Feeding dragonets were a loud bunch.
It was a widely shared joke that they chattered more than they ate, and some had to be reminded to keep their tiny mouths closed when chewing.
Several females were scattered among them, each serving as a mother to a clutch of five dragonets until they were deemed old enough to be charged with a duty. It was much easier this way than biological rearing, for once an egg was laid it was taken to the hatching grove with the others, and properly guarded until the moment of cracking shell. And pregnant females were excused from any physical activity until they had born their eggs; strenuous work stretched the nutritional resources in the body too thin, and often resulted in deformities, such as improperly thick or brittle eggshells, which produced weak or malformed hatchlings (there was a dragon living in the area at the moment that lacked wings, and its lungs and internal fire sacks were not strong enough to expel flame. It made up for the problem by being very quick on its feet, and certainly more ground-savvy than any other dragon), or worse, unborns.
The newly hatched infants however, looked perfectly normal. It was too early to pass judgment anyway. The little ruddy colored dragon who had hatched first was already being speculated to be a fire dragon, and Harlith had to admit, even being a wind dragon, that it was very likely. He just looked like one, and even, according to one of her brothers, acted fiery; boisterous, overconfident, fast mouthed. Pretty much everything to be discouraged in a dragon.
At the moment, he was being pointedly reminded to eat by his brood-mother, typically a complacent ice dragon, an eternally aggrieved expression on her face. She was old, Harlith noticed, for her scales had dulled to a grey-white color, her movements stiff with battle fatigue.
Harlith felt a pang of sympathy for her, and slightly dreading of the time when she would be expected to mother a group of loud, cantankerous dragonets, however likely it was that she would change her mind by then. Parenthood had never stuck her as particularly appetizing, even now that she was full grown, not nearly as much as fighting for her kind. She was certain that no baby dragon could compare to the rush of adrenaline, the chill of the winds that surged through her wings, the taste of victory – cleverly disguised as an enemy's blood – or the simple battle fever that infected so many.
Shaking her head, she resumed her survey of the feeding. Ignitus stood on the highest ridge overlooking the area, and Harlith wondered privately if the same thoughts were running through the dragon Guardian's head, and dispelled it. Ignitus was too proud and loyal to have such a blasphemous point of view.
Her ranging eyes were drawn to another hatchling, the smallest one, which was not feeding with any group, quietly gnawing on a small haunch of meat by himself, looking as though he was trying his best to remain inconspicuous in the shadow of the ridges.
She was struck by this sight, and remembered that this was the purple dragon, the one that had been a little delayed in hatching a few days hence.
The air he gave off was not one of the special, powerful dragon he was prophesized to be, but dejected and lonely. His small shoulders were hunched, and his eyes flickered all too constantly over to his brood mates, who appeared not to notice him.
She also saw, from her vantage point, that this was not so. They were perfectly conscious of the little dragon, and were subtly sliding their eyes from each other to him with curious expressions.
A little infuriated by this display of mutual ostracizing, Harlith only just refrained herself from uttering a growl of protest. They were only a few days old; they likely didn't entirely understand what was wrong and right, especially not on an instinctive level.
However, she could lift the situation a little bit, and took off from the ridge, gliding smoothly to the stores of carcasses from previous hunts, and selecting a fresh one, she ripped a large portion of a Catal, a middling sized hoofed beast with enormous bulging eyes and oddly shaped antlers, and grasping it carefully flew back to land lightly before the dragonet.
He raised querying eyes to her, and the tensing of his body told her that he was uncertain. She reached out slowly pulled the scrawny bit he had been trying bravely to eat, shushing his confused protest, and pushed the fresh meat towards him. He blinked at her, the violet eyes gleaming with a perplexed but grateful light, and he gave a terse muttered thanks (or that was what it sounded like to Harlith) and bent, sniffing the Catal, before nibbling cautiously. The next moment, he became more confident and shortly the whole thing was devoured, and the little dragon's stomach was bloated. He gave a contented sigh, and before Harlith could do anything else, he had crawled tentatively towards her and pushed shyly at her leg with a soft, blunt nose.
She gave a surprised snort, pushing him gently away, and felt the prickling feeling that occurred only when eyes were upon her. Glancing up, she saw Ignitus watching her, smiling approvingly. Inwardly, she groaned. If he was thinking of the conclusion she herself had just reached, life was going to take a very unpleasant turn. More roughly than she intended, Harlith said to the dragonling, "I have to go now, so you've got to stop that." Upon which he gave a startled squawk, and as she once more spread her wings to take off, he cried out, his pleas reaching deaf ears, for Harlith was aloft too quickly to hear him.
As he settled back down into weak, piteous squeals, a shadow fell over him, and without caring who it was, the purple hatchling burrowed his head into the chest of the strange dragon, trembling.
The dragon, which happened to be the fire Guardian himself, was immensely disappointed with the wind dragon's performance. She'd known what he wanted her to do, but she'd fled, leaving the poor dragonet crying for her in vain. Appalling.
He gently nudged the little purple dragon, which shakily looked up at him, asking in his limited use of language, "Why she go?"
"She will be back, that's all you need to know," he said by way of reassurance. The hatchling brightened, "back?"
"Yes."
That seemed to cheer the dragonet up immensely, and Ignitus couldn't refrain from smiling a little. But he did wonder at Harlith's behavior. She was usually the most sensible of the dragons her age.
He recalled the strained, startled expression on her long scaled face when the dragonet had given her that affectionate movement, the comprehension that she had unwittingly endeared herself to him, and concluded that she was afraid of motherhood. He withheld a chortle. Well, parenthood was no small responsibility, one reason why he had made the decision to let any children he might conceive be fostered. He could not allow the distraction to interfere with his traditional Guardian duty, no matter how dearly he wanted to.
Harlith obviously felt she wasn't ready to take on such a challenge, which was a rather immature if justified point of view. He grimaced. She was not really in a debatable position; the hatchling had unquestionably identified her as mother and caretaker whether she was of the same opinion or not. He likely wouldn't accept any alternative dragon.
"Angyra," he asked the dragon closest to him, grimly noting her disdainful expression, "where did Harlith go?"
"The wind dragon?"
Ignitus would not do her the honor of acknowledging the obvious.
Straightening as though she had been verbally rebuked, Angyra reported stiffly, "over those crags, I couldn't see any farther."
Ignitus nodded and spread his wings, and the purple dragon protested, "Not you too?"
"I'll be back," he assured the fretting dragonet, "stay here."
He leaped off the ground and headed in the direction the other dragon had indicated, narrowing his eyes, searching for the silvery hide of Harlith. The night sky was not clear, making the task more difficult than he expected.
Ascending through the clouds, his wings were soon lined with moisture, which he hurriedly shook off. One of the worst fears a dragon had of the elements was having water on his wings freeze into icicles, which interfered with the air channeling that helped creatures of their size stay air-born, and often resulted in the wings becoming too heavy and awkward to function properly. Hence, the victim suffers a fatal fall.
He shuddered to think of such a terrible fate. If the dragon did not die from the fall, he or she had to live without the use of their wings; for the chances were that they would be broken beyond repair. And that was unthinkable.
A trail of smoke, barely discernible in the grey masses of clouds, rose up from his nostrils. He blinked in surprise at himself. Exhaling smoke in that manner was usually a trait retained by hatchlings, and Ignitus had not done it since his own childhood, now in the distant past.
Altering the fingers of bone that separated the sections of the membranous sails, he rose on an air current, watchful.
There was no warning for what came next.
A flaming arrow whistled past him, missing him by inches, and Ignitus instinctively backwinged in surprise, glancing below.
A horde of strange, brightly colored nomads were hooting angrily at him, shaking their weapons threateningly. From the range of dull grey boulders, archers were nocking a second volley of arrows, dipping them in a small flame kept alive by an assortment of dry twigs and branches. Given their lack of resources, there was nothing protecting them or the fire from the weather…or a dragon.
He regretted for the first time in his memory that Cyril was not with him; the dragon's icy breath would have made quick work of the fire.
Folding his wings into a dive, Ignitus plunged downwards, pulling out with a flare of his great wings. Eyes flashing, he spat a ball of concentrated golden liquid – not quite lava, but the solidified stage of fire – into their midst, watching with grim satisfaction as they shouted fearfully, diving out of the way. A brave but foolish nomad at the head of the group desperately flung his spear at the red dragon, which Ignitus calmly batted away.
Hovering menacingly over them, Ignitus rumbled, "You are out of your territory. Leave now and I will not attack; press this foolish engagement and I will not be answerable for my actions…"
He heard a quicker, softer beat of wings behind him, and the previously quieted nomads murmured uncertainly, twitching the dyed furs they wore more firmly around them.
He glanced behind him, and to his surprise Harlith joined him, eyes narrowed as she surveyed the cowering invaders.
The nomad who had thrown a spear at Ignitus stepped forward, his face expressionless as he said in a flat voice, "We are nomads; we have no set territory. We wander until our feet can no longer carry us, dragon, and the whole world is our home."
Ignitus tilted his head at the speaker, "You may not have a territory that is true. But we dragons, however, do. And intruders such as yourselves," he cast his golden eyes over the bedraggled group, "are not tolerated." Before he could reply, he added, "You also attacked without due cause. Can you account for such actions?"
The nomadic leader bowed his head with a startling show of respect, "we acted out of fear, I admit." He folded his arms and nodded towards his fellows, "For that, I apologize, and request permission to pass through your lands. Unharmed."
Ignitus regarded the nomad closely for a moment, dropping down to the ground, causing most of the group to back away.
"Permission granted, nomad. But only on the assurance that you yourself mean no harm to my clan or species. For that, I require proof that you are trustworthy. Since I have none at the moment, I will set a few dragons to watch over you while you travel until you leave our lands."
The nomad nodded with the appropriate grace. "So be it."
Ignitus returned the nod, then signaling to Harlith leapt aloft and began to return.
Catching up to him, Harlith asked tentatively, "Ignitus, sir…if I may ask, why were you out here? I thought you were watching over the hatchlings…"
He looked at her mildly, and said, with a hint of disapproval, "Looking for you, actually."
She blinked, and averted her gaze, suddenly reluctant to continue the conversation.
"I take it you know why, Harlith?" Ignitus said lightly when the younger dragon didn't reply.
"I….I just needed to be alone for a while after…"
"After you were chosen by the purple dragon as a caretaker and left him crying in vain," Ignitus finished for her, still in the same tone.
Harlith shot a startled glance at the Guardian dragon, and saw the disappointment echoed in the very recesses of her mind. She knew what she had done was wrong, but taking on such a responsibility was…frightening.
"…I know, and I'm sorry for what I did…I just don't know what to do! I haven't a clue how to take care of a child!" She breathed in, trying to calm herself.
Ignitus eyed her thoughtfully, "It isn't me who you should be apologizing to. It's the hatchling."
She gave him a skeptical look, and he chuckled, saying in slight admonishment, "he may be just hatched, but even a dragon of his age knows and understands the concept of an apology. It was not so long ago that you were a child, Harlith."
She bowed her head, "True," she said somberly, then her muzzle twitched in a half smile, "But I don't remember thinking about anything like that."
"Would you?"
The question drew a puzzled silence from Harlith.
Ignitus cocked an eye ridge, "I take it from your silence that you would not." He then winked at her in an assuring manner, "never fear, I'm not pointing the talon at you."
He beat his wings several times, baring his fangs. The effort behind long flights was becoming ever stronger, and he was not particularly old for a dragon, the senior age of which was over a thousand.
He was disturbed from his reflections by Harlith's startled gasp, and looked down. His golden eyes widened. A thick pillar of black smoke rose up from the Grotto, the large cavern in which Guardians held systematic – or at least it had been systematic a few years ago – meetings and location of the little hollows and niches in the walls that served as nests for hatchlings.
He startled as Harlith flew into a fast, spiraling dive, and followed the young wind dragon's lead. Neck arching, he bugled his outrage and fury at such an invasion. No one, no one disturbed a dragon's sanctuary when there were hatchlings present. Even the starkest raving mad dragon would not dare break that Ancestral law, unless...
A screech breached his frenzied thoughts, and he wasted no more time with his considerations. Folding his wings, he plummeted through the sky, disregarding to the fact that the air was thick with sulphuric fumes, though from a dragon's breath or from intruders Ignitus couldn't tell.
Blinking furiously against the debris that rained fiery specks upon the dragons aloft – which happened only to be himself and Harlith – Ignitus dove and landed swiftly on the plateau above the Grotto, before flipping down and forcing his body the door, shattering the heavy singed wood in the process.
Tramping hastily down dark corridors scuffed horribly, a high pitched whine rang thinly in his ears, and he looked around wildly to find the source of the noise.
It found him before he found it.
He flinched, grimacing in surprise as a grimy, battered looking hatchling crawled with desperate relief towards him, uttering piteous cries as it went. He couldn't see the colour of its hide under all the filth, and its eyes were dull.
His eyes flinty, Ignitus bent and reached out with forepaw, ushering it the way he had come. This shouldn't have happened.
He nosed it briefly, for it was ill at ease. Not that he expected it to be after the trauma playing out. "Harlith," he called over his shoulder, seeking out the young wind dragon, "Harlith?"
No answer.
He turned fully around. There was not so much as the hide or tail of her, and his wings mantled. Where had she gone? He was certain the dragon had been directly behind him.
The hatchling squealed again, and he told it gently but firmly to be quiet. It only increased its wails, and the scrawny neck continued to turn back where it had emerged from the darkness.
As a thought entered his mind, Ignitus stepped lightly forward, the clicking of his talons muffled from the excess dust flooring the ground. The dragonet gave a softer, almost approving croon, trotting after him.
Startled as he was, Ignitus decided that perhaps the hatchling was trying to tell him something. Stopping suddenly, he lowered his head to be level with it, and asked, "Is there something down there?"
It stared at him with enormous eyes, before saying tremulously, "B-b-big scary things."
"Can you tell me more?"
It shivered, "Fuzzy. Make loud noises." Whole body tensing up, it said in a voice drenched with fear, "Killing everyone. They lie on the ground, and don't move."
Alarmed, Ignitus withheld a growl, and told it to stay in the corridor while he went to check the nests. It let out whine similar to the one he'd heard before he'd seen it, and darted beneath his forelegs, trembling violently.
He heard, between its frightened cries, the soft, oddly uneven padding of feet behind him, and, allowing his expression to adopt anger, he turned around. What he saw was not what he'd expected.
It was not the ever-fleeting wind dragon standing before him, but a gruesome, bat-like, almost dragon-sized beast, its humped back covered in course, matted fur. Its face alternately twisted in several wild, raw expressions, completely erasing any thought of what little intelligence Ignitus might've suspected it to have.
He had been taught to honor all forms of life from the shell…but he decided briskly that this, this thing was not deserving of that honor; especially if its kind were responsible for the desecration and destruction of the usually sacrosanct Grotto.
For a wild moment, he entertained the thought that the nomadic tribe he'd so nonchalantly allowed to pass through the lands was responsible for the attack, and then dispensed the reflection immediately. They had no such beasts present, and a guard had been placed…No, he corrected himself, a guard was going to be placed around them. He'd not yet had the opportunity to set the promised watch dragons on the famished group.
The horrible creature squawked suddenly, saliva dripping freely from its half-open jaws. The fierce yellow eyes contracted as it expended all air in its lungs to the ululation, and Ignitus cringed, ear-slits aching as the scream began to have an effect on him.
The creature continued its screech, and it seemed as though it would never stop. He'd never seen something with such large lungs.
For that matter, he'd never seen anything so horribly defying of ancient tradition before…or with eyes that changed colour with mood. That was so defying of the laws of nature that he couldn't believe the anomaly existed.
Its eyes had no pupils; they were yellow predominantly, but as its ferocious anger grew, they began to taken on a swirling look, and a threatening, maroon-purplish hue came into them.
He growled, softly, unable to see properly. The pressure of the unending scream was starting to break him.
And then, all of a sudden, it stopped.
Squinting, he attempted to focus on the beast, and, to his shock, saw it fall to the ground, its head almost completely decapitated.
From around the body stepped the dragon who had hared off earlier, licking the blood from her talons with an almost disdainful air.
Fending off outrage at her inconsiderate leaving before, he said simply, "Harlith."