grey. He shook himself. Lot of pogt, all of them.

None of the dragons had known the full extent of what the dragonelles were forced to endure. They had had their natural male frustration channeled into a week of free use of fertile females and taken away after each mating. Never had they witnessed the egg collection as AuRon had—why bother, if they were not wild-born and in no need of convincing that the process was necessary—and never had they seen a female butchered. When they had loosed their first flame, they were taken from the hatchling cave and given their own near the castrated fighters' cavern to continue their military training, while the drakka were taken to the chamber next to the dragonelles' to continue their own.

Hawkhit returned with the four drakes from the hatchling cave. They were about the same age as Dapheelia and Selianna and not much larger in size. "Dapheelia, are you there?"

"Yes, lord!" was the reply.

"Come here for a moment." She poked her head out of the entrance to the tunnel; he turned to the drakes. "See if you can fit in the tunnel and follow her to the chamber where the books are kept, and then help her and Selianna here bring them out." After a few minutes, with much shifting and wriggling, the drakes were on their way down the tunnel to the archive; it took longer to bring the books out. Three youngsters carried the first volume on their backs, trying to keep it balanced as they walked, and had to change tactics to actually give the books to the adults, letting them slip to the ground and manipulating them that way. They beamed with no small amount of pride when they had moved a total of three large books.

The first volume was a record of all the Wyrmmasters' dragons and their lineages, and in saying that, AuRon realized, he merely meant a quick note of each hatchling's sire and dame.

If they were known.

If the traders cared to know.

It also noted the status of each male in his army and each female in his breeding cave, and when their statuses changed. He saw the name of the gold, Ramshard, listed there, in the Wyrmmaster's neat handwriting.

"Ramshard - Breeder - DD," it read.

"What does that mark mean?" AuRon asked no one in particular.

"Which mark?" asked Shadowcatch.

"This one, 'DD,'" he replied, pointing with a claw. He knew the letters well enough, but he could not imagine what "DD" represented.

"I do not know," Sharpclaw replied.

"Nor I," Hawkhit and Shadowcatch added.

"Is this written in that code you spoke of?"

"No," replied Sharpclaw, tipping his head. "But I do not recognize it at all from my days as a courier. Perhaps the Wyrmmaster's native tongue? I remember him saying that he did not grow up in this area."

"I know what it means," the golden drake named Solwing said.

"Do you?"

"Yes. I overheard the men speaking about this ledger once. It means the dragon was 'discharged' from duty and is dead." He leaned a little closer. "Yes, I am sure of it. 'Discharged—Dead.'"

"DD" appeared next to many of the dragonelles' names; Nereeza's was the most recent.

The second volume, not quite so thick as the others but lengthy anyway, was filled with observations about business matters related to the surrounding area—food acquisition, rations for the dragons, names of merchants, and the like—of which the Wyrmmaster wrote in great detail. The third volume was his notes on dragons, some of which, as he himself had written, had been copied from the books he had read in his youth. A good portion of it, however, was devoted to his studies of Revenan and subsequent dragons. One particular passage made AuRon's foua pulse.

"What is it, Grey?" Shadowcatch asked, having heard his growl.

"This part here," AuRon replied, pointing with his claw.

"How does it read?" asked Hawkhit.

"'One of the most worrisome obstacles for dragons and dragonelles is the weakness of the latter following the laying of eggs,'" he quoted. "'Gestation lasts for one month, during which time as many as six hard-shelled eggs are formed within the mother's body. As with human mothers, females lose vital minerals during gestation to the forming young and eggs that house them. They must be sure to eat more bountiful meals to compensate for this loss, a near impossible task for wild dragons. Then, the mother is put under considerable stress when clutching, for, although they are four-legged and do not have to pass large offspring through a small space like hominids, the event is by no means a comfortable one. Then the mother must be awake at all times while the young incubate in their eggs and her mate is away hunting for her. He is significantly more exhausted in his own right, make no mistake, but he has more opportunity for rest than his mate while hunting, perhaps while he waits for a herd of sheep or cattle to move closer to him for an ambush over the course of the day; at least, that is, until his hatchlings emerge from their shells. The male can be gone for days hunting for himself, his mate, and his demanding brood.

'And all the while, the female must remain as alert as possible and on guard, so add that to her already weakened state and she is almost as vulnerable and her fireless, flightless young. It is only when the hatchlings are strong enough to leave their cave for open country that the parents truly begin to recover, for by that time the drakes and drakka have enough instinct and learned hunting skills to bring down small prey. The parents rebuild their strength in preparation for the next mating and, hopefully, the next clutch of eggs.

'I had noticed that, in the case of Revenan's parents, they did not seem nearly so malnourished when I provided sheep and cattle for them, especially for his mother, and he and his own mate fared better than that. By keeping more and more females for Revenan, I realized that, by keeping them on a healthy diet, they did not need a year or two to become receptive again after their hatchlings loosed their first flame. The time was even more reduced if the mother lost her clutch immediately after laying to the elements or attack, and in fact they became receptive within weeks rather than months, again kept well-fed.'"

AuRon gnashed his teeth angrily at that last sentence. To think that this, this...monster, to quote Hatheela, had whittle dragon-kind to such detail—

"Is that all true, AuRon?" Sharpclaw asked quietly.

He looked at him; he and all the others looked as though they had been struck. "How's that?"

"Are wild dragons so strained as that?"

He thought of Mother. "No! I am faint with hunger...!" she had said.

He nodded grimly. "They are."

Hawkhit shuddered miserably. "By the Spirits, what horrors did our parents suffer?"

"You do not remember them, or when you were taken?"

"Myself? Some of it, but others were captured even younger than a few months, or even in the shell."

"I remember Wavebreak telling me that he and his brother were a bit older when they came here," said Sharpclaw. "It was around the time their father would have driven them out anyway, as I recall. They had come for Frostcrest and his sister, but he had come forward and offered himself in exchange for the female, even though he was not the clutch-winner."

"Suntail was around that age, as well, I think—" added Hawkhit.

"Fire and dire, I'm for the outside after all this!" said Shadowcatch, ambling out of the cavern.

"Well, I daresay I agree with him. Let's bring the books to Varl—we don't need them anymore, I think."

"Just a moment," said Firelash. "There was one more book within." He shuffled back down the corridor, and returned a moment later with a smaller, thinner volume in his teeth. "A' 'eady," he muttered.

"Off we go, then."

"Perhaps we can find the location of the Wyrmmaster's coin stores, as well. We will all need it by day's end, I think." They made their way outside, hearing voices from deep within the compound as they passed. The dragonelles were still directing the Guards in the egg cave, it appeared.

They found Varl tending to the wounded dragons in front of the entrance to the compound. Lavawhip and Wrathflame were inspecting the salves that had been brushed onto deep gashes in their chests and sii. Varl himself and two Guards he had taken on as assistants were applying the salve to Emallagnia's wound, while Ouistrela and Epinonia stood near. Frostcrest and several drakes and drakka waited quietly for their turn.

"Now you two stop sniffing at that salve," Varl was saying to the reds. "It has to stay on to stop the bleeding and numb the pain." Emallagnia flinched when he passed over a particularly deep part of her wound. "I'm sorry, dragonelle, but I must cover everything if I am to stitch this closed."

The female clenched her jaws. "I am all right."

Wrathflame lowered his head towards her and flicked his tongue, tasting the air near her, but did not take one step forward. "How do you feel, truly?"

The dragonelle hesitated uncertainly. "Ah, well enough, I suppose."

He prummed a little. "Good."

"Such overwhelming concern he shows," Ouistrela groused.

"Ouisa," Epinonia growled warningly.

"Where is Alhala?" Dapheelia asked, looking around.

"She's gone back into the breeding cave with Beajara to clutch, dear. She was in the middle of it when the egg collectors came, I'm afraid. I hope she is not too distressed."

"Let us go see, Enia," Ouistrela said. She passed by the group of males, snorting at AuRon, head held stiffly on her neck. Epinonia prummed at her wounded friend, gave the slightest pause in front of the males, and followed the other dragonelle. Having become new dragon-dames just this morning, the ones whose clutches were set to be collected and the trigger for the rebellion, they walked a little stiffly, no doubt sore about the hindquarters.

"There you are," Varl said to Emallagnia. "That will numb the pain completely in a few minutes, and then I'll close it."

"All right," she replied. "For a painkiller, this stings, though."

"That will pass in a few seconds," Wrathflame said. "It always goes on rather viciously, but it really does help."

"Does it? You do not grow used to it?" Odd that a fighter like him would not be immune from the pain.

"One never really does, and it always hurts more in a sensitive muscle, like that of your chest or inner saa."

Emallagnia looked him over; he would know, she decided, as the thinner skin on the inside of his right saa had grown back oddly after some injury or other had healed. Lavawhip followed her gaze and chuckled. "Oh, that isn't from the salve; he got that when some dwarfs set fire to a trail of chemicals they had laid as a trap. They sprayed some of the liquid on him just before that for good measure."

"Of course," said Varl, "this salve would not work on an injury like that. The worry would be nerve damage from the flames and infection, never mind the pain. Now, Frostcrest let us see to that forelimb."

Young Firelash stiffened and sniffed their air as the fighter held his bleeding sii out for the human to check. Blood, and not of any of the dragons around him.

"What is it?" his friend the blue asked. "Has your keen nose honed-in on something again?"

"How could it," added Solwing, "with all this salve about?"

"It has, easily," the bronze replied pointedly. "It—"

A twig snapped.

"Frostcrest, behind you!" AuRon roared.

Standing at the edge of the trees, bleeding badly from his broken wing-joint and frothing at the mouth, was a furious and desperate silver dragon. His undersized body shook from both anger and pain, and his gaze settled on the wounded white dragon.

Starlight had come back.

Wrathflame and Lavawhip immediately took up protective stations around Emallagnia and the two Guards, even as the dragonelle backed away. The drakes and drakka who stood next to Frostcrest shrieked in alarm and whirled around, dancing on nervous sii and saa, ready to loose flame. AuRon and the other males tensed and fell into fighting stances.

With enough strength that defied his bedraggled state, the venomous silver leapt up from a ditch in the tree line, fangs bared and ready to clamp on the white's unarmored neck. He landed, ripping new gashes in the fighter's flesh with his claws. Frostcrest reared up on his hind legs to throw him, but to no avail; even with all his thrashing Starlight held fast and bit at his face and shoulders. The drakes and drakka scattered. Hawkhit roared with fury, took to the air, and made a very low pass at the silver with claws unsheathed. That did not help either, and it was another silver named Seecrest who finally knocked the venomer away with a tail-swipe to the broken wing-joint. Starlight screamed and released his hold on the white, turning a circle and hissing at the other dragons.

Wavebreak, who had been standing with Seecrest, rushed over to his clutch-mate and inspected his new wounds. "Are you all right, brother? Eliam said he could venom when he chose."

"Yes; he didn't poison me," the white replied through clenched teeth. "Claws and saws, he cut me to the bone, though!" His brother prummed and licked at a cut above his eye-ridge. AuRon stood with them, faint from his first fight with the venomer.

"Was the Grey not enough for you, Starlight?" Shadowcatch bellowed. "You would kill the rest of us, too?"

"Yes," Starlight wheezed, "but...none more so...than the Grey...Vex!"

AuRon started; Wistala had thought the same of him, he knew (she and Jizara did not know he over-thought them sometimes). It had been the result of sibling animosity then, but now nothing but hatred fueled those words.

"Traitor and hater, I thought your pomposity was your worst feature!"

Starlight's answer was a geyser of flame directed at the black's face. He lashed out blindly with any weapon at his disposal as the other males backed away. He clamped down on Firelash's tail, and this time he did release his venom. As the bronze drake convulsed violently, the other drakes pounced on the silver's head, tearing at his eyes and griff and ignoring the cries of the drakka. Harshgale was hit hard across the face with his remaining wing and nearly knocked senseless. Starlight struck Lavawhip with his tail as the red angled for his own leap, and in twisting and thrashing hit Harshgale with his wing again and bit Solwing in the saa when he lost his footing and came too close.

"Clear away, all of you!" Sharpclaw cried. They did as instructed and rejoined the drakka, while Starlight hugged the ground and heaved for breath, looking warily at the adult males surrounding him. Solwing's body still twitched weakly next to him.

Shadowcatch and Sharpclaw blanketed the venomer with dragon-flame, which at their distance did not so much kill him as it distracted and further enraged him, if that were possible. Stalking like a worthy dragonelle in her prime, Hawkhit and Seecrest used the other males' fire as a cover and worked their way behind the silver and pounced, one pinning his tail and the other biting at his remaining wing. Wavebreak jumped on his back and prevented his saa from gaining purchase on the ground. Lavawhip joined the fray and, with his added weight, flipped Starlight onto his side.

"Beware his head, Lavawhip!" Wavebreak said. The red slammed his foreleg over Starlight's snout, braving liquid fire bubbling from his mouth, and with a roar bit into his neck, crushing his windpipe as a lion would an antelope's on the plains. (The Guards had taught them about other predators—who knew their lessons would actually help them?) The other males piled onto the silver's body to keep him from striking back, and waited as he slowly suffocated.

"You...idiots!" Starlight gasped weakly, liquid fire replaced by blood seeping through his teeth. "Idiots, I...tell you!"

With that, the Silver Terror took his last breath. The males released the body slowly, almost reluctantly, panting from the effort of subduing him. Lavawhip limped on his good foreleg, the pad of the other burned and cracking. Harshgale and the red drake, as well as the drakka, sniffed at the twisted bodies of Firelash and Solwing in misery, now mourning them in addition to Ranashe, Taraya, Habthea, and the underdeveloped hatchlings in the cave.

Emallagnia picked her head up to look past Wrathflame and the humans. "Venom and mayhem, is anyone else injured?"

"Come here, Lavawhip, I must look at your foreleg," said Varl. The red limped over and showed the human the extent of his injury. The digits at the end of his sii twitched subtly and of their own accord, like the skin of a decaying corpse. "You must plunge this into cool water right away to halt any further nerve damage. Cool, not cold, mind, or you'll shock the tissue and do more harm than good. Do that for a few minutes."

"Yes, sir," Lavawhip replied with a grimace, and took off to the nearest river; Shadowcatch went with him.

The dragonelle looked up. "He'll need something else to treat a burn, yes?"

"Indeed," Wrathflame replied. "I've seen dragons leave a burn untreated, either because they think they are minor or battle dictates they cannot be tended by a physician right away, and die within weeks because they contract some illness following the injury."

"And this salve does not prevent it?" she asked, flicking her tongue near a cut on his sii

"It isn't strong enough to do so."

"Oh," she replied gravely.

Varl was still giving direction and ignored the conversation. "Frostcrest, can you walk? Yes? Come over here, too, please. You two men; go into the compound and tell your comrades what happened, and get them to come up."

"We'll do it," Selianna and Dapheelia piped up.

"Thank you, girls. In that case," he said to each of the Guards as the drakka ran off, "you can start stitching Wrathflame's wounds, and you can help me with Emallagnia."

"But, I can wait," the dragonelle replied, slowly getting to her feet. Wrathflame half-roared and sidled anxiously. "Tend to Frostcrest first; he looks terrible."

"He came back?" Natastach gasped.

"I didn't know Starlight had that much resilience," Beajara said.

"He did indeed," Varl replied as he checked Emallagnia's wound, now stitched closed and brushed with more healing salves. "Bristling as if he had not been hurt so badly and venom stronger than ever."

"Hmph, to think that I left," Ouistrela grumbled from her old perch in the breeding cavern. "I would have repaid him for his deeds, darkness keep him."

"And saved those two drakes," Hatheela agreed.

"Better to avenge our sisters by raising healthy drakes and drakka of our own, and keeping darkness from our hearts," Saima countered. "We've three new clutches by Ouisa, Enia, and Hala (thank the Spirits she was not distressed!), and several more to come by the last few matings, if I'm any judge. We've all the more reason to overcome this." She looked over at the nearby perches, where Epinonia and Alhala dozed happily, curled around their eggs. Happy, because Varl and his assistants had taken a special torch and shone it behind each of the eggs in their clutches (Ouistrela's, too), and had only to remove one egg each from Epinonia's and Ouistrela's. Their eggs had been exposed to the heat from their flames in the cavern during the rebellion; those two had been destroyed outright as a result, but he had high hopes for the rest.

"The males fought well," Varl said, bringing the conversation back to the original point, "and those who would wish to avenge the Wyrmmaster know what happened, I'm sure. None will harm any dragon here."

"How do you know that?" asked Eszreethene.

"We moved Starlight's body to an open ledge on the side of the mountain facing the Inland Ocean and Juutfod. The drakes reported seeing dragons taking flight from there and observing us. They spent a great amount of time riding the updrafts and circling the body, much eaten by carrion birds already. The Wyrmmaster's body was moved there with him, too."

"In his chair?" Natasatch asked.

Varl smiled at her. "Oh, yes indeed, dragonelle."

She prummed at that. Wait until AuRon hears!

"But if the Wyrmmaster still has followers who would spy on us," Eszreethene argued, "I do not want to stay here where I and my hatchlings can be killed easily." One or two of the other females rumbled in agreement.

"I think staying here would be most beneficial," Zeedasmene countered, "until the young ones are old enough to survive on one of the other islands or even on the mainland. We would work together to protect ourselves, and I'm sure the dragons will not leave right away. They've time to decide where they will go, and as isolated as we are here I doubt they'll have much time to think." More rumbles of agreement to this point.

"Well, we should at least spread out on this island, if that's the case," said Beajara. "With growing hatchlings, we'll need the space, anyway." She looked at Varl. "When can we do that?"

He considered it. Ouistrela, Epinonia, and Alhala had just clutched today—hard to believe—and their young would need a month in the shell to develop. Then they would have to stay until the hatchlings were strong enough to travel in this climate, depending of course where their mothers decided to move them, so that would probably mean they would wait until they were four or five months old. The eggs that had not been breached by Lear, numbering fifty in all, were divided among all of the remaining dragonelles; save for Natasatch who, having taken AuRon as her champion, had asked Saima to shelter her eggs in her place, to which the other female had happily agreed. In addition, Zeedsamene, Emallagnia, and Eszreethene were heavy with their own eggs from matings prior to the rebellion and would probably clutch within two weeks' time, at the most.

"Not for half a year, I should think," he said finally, "for those of you with eggs to be hatched."

As for the others? Saima, Beajara, and Zeedasmene had volunteered to raise the hatchlings and the drakes and drakka. Those that were fireless, the youngest clutch-mates two months old, numbered eighteen. Considering the loss of Firelash and Solwing, drakes of various ages numbered ten; drakka numbered sixteen after Taraya, Habthea, and Ranashe were killed. That gave each dragonelle roughly fifteen to protect, but it would be short-lived as the eldest were expected to leave rather quickly.

"Saima and Beajara can take to another cave sooner than that," Varl added. "The young are healthy enough, so it is a matter of building your own strength so you may take flight or what have you."

"But what are we to do about food?" Beajara asked. "We were not taught hunt-craft, so how can we teach our young?"

"We know a little," said Harshgale. "Firelash and Solwing knew a bit more, since they were older than us by a few weeks, but Pyrelight and I could help." Both he and the red drake were still brooding over the deaths of their friends. Saima had gladly taken them in when she had heard about their bravery against Starlight; even now they huddled against her belly like their younger siblings for comfort.

She prummed softly and nuzzled their backs. "What knowledge you have shall be welcomed."

"We could ask the dragons, of course," Zeedasmene added.

"Have you gone mad, female?" Ouistrela exclaimed.

"And just what is wrong with the notion, I wonder. The young ones must know how to hunt—so must we, for that matter—and they know what they are doing. It is only practical."

"Caves and raves, what use are they? They who sat oh-so-comfortably in their alcoves when they were not greeting the Sun while we rotted here! Credit to our kind, indeed!"

"Keep a civil tongue, you!" the larger female roared. "You do not have to take to the skies with them at all. I said the drakes and drakka must learn from them, nothing more. And you are one to speak in such a way, you who would accept a drake, up-and-coming replacements for those dragons, who would scorn their elders!"

"They did not escape punishment, Ouisa," said Hatheela. "I was told just as many dragons were killed and butchered for disobeying the humans as dragonelles."

"How many fighters sided with us, of the four-score that we have? Over thirty, I should think. Is that not enough?"

"That you would defend them so nauseates me," Ouistrela growled.

"Ire and fire! Without them you would have ended like Nereeza!"