My unsuspecting tail writing this chapter: Hmmm, Firstbourne's like the size of a coach bus, right? Little bit bigger? Yeah, that sounds reasonable. Yep. *gets another look at Firstbourne next to humans* HECC *goes back to rewrite chapter*
Faith awoke groggy and disoriented, dimly realizing she was inside her hut now, slouched back against a wall. How did she get here?
The next second she realized she'd been sleeping with her head on Chew Toy's shoulder. Muffling an indignant yelp, she jerked away, brushing at her clothes as she could wipe away the traces of contact. Chew Toy only stirred in his sleep, chuckling and twitching one foot as he dreamed. Faith regarded him incredulously. What was he doing in here?
Looking around, she attained new heights of baffled indignation: everyone was in here. Jet Jack was at the table with her head in her arms; Tsippa was off in the corner cuddled up with her fiancé; Arkade was sleeping standing up in another corner; No-Legs was on the floor with his arms folded and his chin on his chest; and Muzzle was sprawled on his stomach atop No-Legs' leg mech, one arm dangling to the floor. Even his snores came out as little growls.
Faith shook her head, grinding the heel of her palm into one eye. This was just priceless. She closed her eyes for five minutes and these chumps all just invited themselves into her hut.
They looked peaceful, though. She figured she'd let them sleep. Honestly, she was struck by an odd urge to pat Muzzle on the head—he might be a pint-sized terror when he was awake, but asleep he kind of looked like a baby dragon himself. Wonder how Firstbourne and Energy were doing . . .
Reflexively Faith glanced out the window, to see if any dragons were coming. Then she nearly had a heart attack. The next second she had flung her door open and was staring up into the sky.
The heck. Was THIS. The clouds were molting. Or the rain was . . . something was very wrong with the rain. It was white. Giant feathery clumps of white, falling much slower than rain should. And it didn't make that soft pattering noise Faith had grown to love. It was dead silent. White powder was starting to accumulate on the ground, on the windowsills, on the rooftops. Distant huts were hazy behind a soft mist of drifting flakes, and the horizon was shrouded completely.
Generally Hunters tried to be prudent about unfamiliar things, but Faith was too bewildered to think much. Unwittingly she held out her hands, catching the ashy flakes and bringing them closer to examine. They dissolved against her skin, leaving only tiny droplets of water.
Faith looked between her hands and the sky for a moment. Well. She was still dreaming. Maybe she'd hit her head falling off that cliff after all.
Behind her, Muzzle appeared in the doorway, grumbling drowsily and trying to shut the door against the cold. He squinted sleepily at the outdoors, not registering at first. Then his eyes went wide and he gave a hair-raising screech.
It also raised the others. Within seconds they were crowding in the doorway, peering at the village and sky just as blankly as Faith.
"What's happening?" asked No-Legs.
"Is it safe?" asked Arkade.
"It doesn't hurt . . . " said Faith. Only now she realized that she had drifted past her doorstep and was standing fully under the shower of white. She turned towards the others, searching if anyone had some idea of what was going on. They all looked utterly lost, though. They were slipping cautiously out the door one by one, flinching when the first soft flakes brushed their skin.
"This is like that time when it started to rain," said Jet Jack, eyeing the clouds suspiciously. "Maybe this is normal too?"
They went to ask Redskull. The walk to his hut was a very spooky business. No-Legs had brought a blanket and was shielding his head, looking warily around at everything. Jet Jack looked disconcerted at the bare spots left by her feet, tried to stop leaving prints, then boosted off the ground, preferring to avoid this weirdness. Chew Toy was maybe the calmest. He was trying to eat the stuff.
The other villagers were bewildered too, just like they had been the first time rain fell. Nervous eyes peeked out through doors and windows, and heads poked out murmuring, "is it safe?" Seeing that Faith and the others weren't getting hurt, some of the more daring Hunters began to creep out of their houses, pausing to stare up into the sky.
Redskull answered the door with his hood on crooked, grumbling about early hours. He lit up in a smile when he heard what was happening, though.
"Ohhhhhh yes, I remember that! Snow! That's wonderful! That's just what happens instead of rain when it's cold. It's like ice, but softer."
"Is there anything else that falls from the sky that you forgot to tell us about?" asked No-Legs irately.
"Hmmm . . . " Redskull rubbed his chin. "Don't think so."
"But it's harmless?" said Faith, just to make sure. "We don't have to do anything about it?"
"Ahh, maybe try not to touch it with your bare hands, once it builds up thicker. It's cold. Wear your metalwork gloves or something."
"Builds up thicker? . . . "
"Of course. Sometimes you have to wade through it up to your knees."
The Hunters exchanged blank looks, letting this sink in.
"I can't believe this is supposed to be normal," said Jet Jack at last.
Once everyone had gotten over the shock of snowfall a little bit, they all started to prepare for Christmas. They really didn't know what they were doing, but they tried their best. The forge was running, smoke curling from its stack as the workers tried to tinker with scrap metal. Other Hunters tried to weave things out of straw. Some of them set to work preparing the leftover prey that the dragons had left behind yesterday. Arkade and Chew Toy dug around in the clutter filling Redskull's hut till they found his book of recipes, and several of the Hunters set to work trying them. There was a lot of head-scratching about ingredient substitutions, as well as squabbling over which recipes should be halved or quartered to conserve food.
"We're all going to get one mouthful of Christmas pudding," grumbled Arkade, throwing dried squashes into the cauldron because they didn't have figs. "And enough soup to fill the tip of a spoon."
"Quit grouching," snorted No-Legs, who was stirring the pot. "At least we get to have some." He sniffed dubiously at the mixture. "And honestly, you might not have many takers."
"Needs more spices . . . " mumbled Arkade.
"Oh mercy, get your hands off that spice pouch. It'd be nice if it was edible for the rest of us!"
The snow accumulated fast. Everyone kept pausing work to discover new marvels, or carefully track how thickly it was piling up. As Faith wandered between the buildings, she was dimly aware of the flakes tickling her face and swishing strangely around her feet with each step. For the most part, though, she was distracted by two things: One, how freaking cold she was. Two, fretting. About everything.
"Do you really have to do that now, Chief?" Chew Toy watched her going around the granary, marking the holes in the walls with chalk so she could patch them later. "There's snow!"
"Mm-hmm. What about it?" Faith stood on her toes, trying to reach a hole higher up.
"Have you even looked at this stuff?" Jet Jack was perched on the edge of a nearby roof, swinging her legs. "It's shaped like stars."
Faith looked around at the mostly shapeless shroud of white, then gave Jet Jack a skeptical look.
"Tiny stars!" said Chew Toy excitedly, holding up one hand unnecessarily close to Faith's face. She attempted to cross her eyes, then disentangled herself from Chew Toy's arm and caught a few flakes in her own hand to inspect instead.
"Huh, you're right. Interesting."
"And it sort of crunches when you walk on it," continued Chew Toy. "Real quiet."
"And it's fluffy!" said Jet Jack, hopping off the roof. "But if you squeeze it, then it packs sort of like clay."
"And look at the way the wind blows it around."
"And look how different everything looks!" Jet Jack pointed out at the smooth, softened contours of cottages. "Everything sparkles now. It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"Mm-hmm." Faith glanced in that direction, then knit her brows. "I hope the roofs don't fall in."
Chew Toy smacked himself none too gently in the face. Faith gave him a puzzled look, while Jet Jack sighed.
"Do you ever chill, Chief? Like. Even just a little?"
"Roofs falling in is nothing to be calm about," said Faith reproachfully.
"Ugh . . . " Jet Jack slumped, resigned. "All right, Chew Toy, come on. We're wasting our time here."
She and Chew Toy wandered on, exchanging an expressive eye-roll and shaking their heads glumly. Faith cast a final dubious glance after them—what had that been all about?—then turned to continue her rounds. Her gaze drifted to the horizon, then locked.
"Get back here, you two," she called, keeping her voice level. "We may have a dragon situation."
They came skidding back and looked where Faith pointed. It was hard to see through the snow, so the dragons were already quite close. All of them were again approaching, on foot.
"What's happening now?" asked Chew Toy, bewildered.
"Not sure," said Faith. "Let's hope it's not about the hatchling dying."
Silence as the other two came to the same realization Faith had last night. Jet Jack swore. Then they both hurried after Faith, who was already striding towards the edge of the village.
"Look calm," said Faith lowly, as they caught up. "They don't look too aggressive. Our odds are better than yesterday, honestly, don't give the others reason to panic."
"But if the hatchling died, then what?" whispered Jet Jack.
"Damage control," said Faith grimly.
"Geez." Jet Jack looked fed up with everything, but she was already untucking her wings, just in case. "We just can't have a quiet morning."
There was a lot less panic this time around. Some villagers tagged along with Faith and the others, more of a straggling swarm than the foaming mob from yesterday. More and more curious, faintly nervous Hunters assembled outside the village walls. Faith stood in front, her hands jammed in her pockets, waiting resolutely.
The dragons were still a fair distance away when something seemed to break away from Firstbourne. A small green form came sailing over the snow, bounding like a rock skipping over a lake.
"It's the hatchling! Energy!" someone shouted.
Energy was right in front of the crowd of Hunters when she abruptly juddered to a halt, nearly faceplanting into the snow, and flicked her head back and forth urgently. Then she gave a happy screech and leaped for Muzzle, tackling him backwards. The others watched, bewildered, as the hatchling carried on like an over-excited puppy, hurling herself back and forth, head-butting Muzzle lovingly, tearing maniacal circles around him and springing up into the air. Meanwhile Muzzle was turning around and around trying to pat her head, keeping up a steady delighted chatter that sounded like Muzzle for "Look at you! So big! So strong! Good for you! Good for you!"
"Is he part dragon?" whispered Chew Toy.
Faith shook her head, lost. She wasn't sure how Muzzle and Energy had immediately designated each other Best Friends Forever in the Entire World Ever, but there was definitely a real bond in place. Energy had worn herself out by now and plopped herself into Muzzle's arms, gnawing on one of the metal bars in his mask. Muzzle was hugging her unabashedly, still crooning baby talk and blissfully unaware that most of the village was watching. This was going to hurt his reputation.
Faith looked up to Firstbourne, who was standing quietly and watching her hatchling.
"We're glad that she recovered," she said. "Congratulations. And thank you for letting us know."
Firstbourne inclined her head silently. Then she turned back and looked to the other dragons. One by one her children stepped forward, their footsteps muffled in the snow. They were all carrying prey. One by one they set down the carcasses of large animals, some of which the Hunters had never even seen before—enough meat to feed the village for days. Each stepped back after laying their catch down, indicating that it was free to take. As the dragons pulled back the Hunters drifted forward, some of them gathering around the stranger animals, exclaiming in hushed tones and trying to figure out how to prepare them for eating.
Once the last of the prey had been presented, Firstbourne gave a gruff woofing sound. Energy had been bouncing from Hunter to Hunter curiously, always circling back to Muzzle, but now her head perked up. When Firstbourne woofed again, Energy looked disappointed, but gave Muzzle a final head-rub and dutifully scampered back to her mother's side. Firstbourne shooed her gently between her foreclaws, then reared back to give the Hunters a last proper look. She inclined her head again, formally giving her thanks.
"Thank you," said Faith. "We were in need of the extra food. It's much appreciated."
Firstbourne nodded guardedly. Again there was a long, heavy silence. Both sides were intensely uncomfortable. Energy was freakin' three days old and had no clue about anything, but everyone else here was being slowly suffocated under a crush of mixed feelings. It was nice that they'd formally sworn off combat, and all. But the couple decades of slitting each other's throats and ruining each other's lives had gone . . . aaaabsolutely nowhere. Right at the front of everyone's mind right now, on both sides. Unspoken. It was hard to look each other levelly in the eye.
It was a shame, Faith thought, startling herself. It was too freaking bad. She hated that it had to be like this—both sides looking at each other from across an unbridgeable rift. She watched Energy, who had squirmed out from between Firstbourne's claws and was now scampering among her older brothers and sisters. Wind was trying to herd her back towards Firstbourne, her eyes soft with unmistakable love. The other dragons were sneaking glances their way, clearly wishing the diplomatic conference would finish so they could get back to fussing over their baby sister. They were just a family who were overjoyed to see one of their own alive and healthy. They could've been friends. But it was a little too late to take anything back. To take everything back. The most they could ask was to just leave each other alone.
Firstbourne seemed tired. She ran her eyes one last time over the bedraggled crowds of Hunters, met Faith's gaze accidentally, and immediately looked away. Sighing, she retrieved Energy again and turned to call the rest of her brood after her. Her eyes searched the group briefly to make sure everyone was—oh, curses. Where was Lightning?
The answer became evident when a loud snort came from the top of a nearby dune, and Lightning came bounding over the crest. Diplomatic procedure was lost on that one. He floundered jubilantly through the snow on his way down, then skidded and began to slide, then finally wrapped himself up in a loop, tail in his mouth, and came tumbling head-over-heels to the bottom. He landed upside-down in a great explosion of snow, all four legs waving joyously.
Still paddling at the air, he tilted back his head to see where he'd landed. He beheld (upside-down) dragons and Hunters alike staring at him blankly. He shrank a little, with an uneasy snort.
Firstbourne understood perfectly why humans sometimes facepalmed. She would have slapped herself in the head with her own wing, if there hadn't been so many Hunters around. Trust Lightning to destroy the cherished draconian heritage of dignity.
Earth was less restrained. Plodding over to Lightning, he gave his younger brother a reproachful cuff in the head with one foreclaw. Lightning keened indignantly and writhed in place, kicking up a wave of snow that sent Earth stumbling back, sneezing. Then the smaller dragon scrambled to his feet and fled.
Please let Earth be the mature one, thought Firstbourne desperately. Please let him shake it off—
Annnnnd nope. Now Earth was thundering after Lightning, roaring bloody murder. Ice shimmied in place for a moment, struggling to contain herself—she lived for snow—then finally snapped and went streaking off to join the fray. Fire went bounding in her wake. It had taken about thirty seconds to go from dead silence to absolute bedlam.
The Hunters had backed off to a safe distance, looking anxiously between the rampaging dragons and their shabby village. Luckily, the dragons had enough sense to keep their distance from anything they could smash. After watching for a while, the Hunters also realized that this wasn't a blood fight—the dragons were just bouncing off each other harmlessly, flinging snow about with their wings and snouts, plowing up sprays of it with their claws.
"I think they're playing," said Jet Jack, while Firstbourne mentally dug a large hole in the ground and buried her head in it forever. "I didn't know dragons played."
Muzzle gabbled something, pointing to Fire, who was sliding down a snow-covered dune headfirst.
"You're right, it does," said Daddy No-Legs, scratching his head. "Maybe we should give it a try!"
Faith considered making some complaints as the other Hunters began to mill about, scrabbling up dunes, looking for something to protect from sand burns, and packing experimental snowballs. She thought better of it, though. Ten to one nobody would listen to her, and besides—no use ruining their happiness in the name of dignity. It's not like the dragons were in any position to judge.
She stood for a moment, swaying. Then, almost on autopilot, she began to walk. Hunters usually deliberated long and hard before doing anything—it was necessary to be careful, in a realm this cruel. Faith was usually one of the most careful of all. But once in a very great while, there were impulses so powerful that she didn't need to stop and think. She just knew. The first time had been tossing aside her past and joining the son of the First Spinjitzu Master. The second time was now.
Skirting a gang of youngsters tearing in circles screeching and piling snow on each other's heads, she approached Firstbourne. The massive dragon had resigned herself, and was now crouching at half-rest, her baby wrapped safely in her tail. Wind was curled up at her mother's side, peacefully dozing.
Faith hesitated, wondering how to properly address a dragon dowager. Respect was probably a good idea.
"Can we speak?" she began. Firstbourne flicked a glance her way, then snorted and looked away again. Faith blinked, stung.
"No?"
Firstbourne gave her another sidewise glance. After a moment she shifted her weight and unfolded one leathery wing. A ragged hole had been torn into the lower edge, taking one of the wing-spurs with it.
Oh.
Faith looked away, acknowledging that she understood the accusation. It's not like she could do much to make up for it, when the bone from that spur now had a hilt and a serrated edge. And was off in another realm.
"In my defense," she said slowly. "You were biting limbs off my leader at the time."
Firstbourne gave an ironic snort. Faith got the feeling it translated to "In my defense, your leader was the one who attacked me."
Curse Iron Baron's rapaciousness. She'd never be done cleaning up after it.
"I understand," she said. After a moment she sighed, pulled the glove off her dominant hand, and held it up to Firstbourne. "If it would compensate, you could take one of mine."
Firstbourne turned to look at her as if she'd just transformed into a peculiar alien beast. Her gaze flicked between Faith's hand and her face a few times. At last she rolled her eyes and turned away yet again. She wasn't petty enough to demand literal eye-for-eye digit-for-digit exchange. And it wasn't really about that one spur anyway, she could do without it. It just served as a reminder of everything else they'd done to each other.
Faith waited a moment more, then sighed again and lowered her hand, pulling her glove back on.
"I don't know what else to offer you."
Firstbourne grunted dismissively, watching as Fire and Lightning frolicked on a distant dune.
"I . . . realize we are still in the wrong." Faith lowered her head, forcing humility over her tongue like a bitter sludge. For her people. For the hope of lasting peace. "I realize I cannot use Iron Baron as an excuse for everything. He led us to war against you, but it was all of us who followed him. And we all share the blame for that."
Firstbourne was still looking into the distance, but something about her jawline had softened, showing she was listening.
"And I realize it's your right to resent us," continued Faith quietly. "We have done . . . a lot to hurt you. I know we can't make up for the children you've lost."
Firstbourne tensed, and Faith shut her eyes, knowing that reminding Firstbourne of her slaughtered children was highly dangerous. But she had to do this right. Drag all their grievances into the daylight and address them, so there could be no second thoughts later.
"I'm not asking you to forgive us," said Faith. "But . . . please. Forbear."
Now Firstbourne's head arced around, her ochre eyes pinning Faith to the spot like twin spears. Those were eyes that could lock your gaze at three-quarters of a mile; at close range like this, they impaled you.
"I'm not asking for my sake," said Faith. "I'm asking for my people. Again, you can do whatever you want to me, if you feel it would make this more fair. But spare my Hunters."
Firstbourne stared at her silently.
"I suppose they don't seem like much to you," said Faith, her throat tightening around the already-difficult words. "But they are all I have. They all want to live and be happy, just as you do. They want to be better than we all were before. And they are under my care. I protect them with my life. My life and beyond."
She looked away, harrowed by Firstbourne's unwavering gaze. You didn't need to tell her that her heart was being examined; she felt it. Might as well have started rummaging a rake through her lungs. If she was about to end up like Iron Baron had . . .
Abruptly Firstbourne gave a soft snort. Faith looked up, startled, just in time to see the massive head dip towards her. Gently Firstbourne brought her muzzle to rest against Faith's forehead, the reptilian eyes slipping closed. Her slow, warm breath washed over Faith's chilled skin, ruffling her clothes. Feeling her heart turn to water, Faith placed one hand against Firstbourne's jaw, returning the gesture of peace.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Firstbourne sighed. She felt every single year of her millennium-long life weighing down on her, but there was a strangely similar weight on Faith's much younger soul. This hadn't done anything for her lost children. The memory of their deaths didn't hurt any less. She knew, on some level, that Faith had watched loved ones die in dragons' jaws, and they weren't coming back either. But now at least there were two hearts to hold the pain. She and this proud, fragile creature had a similar texture of grief; it mixed quietly between them instead of screaming and struggling to turn the gears of vengeance. It felt like coming home to rest.
Firstbourne eventually pulled away. Somehow she and Faith had reached a mutual agreement not to risk eye contact. Faith got unnecessarily thorough about clearing snowflakes from her left sleeve, while Firstbourne glanced back to see how the younger dragons were faring.
They hadn't even slowed down yet. Ice was trying to roll a snowball nearly the size of a hut, until Earth came along and smashed it. Ice squealed furiously and bit him, while Lightning scampered circles around the fracas sneaking in nips wherever he could fit them. Earth lashed his tail just as Lightning got his teeth around it, sending the smaller dragon crashing into Ice's side. Matters escalated.
Firstbourne sighed, shaking her head, then tilted it to eye Faith significantly. Who was she kidding, hers didn't look like much either. She knew what Faith meant.
Faith paused, reading Firstbourne's eyes, then smiled slightly.
"I think we could get to understand each other."