Leaves rustled in the breeze, a stiff north wind winding its way through the dense forest. Even here, in the depths of the Brokilon, the chill managed to permeate, the last few whispers of the departing winter. The underbrush shivered, sending murmuring whispers echoing from tree to tree, while a couple of birds twittered in the shifting branches.
Below, a lone doe moved cautiously through the forest, nibbling at a fern here, licking the moist dew from a thick patch of moss there, gently winding her way between the trees. The young deer paused, teeth tugging at a stubborn bloom of Feainnewedd, its sweet taste a favourite of her kind.
The sudden snap reached the doe's ears, causing her to freeze in place, like a statue. Her ears twitches, rotating to find the source of the noise. Her head turned slowly, looking for any threat.
The two Dragons burst forth from the bushes nearby, hissing as their jaws gaped. Tongues lashed hungrily at the air as they scrambled, somewhat clumsily, towards the deer.
The deer, instantly spotting the danger, burst into a frenzied dash away, hooves pawing at the dirt underfoot, casting up big clods of loose earth. She twisted and turned, weaving her way past a couple of towering yew trees. The hatchlings, with indignant, hungry rumblings escaping from their chests, bounded after her.
The doe led the chase for a short while, her more agile body able to duck and weave through narrower gaps. Behind her, the two Dragons doggedly pursued with panting breath. Then, all too quickly, one of the Dragons, the green-eyed male, surged forward. His powerful muscles bunched under his scales, claws digging into the trunk of a fallen tree underneath him as, with a grunt, he leapt forwards, wings spreading out with a powerful flap as he surged after his prey.
The little deer let out a startled bleat as the Dragon tackled her, claws ripping into her flesh as the larger beast bore her to the ground. The second Dragon, the red-eyed female, caught up with the pair, biting at the squirming prey fiercely. The two hatchlings savaged the deer, ripping and tearing at her. Then, with a swift bite to the throat, the male ended her struggles, snapping her neck with a twist of his head. The doe went still, and the Dragons began to feed.
Above, the branches rustled as Rodrick, lurching from branch to branch uncertainly, caught up with them. He glanced down at the feeding beasts with a satisfied smirk, watching as they devoured the carcass quickly. He looked up as a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, spotting Ylia and Fauve approaching. The duo nodded to the Witcher, looking down at the feast beneath them. Fauve was the first to break the silence.
"Their appetite remains strong. That is a good sign." She observed.
"They have very good hunting instincts." Rodrick added. "Even at such a young age, they are natural predators."
"Something that will become all the more potent, once their intelligence begins to grow with age." The Dryad commented.
Underneath the trio, the two hatchlings finished devouring their meal, turning their heads upwards to the Witchers and the Dryad. They watched their three guardians with sharp, bright eyes. For a moment, Ylia was reminded of the open, innocent stare of a dog. Whereas in the first few days, they would only look at the Witcheress and her allies with hunger and aggression, they now seemed to watch the trio with recognition, even a little anticipation.
"They seem to be getting accustomed to us." She observed.
"They've begun to associate us with food." Rodrick commented. "Dragons are born smart, and then only grow more so over time. They know that we're protecting them, and that we lead them to more food. First, the carcasses we'd leave in their path, and now the live prey."
"I admit, using Axii to have the prey wander into their path was a good idea." Ylia said. "They follow the prey far faster than we could lead them with the Sign. We've made better time these past three days, than the whole week before that."
"We should still be cautious." Fauve warned. "If they become too accustomed to your kind, they risk exposing themselves to the wrong people, making themselves prey. Or, worse, they become dependent upon your presence to survive."
"They will have to learn to survive without us." Rodrick answered. "Having them hunt live prey, even that which is directed towards them, allows them to hone vital survival skills. They will not have an easy life, once we lead them out of the forest, but they will have a better chance than most."
"Once they are able to fly, they will likely seek out one of their own kind." Fauve concluded. "Then they will be taught the truth of what they are, who they will become."
"I hope that they find a Dragon who teaches them to be good, and kind." Ylia said.
"Goodness and kindness are not valuable traits to a Dragon." Fauve quickly dismissed the notion. "They will learn to breathe fire, and hoard gold, and to fly. That is all that a Dragon needs."
Ylia opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated, clearly ill at-ease with the idea. Finally, she closed her mouth again, turning to look down at the hatchlings again. The Dragons, in response, grumbled contentedly, sniffing at the ground where the doe's blood still glistened wetly. The female, eyes crimson, hide black as night, let out a low trill, an almost happy sound.
~o~0~o~
Ylia opened her eyes, some strange sound having roused her from her slumber. She looked about, noting the growing shade of pink in the sky, the signal of an approaching dawn. The forest was still peaceful, the first few birds beginning to chirp in the distance, greeting the new-born day. Far below, the two hatchlings nestled together, resting peacefully.
She heard it again. A rustle, faint but apparent to a Witcher's keen ears. Ylia raised her head, looking about from where she lay, curled up in the crook of a tree.
Fauve was already risen, strapping her knife to her thigh. She already had her bow slung across her back, quiver strapped in place at her hip. With a jolt, Ylia realised that the Dryad was making ready to leave. The Witcheress rose to her feet, drawing the Dryad's gaze.
"Fauve?" She asked, a little hazily. "What's going on?"
The Dryad paused in her preparations, looking to her Witcher companion. An unfamiliar light glinted in her eyes, slightly regretful.
"We are close to the borders of the forest." She explained. "Less than a day's journey away. Beyond that, the lands of the Dh'oinne, where I cannot go. It has been three weeks since we killed the Werryn. I must return to my queen, and report what we have achieved."
"You're leaving?" Rodrick, rubbing sleep from his eyes, sat up straight. He stifled a yawn.
"I must." Fauve answered, turning to face him. "It is my duty. I am certain that a Vatt'ghern can understand that."
"I do." Rodrick nodded solemnly. "Will we meet again?"
"It is unlikely." Fauve's voice was tinged with a little sadness. "You will not be permitted within the borders of the Brokilon again. You broke one of our sacred laws and brought flame into the forest. If you return, my people will execute you."
"I understand." Rodrick sighed, standing. "Then I guess this is goodbye."
The Witcher extended a hand, a reflexive act. Fauve looked at the proffered hand for a moment, clearly uncertain what it meant, before looking back into the Witcher's eyes. A long, awkward silence passed between them, before Rodrick lowered the hand. The Dryad nodded to him.
"Farewell, Rodrick of the Vatt'ghern. You are a skilled hunter, no matter the mistakes you have made. I believe that the Dh'oinne would say that it was an honour to hunt at your side, and protect a part of my home together. I wish you well, out on your Witcher's Path."
"And I you, Fauve." Rodrick nodded deeply, a twinge of regret in his heart.
The pair exchanged one final glance, then Fauve turned to face Ylia. The Witcheress felt more than a little sadness as she met the Dryad's gaze. Fauve allowed herself a smile, the first real one that Ylia had seen grace her features since they had first met.
"And so, too, must we part, Ylia of the Vatt'ghern. You have also proved to be an exceptional huntress, one to rival any of my sisters."
"Is there no way that you could stick with us for a little more time?" Ylia asked, loathe to be parted with her newest comrade.
"No, I cannot. I am sorry." The Dryad answered genuinely. She paused, a thoughtful light flaring in her eyes. Then, with a swift motion, she pulled the bow from her back, proffering it to the Witcheress. "Here, take this. To replace your lost weapon, and as a token of your time here in the Brokilon."
"Your bow?" Ylia asked, surprised. "I cannot accept such a generous gift!"
"It is mine to give away as I see fit." Fauve smiled again. "A skilled huntress needs a weapon befitting her talents. You will find no bow among those made by Dh'oinne or Elf that can match a Dryad bow from the Brokilon." She ran her fingers along the smooth, elegantly formed wood. "We do not carve the limbs of our bows. They are grown, sculpted as living things, harvested while still green and pliable. We craft the bowstrings using strands of our own hair."
Slowly, hesitantly, Ylia took the offered weapon. She marvelled at the simple elegance of the design, the practical nature of its style, and the comfortable way it fit in her hands. She tested it, pulling the string back, feeling it flex and move in response to her will. it almost felt like a living thing, following her orders silently. She'd never handled a weapon like this one before.
"I- thank you." She managed after an awe-struck moment. "It is most generous."
"Keep it with you, and if perhaps one day you should return here, to the Brokilon, then you need only show that to one of my sisters. They will recognise you as a friend to my people, and allow you safe passage." Fauve removed the quiver from her hip, also granting that to the Witcheress. "I hope we will meet again, if you choose to return. I would like to hear more of your songs, someday."
"I hope so, too." Ylia replied, meaning every word.
Fauve stepped closer, raising a hand. With a gentle touch, she placed her thumb on the Witcheress' forehead, her palm cradling Ylia's temple.
"Be safe, Ylia. May your Path treat you with kindness."
This done, the Dryad turned away and, without a further word, began leaping from branch to branch. The two Witchers watched her go, until the Dryad finally vanished into the forest.
~o~0~o~
Two days had passed since the Dryad had parted ways with the two Witchers, and less than one day since the hunters, their two Dragon hatchlings in tow, had emerged from the edge of the Brokilon, the dense, emerald-green forest suddenly giving way to open grasslands. It was at this point that the Witchers had been forced to change their methods of leading the two Draconids. The hatchlings, now far more accustomed to the Witchers, had almost completely changed their demeanour towards them. Now, instead of aggression, they exhibited only curiosity about Ylia and Rodrick, often trying to get a closer look at their unexpected guardians. They even seemed to respond to their voices, listening to their words with remarkable attention and seeming intelligence. Thus, by the time the two Witchers had led their reptilian charges out of the forest and into the open, they were able to walk freely ahead of the hatchlings, leading them easily.
Ahead, a few low hills rose up above the landscape. Ylia confidently led the way towards these hills, knowing that the valley she had in mind lay somewhere in their arms. By the time the sun had traversed the sky, turning the sky orange as it dropped towards the horizon once more, the two Witchers found themselves slowly ascending the first of these hills, quickly clambering up the steep slope. Finally, just as the sun touched the rim of the sky, the small procession reached the crest of this first hill, and paused.
Beyond the hill, a large valley waited. It was broad, with gentle slopes on almost all sides, save for the far boundary, where a larger hill, almost mountain-like, sat looming over the valley, casting a dark shadow. Some spring found its outlet on that taller hill, a stream of water tumbling down across steep slopes and sheer cliffs, until they reached the valley floor and, combining with a handful of other narrow streams, formed a wider river that wound its way down the length of the valley. Here and there, small copses of trees clung to the banks of the river, while most of the valley was given over to gently rolling grassland. Dotted about on the hillsides, wild sheep roamed freely, without threat of Human interference. Surveying the valley, Rodrick let out an approving whistle.
"Nice." He murmured. "If it weren't so far from anywhere else, this would be a great place to set up home."
"I'm sure there are a few people who would like the isolation." Ylia countered. "But you're right, its too remote for most. That should make it an ideal refuge for the Dragons while they grow."
"Plenty game to hunt, water to drink, cliffs to practice flying off." Rodrick nodded. "I can't think of a better place to leave them. Speaking of which..." The Witcher turned back, to where the two young hatchlings watched them with curious eyes. "How do we convince them to stay here?"
"I was thinking about that." Ylia moved to stand in front of the female, with her scarlet eyes. "After what Fauve said, about what they will learn from another of their kind. I think its up to us to help them to become the best individuals that they can be. We have a chance here, to teach them something about kindness, and goodness."
The Witcheress moved closer to the female hatchling, who flinched back a step, wary of this sudden closeness. Her ruby-red eyes narrowed, watching Ylia carefully. Slowly, so as not to startle the young Dragon, Ylia dropped to her knees in front of the creature. Curious, the female inched forward, sniffing at her inquisitively. Her snout moved close to Ylia, the creature's breath washing across the Witcheress' face in warm waves. Cautiously, Ylia lifted a hand, placing it on the scaly snout. The Dragon flinched, but then relaxed into the touch, still watching the Witcheress with wary eyes.
Ylia thrilled at the feel of living scales under her fingertips, the rough, quite warm texture unlike anything else she'd ever known. The Witcheress locked her gaze with the Dragon, pausing for a long, silent moment. In that instant, she felt a connection with the creature, something that went far beyond any physical sensation. She could feel the magical energies of the Dragon pulsing around her, and a great mind locked behind the scarlet eyes. Powerful intelligence watched her.
Taking a deep breath, Ylia reached out with her own mind towards that intelligence, gently brushing at it. The mind was still young, tender, sensitive to any outward force. She had to be careful not to damage it. With slow, precise fingers, Ylia traced a rune on the Dragon's skull, the symbol of Axii. She allowed a gentle push of magical energy to flow into the symbol, opening the way to the Dragon's mind. Once she had made the connection, Ylia kept her eyes locked with the hatchling's while she spoke in a low, deliberate, gentle voice.
"You are Aenye, that is your name. You will live among these hills until you are grown and strong enough to survive the wilds alone. You will stay hidden from Humans and Dwarves, and care for your brother, as he will care for you. Be kind to those who need it."
The Dragon's eyes glossed over for just a moment, turning cloudy as the Witcheress' words sank in. Then, in a flash, the moment passed, the her usual sharp glare returned. The Dragon, now called Aenye, backed away a step, regarding her Witcher guardian with a keen gaze. Slowly, Ylia rose to her feet, stepping away while keeping her stare locked with the Dragon's.
Rodrick watched the process from a few steps away, brow furrowed as he watched his friend. His hand cupped his chin as he watched, then turned to face the other hatchling, the green-eyed male. Taking in a deep breath, he copied Ylia's actions, dropping into a crouch in front of the Dragon and casting the sign on the creature's forehead.
"Your name is Zuriel. You will keep your sister safe, above all else. Cause no unneeded harm to others, but always take care of those who become your kin."
This done, he stepped back, meeting the newly christened Zuriel's gaze.
The two Dragons hesitated, looking to one another with a hesitant glance. Then, after apparently coming to some conclusion, the pair moved, heading past the two Witchers and into the valley. They started to run, bounding down the hillside into the valley. Ylia and Rodrick turned to watch them, a satisfied but hesitant feeling in their bellies.
"You think they'll be okay?" Ylia asked.
"We've given them the best chance that we could." Rodrick shrugged. "I'll come back, from time to time, to check how they're doing. With any luck, they'll thrive here."
"I hope so." Ylia replied. "I'll come visit, too, whenever I am passing."
In the valley, the two Dragons raced about with a youthful excitement. Zuriel made for the river, leaping into the water with his wings outstretched. Aenye, meanwhile, found a slightly elevated outcropping of rock, clambering up it with eager claws. Once at the top, she spread her wings and jumped, gliding clumsily to the ground.
Rodrick turned away, glancing to the darkening skies. He reached out, putting a reassuring hand on Ylia's shoulder.
"Come on, Spark." He muttered. "Let's go home."
Rodrick turned away, beginning the journey back out of the valley. He'd barely taken a few steps, however, before a hand lightly slapped the back of his head. He spun to see Ylia looking at him with a roguish smirk on her lips. She winked, before setting off at a run.
"Last one there is a dead Nekker!" She taunted back over her shoulder.
Rodrick paused for a moment, before a smile crossed his own features. Fond memories of the childish game they had once played as young ones welled in his mind. With a chuckle, he began to lope after her, his longer gait against her faster pace. The laughter of the two Witchers rose into the darkening sky while, behind them, the excited growls and roars of the two young Dragons echoed off the hills.