A/N: My few reviews have all centered on the unusual names I have created and this chapter addresses that. So, please enjoy! And of course, review.
"Where'd you get such an interesting name, anyway?" S'fehlad had asked Mr. Squiggly a few nights before the hatching.
"Well, it's not my real name or anything, you know. In my clan we picket names that were often very childish to make our true, original identities anonymous. My true, birth name is something I will take with me to my grave.
"Fair enough, but you know, when you Impress, " there was no doubt in S'fehlad's mind that he would, "you will shorten your name to an honorific. I am sure you picked up on that practice."
"Aye. It's quite interesting and I think I'd quite like to be called M'quiggly, should I impress. That's not too silly, is it?" Mr. Squiggly looked very vulnerable right then. S'fehlad had to restrain himself. He could not rush this.
"No. Names are never silly. Plenty of people tease me because my dragon has a silly name, or so they say. But, I love my Munchimuncheth whether or not she is named like a "proper" dragon." His voice and eyes swelled with pride.
I love you, S'fehlad came the voice that S'fehlad suddenly came to realize he'd been ignoring lately.
I know. And I love you. I would be nothing without you, you know.
I do.
Mr. Squiggly watched the S'fehlad, knowing an exchange was occurring. This was something he needed to know for himself: this ability to love and be loved unconditionally. He'd lived too long in a world that preached a "kill or be killed" sort of existence. He really needed something to soften his edges. He worried that he'd never shake those instincts that told him that others were out to get him and the only way to survive was to beat them to it. It wasn't as though he wanted hurt his fellows; it was just that he knew no other way to interact.
The day of the Hatching had arrived! S'fehlad hurried Mr. Squiggly to the hatching ground. He looked around to the other candidates. Though he was younger than a good number of them, he felt so terribly old amongst people who knew nothing of another life. They knew nothing of being raised by virtual terrorists of the heavens. They hadn't fought there way to the top of the garbage heap at the mere age of seventeen. His soul cried out for someone to help him on the path of goodness, of humanity. He was tired of being the beast.
Suddenly, Mr. Squiggly heard someone calling him. He turned around, wondering where the voice could be coming from. It only took him another moment to realize the voice was coming from the gorgeous eyes of a baby dragonet.
I'll never do anything wrong again, Blith. Thank you.