Author's Note: As mentioned in my profile, gamefic is what brought me here and what continues to inspire my myriad slowly expanding stories. Dragon Cave is an online adoptables site. The goal is to grab dragon eggs, and occasionally hatchlings and successfully raise them to adulthood. There are over 300 different kinds of dragon to collect, and there are many (many!) different ways to play the game. The focus of the game is the dragons, and the growing number of them on your "scroll"; it is strongly implied (but not outright stipulated) that the player is a human. From the website description:
Dragons are highly-intelligent reptilian creatures that—from a human perspective, at least—appear to live forever. Many different varieties of dragon exist, each with their own unique qualities, habitats, and behavior. Adolescence in dragons is usually marked by the growth of a hatchling's wings, although not all breeds of dragons grow wings and some breeds have other traits that indicate the beginning of maturation. In Galsreim, dragons and humans coexist peacefully.
The world is carefully left quite open to interpretation.
Standard disclaimer: I do not own any of the wondrous creations of T.J. Lipscomb, who is the owner, creator and maintainer of the Dragon Cave website, forums and game including an incredible (and growing) variety of dragon races. I certainly lay claim to misspellings, mistakes, tweaks, spells and the personalities of individual characters of my own invention.
~~Leaving Home~~
Shaira wiped the sweat off of her forehead and plunked herself down on a relatively smooth looking rock. It was more comfortable than she had expected, but that wasn't saying much. Despite the chill weather, she was overheated and despite having thought she was in fairly good shape, she was exhausted. Still, she could hear the small voice that had caller her this far.
That sense of voice, not quite words, but curiosity, and distress at some unidentifiable thing; or warmth, or something having moved away. Her mother had sensed her distress, and come to wake her.
The voice didn't fade on waking, and trying to explain the dream, Shaira found herself turning to look toward the seaside cliffs that were known in many of the human languages as "The Nesting Cave"; one of several places in the world where dragons were known to lay eggs. Or perhaps thought to, as few indeed were those brave or foolish to investigate.
"You keep looking to-" Her mother spoke quietly and didn't finish the question.
"It's like a voice," Shaira said softly, "curiosity and sort of growing .. loneliness?"
Her mother made a gesture; holding out her hands, first two fingers of each hand extended together, across each other like some sort of x or cross. "My daughter, a keeper." She momentarily had a look of pride, and even tears in her eyes, but then she looked to the door of the Yurt, and whispered. "You must leave, daughter, and quickly."
So saying, Ninwa rose gracefully and silently, and bustled about the yurt gathering what to Shaira's eyes appeared to be a random assortment of things into a journey pack. Knowing her mother, it was anything but random.
"You never told me." Shaira had asked.
"It's an honorable profession, a divine calling," here she made the cross gesture again, "someone who can begin to hear the voices of the powerful" She made the horned gesture that meant not only dragons, but all esoteric entities and spirits "but one that is known to my mother's people, not my husband's folk."
Shaira blinked. It was the first time that her mother had made such a firm distinction between herself and the clan she had married into.
Ninwa had continued. "It's been seven generations since it manifested. You have slept poorly all this last month, and that is one of the signs of a wakening keeper." She glanced again to the doorway of the yurt. "However, among some of the fearful, it can also be the sign of witchcraft, and I have no desire to see my daughter burned as a sorceress."
Shaira sat down hard on where her bedroll had been.
"Why has no one discussed it before now?" She hadn't been sure if she meant the dangers of sorcery or the idea of a keeper.
Her mother's initial response was to look out the partly cloth draped doorway of the Yurt. "It's not something that gets spoken of here," she murmured softly. "The elders here prefer to treat directly with dragons, any who can open their minds to spirit-speech claim to have earned the gift as an elder." She shrugged, "that may even be true, but it is not the only way."
"Among my folk, those with the gift often manifested it as they crossed to adulthood, as you are doing." She looked wistful, "I admit, I had hoped I would be one such, but it was not to be."
She continued in a more stern tone. "So among these elders, they assume that a keeper is a fancy way to say that a non-dragon is the pet of a dragon, or a toy. Those are the least offensive ideas. Worse is their fear that someone touching mana; to hear or to weave; wants to use it to control the dragons and try to rule the world."
She finished gathering, and then bound the tightly rolled up bedroll to the bottom of the pack. "Here."
"But I don't know anything about-"
Ninwa put a single finger to her daughter's lips. "I tell you as I was told, as it comes from those with the open spirit to hear, and I tell you this because you have enough land-lore to travel alone, find food and survive."
She took a deep breath, and faced her daughter. "Two things, daughter. Two things which you must never forget." She held up both hands and raised both index fingers. "Follow the voice, and swiftly for it is a matter of life and death." Then she raised the second finger of each hand, and crossing them, made the same crossed gesture as before. "Protect them, keep them safe, as they will protect you."
She turned again to the doorwary of the Yurt, where a shadow and a frown heralded the arrival of Mirth. Mirth was Shaira's father's mother, and a poorer match between name and person Shaira could not have imagined.
Before the aged, and clearly irritated Mirth could speak, Ninwa said in an irritated tone. "Well, daughter, what are you waiting for." She gestured to the travel pack, which Shaira had not yet shrugged onto her shoulders. "You have supplies, you have instructions." Ninwa then turned to face Mirth more fully. "I would speak with my husband's mother of things that younger ears have no need to hear."
Shaira had hastened out of the Yurt, and run at a jog away from the compound, away from the herdbeasts, and away from her life.
She didn't really have any idea where she was going, except that it was toward the call that was almost but not quite a voice.