The giant stalks fell around Spyro as he pushed his way through the last stretch of tall grass, using more force than was clearly necessary to do so; the drier brown stalks snapped against his body and fell in straight lines, while the softer green stalks were flattened and crumpled like paper under his footfalls. The drake's lips were curled into an angry, tooth-bearing snarl that shot smalls licks of hot orange flames from between his teeth with each growling breath, while his eyes still burned with the angry golden flames that now flowed across the sides of his head; fire in any form was a very dangerous thing to be breathing in the middle of a forest, but at the moment he was far too upset to care.
Any contentment he found at the riverbank was completely gone, leaving nothing but the tight emptiness that ached within his ribs for many years now. He had finally found a place to relieve himself of it at least a little, but all it took was the memories of his time in the realms (and his kin-bestowed title) to bring it all back.
He gave a wild snarl and slammed his head into the side of a small tree he was passing; the sheer force of the impact blew the very trunk apart in an explosion of splinters, sending the massive tree crashing to the ground with a thunderous crash.
What was it going to take to be rid of these horrible sensations within him?! He was finally back on Nimh. Nothing. He was free to roam wherever he pleased now. Barely a change. He visited one of the happiest places of his old life. Gone within the instant his time in the Realms, as well as his newly-bestowed title, made itself known again!
What did it want?! What did he want?!
"Calm down. you're going to burn down the entire field at this rate."
Spyro whipped around in a serpentine manner, his tail leveling an entire semi-circle of grass around him, and gave off an aggressive snarl at the owner of the voice. Zoe, who had been the one who spoke, only flinched a bit as she found herself at the receiving end of an angry dragon's temper; this was hardly the first time she had been, and she knew full well it wouldn't be the last. She waited patiently as he turned around fully, still growling and thrashing his tail like a wild animal, though the fire in his eyes was notably calmer than it had been before. At this point, he was just venting his frustrations, rather than actually acting with intent aggression, and she knew how to deal with a dragon throwing a tantrum.
"Easy now...easy." She repeated in a calming tone, keeping her voice soft and raising her hands to show she was unarmed. "There's no need for that. You know me."
The Safi'jiiva continued to growl, but over the course of a few heated seconds the growling slowly faded into a soft thrumming; the fire of his breath and eyes alike slowly died down to a low flicker, allowing the fairy to breathe a sigh of relief for the dozen-mile tinderbox they were standing on the edge of. Eventually, he calmed down enough for her to approach, allowing her to gently stroke the sides of his snout with her hands; the rough, scaly skin of his face was very warm to the touch, like the feeling of heated stone on a summer day, the essence of his fire burning hot within his bones.
A clear sign of his intense emotional distress.
"Oberon promised to leave us alone after you left and told us to take all the time we needed to heal." She told him quietly, resting her forehead against his; he shuddered with a warbling croon at the contact, but otherwise didn't object to it at all. "I know it's hard. I know what it feels like. And I know it seems it's never going to end...but it will. I promise."
Spyro's only response was to close his eyes and give a crackling warble of grief, the breath he exhaled long and hot with an almost weary flame...
...then he took another, and that's when he caught it: the barest hint of a scent.
He had been breathing through his mouth at the moment he did, expelling the excess body-heat caused from his emotional outburst, but just enough air passed through his sinuses to bring the scent through them. From there, his draconian sense of smell (unmatched by anything in the animal kingdom, even dogs and other saurians) easily picked it up amongst all the others, his eyes snapping open and all emotions instantly fading away as realization snapped him to attention:
They weren't alone in the field.
He quickly pulled away from Zoe's touch and turned toward the scent, sniffing the air in deep, slow intakes; the scent was much stronger now, filling his sinuses and forming the image of his target in his mind's eye, piece by piece:
Warm blooded flesh mixed with sun-warmed fur. Mammal.
Sweet hormonal scent. Female.
Said hormonal scent weak and underdeveloped. Child.
The artificial smell of fabric. Wore Clothing.
The supernatural glimmer of spiritual essence woven throughout the flesh. A Soul Bearer.
Spyro lowered his body to the ground and followed the scent with slow quiet footsteps, slinking through the long grass like a wolf on the hunt, taking care to make as little noise as possible. With every step he took the scent got stronger; whatever it was, it was closing in on it now.
Zoe watched in confusion, aware that he was on the trail of something, but unsure as to what it was. Potential prey, perhaps? Though judging from the suspicious look in his eyes, she doubted that.
The trail led them straight to the edge of the field. A large wall of thick green grass blocked their path, no doubt providing the perfect hiding spot for their mammalian intruder. The scent was as thick as fog now, and his draconian eyes could make out a small ball of life aura quivering just behind the plants, while the soft patter of a rapid heartbeat brushed against his ears.
He was on top of it now.
Spyro's eyes narrowed in focus, zeroing in on the target. Then he took a final step forward, pushed his head straight through the thick grass wall...
*Boop!*
...and found himself snout-to-nose with a very young and very frightened mouse furling.
Spyro had been expecting a lot of things for the day he finally came across the Rodentkin of Nimh. An army of Fae-sized rats with swords and armor was the most common image he had imagined throughout his younger life. These images were always followed by daydreams of himself, fully grown and able to fly, swooping down upon the puny mortals and unleashing his fiery wrath upon them, blowing the entire army to ash in a single breath of flame. Such were the dreams of glory that all young dragons shared now and again.
Another had been one Zoe had told him during their younger days: the story of the mouse kingdom's capital city made entirely out of cheese. Of how every year the mice would end up eating the entire city to the ground, and then re-build it out of the finest cheddar, gouda, provolone, and cream cheese, only to eat it all over again. Of course, it was another one of her tall tales (a fairy tale, for a very fitting term), and she had gotten an earful from her mentors about 'filling the dragon's head with nonsense', but the image of an entire city made of food had been one that resurfaced every now and then, usually when he was hungry.
But this? This was not what he was expecting at all.
Neither of them made a sound as Spyro gently pulled back from the unexpected contact and raised his head up to full height, his eyes never breaking contact with those of the mouse before him. Likewise, the tiny furling didn't dare look away from the massive reptilian beast poking its head out of the field's edge, her eyes wide with terror and her tiny body frozen on the spot; raising his head back up may have been a mistake, as it only emphasized how much bigger he was than her, which only added to her fear.
The dragon took the moment to observe the first mouse rodentkin he had ever seen (as all the rodentkin members of the Veil Piercer's crew had been rats). She had to be no older than a few years at most, no bigger than a human toddler, with a single incisor tooth barely peeking out from under her upper lip. A furling, if he recalled (the universal term for rodentkin young, regardless of species). Her fur was a soft sand-blonde in color, while her nose was a light pinkish brown. The only article of clothing she wore was a large teal-green sash that was wrapped around her midsection and tied behind her back in a big, poofy bow. And her chocolate-brown eyes were outright human in appearance, not anything like the black, glossy orbs of the animalistic Ferals, but windows into the sapient soul that made up her very being, full of awareness and emotion.
Though the only emotion that could be seen in them now was a deep, primal fear: the fear of standing before a great and terrible monster.
Curious of the new being he had never seen before, Spyro took a slow step forward, stepping partially out of the field and lowering his head down to get a closer look. The furling gave a frightened squeak as the dragon's head approached her; she tried to back away but ended up stumbling over her own paws with the natural clumsiness of children her age, tumbling backwards in a way that reminded Spyro of tumbleweed; a small, chubby furball of a tumbleweed. He pulled away again in surprise at the sudden tumble, finding himself outright concerned for her well-being, but the mouse looked unharmed as she pushed herself up into a sitting position.
The two didn't say a word or move a muscle after that, each staring at each other in complete silence.
The moment was promptly interrupted when Zoe flew out from the grass, confused as to what was keeping Spyro in one spot. "What is it? What did you find?" She asked him in a concerned manner as she pushed the stalks aside. "Is it a thr-?"
It was then she spotted what had captured the dragon's attention, and her own eyes went wide, but with a different kind of horror.
"Oh, Sard Me!"
Spyro immediately whipped his head to his fairy and gave a loud, snarling hiss of disapproval; despite being inexperienced in the matters of handling children, even he knew using vulgar language in their presence was frowned upon, and Zoe's natural dismissal of common decency was no excuse. This, however, would prove to be a mistake: the sight of the Safi'jiiva's jaws opening and his lips curling back to reveal all his sharp flesh-tearing teeth, along with the thunderous bone-chilling growl finally snapped the mouse out of her stupor; she gave a truly terrified scream, scrambling to her feet as if the ground she was sitting on caught fire, and bolted away as fast as all four of her paws could carry her.
"W-Wait, come back!" Zoe called after her: not out of concern for the child, but out of the need for answers.
Spyro, on the other hand, was very much taken aback by the extreme reaction to him; he gave a calling croon after the furling, as if pleading for her to return, as he stepped fully out of the field and began to follow her, his long strides allowing him to keep pace with the young rodent even as she ran. This did little to calm her down, as when she looked behind her all she saw was the sharp-toothed monster coming out of the grass, revealing just how much bigger than her it truly was, and chase her down to catch and swallow her whole.
She shouldn't have looked back, otherwise she would've seen the large fallen branch of a nearby giant tree coming up in her path, and the sharp twig sticking out over said path like the deadly claw of a predator in waiting.
Before anyone could react, she had run past it and the twig struck her across her right shoulder, its sharp tip slashing it open.
A pained squeak escaped her as she tripped over herself, falling into the dirt. Spyro abruptly stopped at the sight of the sudden tumble, a light jolt of panic coursing through his chest when he saw a flash of red.
Then it hit him: a smell that slithered through his nostrils, filling his sinuses in the most pleasant way. Sweet. Warm. Fresh. The smell of prey. A smell that he, as a predator, welcomed as mortals would welcome the smell of freshly baked bread. He was promptly reminded that water wasn't the only thing he hadn't had since the previous night when an all-too familiar emptiness in his stomach made itself known, rumbling hungrily for warm flesh. Saliva dripped from his fangs as his pupils narrowed into tight slits, all instinct and desire joining to seek out and devour the source of such a divine and succulent-NO!
With a warbled bark of distress, he quickly banished those involuntary desires from his mind, taking a step back as he shook his head from side to side in an animalistic manner, all the while snorting fire through his nostrils several times to clear the scent from his sinuses. By the Flames of Akatosh, that was the flesh of a Soul Bearer he was hungering for! A fellow sapient being, and an innocent child at that! Only the wicked and the unforgivable were allowed to be consumed in the name of Justified Vengeance; to consume the flesh of an innocent soul bearer was a sin that all carnivorous soul-bearing races, not just dragons, were forbidden from indulging in. He recoiled mentally in self-disgust, outright shaken by how potently the temptation had flared within him, shaking his head several more times with angry snarls.
Only when the smell completely cleared his head did he gain hold over his senses again, and the first thing he became aware of was the sound of crying.
He looked over to see the furling laying on the ground, curled up in the fetal position and sobbing her eyes out. A large red scratch had been torn across her upper arm, which she clutched with her other paw, blood trickling over her fingers and down the wounded limb; large, round tears spilled from her eyes, rolling down her face and dripping off her whiskers as she wept like it was the end of the world.
Now Spyro was no stranger to such feeling, though it had been many years since such an injury brought out such a powerful reaction; only the very young and inexperienced would react so strongly to such a minor wound. Large as the scratch was, only the skin had been broken, hardly what one would call life-threatening. To one who lived through the terrible glory of war, and all the pain and injury that came with it, seeing one react so violently to something so small was rather insulting.
At least…that's what he thought he should've been feeling.
But there was something about seeing someone so young…so small…so untouched suffering like this, even from something so minor...it caused a strange nagging feeling in his chest; not like the Tight Emptiness, as it didn't dig inwards. Instead, it felt as if it was…reaching. For the mouse girl. A want to do…something: something to stop her from feeling pain and sorrow, but not in a way that would harm her even further.
To soothe her pain, and his own would be soothed as well…
He shifted uncomfortably where he stood, tail swishing back and forth impatiently and a frustrated grumble spilling forth as he struggled to understand this new sensation. His movements snapped the mouse out of her bleary-eyed confusion, her teary eyes widening in fear as she remembered the monster. Holding her wounded limb to her chest, she quickly got back up on her three good legs and ran in a limping gait, slower than before but no less panicked.
This time, Spyro didn't follow her right away; instead, he simply stood there and watched with a mix of unpleasant alien emotions as the furling fled into the woods on the edge of the field he had just left, running zig-zag through the grass in an attempt to lose her perceived pursuer, all the while leaving a visible trail of red drops behind her.
He waited until she was fully out of sight before he stepped forward once more, now concerned for her survival in these predator-filled parts of Feywild.
Something soft and cushioned pressed against the bottom of his right forepaw with said step; he stopped and lifted his paw to see what he had stepped down. There, slightly pressed into the ground within his footprint, was a small, hand-knitted ragdoll, not unlike a teddy bear, with reddish-brown cloth skin and black button eyes. He hopped back a bit and lowered his head, sniffing the doll; the furling's scent was so deeply ingrained into the toy that it had to be hers. She must've dropped it while fleeing from him. He nudged it gently with his snout, a soft groaning croon rumbling from his throat…before he gingerly picked it up between his teeth by its arm and lifted his head back to full height, turning his attention back to where the furling had fled: an easy enough path to follow given the trail she left behind.
Brow-ridges furrowing at the sight of the spilled life-liquid, the Safi'jiiva turned his attention to the branch that had harmed the innocent child; the offending twig glimmering red in the midday sun, like the blade of a sword that just made a fresh kill, almost as if it was boasting about its ability to cause harm.
Eyes flashing with rage, Spyro promptly lifted his hind leg and slammed his foot upon the offending piece of wood; the sheer impact of the blow shook the earth around the area, leaving the branch outright crushed to sawdust. The Elder Dragon drake gave a snort of satisfaction before setting off towards the Lee of the Stone once more, following the trail in an outright serpentine manner; he weaved in and out between the trees like a giant snake, while he used his wings to grip their trunks to pull himself along like a third set of limbs, leaving long claw marks in their bark, all the while his eyes never left the trail of blood.
And given the direction it was laying in, it wasn't hard to guess as to where the furling was heading…
There weren't enough words in all the languages in the world to describe just how utterly swived they were.
While Spyro was following the winding trail of blood through the woods with unwavering attention, Zoe was experiencing what could only be described as a full-brain aneurysm exploding in her skull. They had literally just gotten back, the sun not even at its noon peak yet, and they had already just stepped right into plunging all of Nimh into chaos. What in the Seven Realms was a furling doing all the way out here?! And this close to the forest's borders, no less?! She had literally just gotten done receiving the request from King Oberon himself to keep Spyro away from the Rodentkin, and not even a full sarding minute after did they just happened to stumble across one so deep into Feywild that she was surprised nobody had noticed a kingdom-wide cheese shortage!
She slapped her hands against her cheeks, snapping herself out of her panicked exaggerations and clearing her head to rationalize what she had just discovered. A mouse furling in Feywild: how could this have happened? She furrowed her brow in thought, thinking hard on any possible explanations.
First that came to mind: she was a very, very lost child, having wandered a little too far from the Rodentkin settlement of Dapplewood...and was about a three-to-four-day trip by foot from the forest's edge.
Yeah, that was completely impossible, even by her imagination. Even if such a young furling had the physical strength to 'wander' that far away from the nearest rodentkin settlement without food or rest, she wouldn't have made it this far. The wilderness of Feywild was crawling with predators: many of the more magical species of Nimh's native animals lived in the fairy-inhabited areas of the continent, most of which were more than capable and willing to greedily devour lost furlings in a single bite. She would've been monster dung long before she even left sight of Dapplewood.
Zoe scratched her head as she tried to think of another alternative…perhaps she was with Mr. Ages? An elderly mouse that had history with the Fae, and thus was the only rodentkin that had been welcomed to live in Feywild; the ruins that he had set up shop in wasn't far from the Lee of the Stone at all, making her presence plausible if that was the case.
Perhaps this was his distant grandniece or something, having been dropped off by unnamed relatives for the spring, so far away from inhabited rodent lands that it might as well have been the other side of the world.
Oh, who was she kidding? Old Man Ages was the personification of antisocial personality disorder. The cranky old mouse had moved to Feywild counting on the fact that he wouldn't be bothered by other rodentkin; in all the centuries he traveled across Nimh, he had not once taken a mate or had children. And if he had any siblings, he would be the last mouse in the world that they would trust to look after their children for whatever reason.
That meant the third idea was only one plausible answer. One that made as much dread as it did sense: a clan of rodentkin had entered and settled down in Feywild.
And given the direction the furling had been running in, she had a very bad feeling as to where they had settled.
The scratching became more furious as the weight of this realization made itself known, her fingers outright clawing at her scalp. How could this have happened?! Ever since Spyro's birth, the already anti-rodentkin mentality of Feywild only skyrocketed in strength; not a single mouse or rat (which the exception of the pre-mentioned Mr. Ages, and even he was unaware of the elder dragon's existence) was allowed anywhere in Fae territory, let alone this close to the forest itself! Even Dapplewood was under heavy patrol from the border guard to ensure not a single non-fairy inhabitant of Nimh crossed over, and they were literally on the border!
If the Council found out about this new colony, it could very well be the tipping point of the already-fragile peace with the Rodentkin, and the excuse needed to plunge all of Nimh into war!
She sighed wearily, dragging her hands down her face in exasperation; was it really too much to ask for even a single break from it all? Just for one day, even?
She pulled her hand down to her lower face, allowing her to open her eyes and glare in front of her as they walked into the cast shadow of another obstacle. Before them stood a set of massive bushes, each larger than Spyro himself and forming a wall that extended beyond sight to the left and right alike. The light of the mid-morning sun was shining through the holes in the brush, casting small beams of light upon the otherwise shaded area behind it.
Zoe recognized this wall; it was the berry bushes that lined the glade where the Lee of the Stone stood. Many a late summer/early fall was spent gorging on their juicy produce, which wasn't due to grow until that time of year, leaving the bushes bare of fruit. She watched as Spyro leaned forward to look through the holes in the wall, but the sun was at an angle that made its light shine directly in his dark-adjusted eyes, forcing him to pull back and blink in discomfort, growling softly in frustration.
Then he stepped forward and began to push through the bushes, bark creaking and leaves shifting about as he shoved his way into them.
She was not going to allow her dragon to suffer under the cruelty of war again. He had just gotten away from one that nearly killed him; to go right back into another, let alone on Nimh, would be the breaking point for his morale, Elder Dragon of Primordia or not. Her eyes glistened with an icy-blue aura of their own and her pupils narrowed into reptilian slits as silently followed Spyro. Oberon and the Council would never have to know that these mice were here in the first place. To get this far meant you had to be a small enough colony to make it pass the border patrol; a few mice with even iron weapons were no match for the cunning and trickery of even the simplest and weakest fairies in all of Feywild.
And she was, by far, no means simple nor weak.
She would deal with these intruders herself. Even if it meant dragging their corpses back to the border herself.
With an irritated growl, Spyro pushed his way through the tightly-packed wall of bushes before him, his eyes squinting against both the sunlight and the leaves brushing across his face. The smaller branches snapped against his scaled hide, absolutely no match against his strength, while the low-hanging leaves and twigs were either pushed aside by or flattened under his paws. He blinked both sets of eyelids several times as he stepped out from the darkness, hissing angrily in irritation at the stabbing sensation from his eyes.
And only when his vision finally cleared, was he able to see just how much had changed in ten years.
The open grassy fields that he remembered from his childhood were completely gone, and in its place was a wall of giant cornstalks, leaving only a narrow path barely big enough for a rabbit between them and the bush wall. The stalks were earless and had yet to grow their golden crowns, as expected of early spring crops, but were already standing almost forty feet in height (no doubt in thanks to Feywild's magically-enriched soil), towering over the dragon. He stared up at the wall of crops in silent surprise, racking his simple reptilian brain trying to register the new addition to the once empty plains of his memories. They were so tall and thickly-packed that he could barely made out the distant shape of the Stone looming beyond them.
He was so focused on staring up at the corn that he almost stepped on another addition to the glade: a crudely-made wooden fence that stood barely taller than his wrist, no doubt constructed by the smaller mice rodentkin, made from gathered branches and tied together with rope. It was outright humorous how small it was; whoever built it actually expected it to keep anything out of the farmland, when most creatures were more than tall enough to simply step over it.
Which is exactly what he did; adjusting his jaws around the arm of the doll to make sure he wasn't damaging it with his teeth, Spyro slinked low to the ground and slipped into the farmland as silently as he could, his body and tail outright slithering over the fence and into the cornfield.
If they had been traversing through an open grassland, the royal-purple color of Spyro's scales would've been terrible at providing camouflage against the golden-brown fields, but within the shadows of these cornstalks it was surprisingly effective, like the black fur of a panther in the dark jungle. He blended almost perfectly into the shade of the plants as he slithered in a straight line for the shape of the Stone, only changing direction when stepping around a stalk directly in his path. Likewise, Zoe had to take to walking by foot through the trail he left behind, taking care to prevent the leaves from whipping her in the face; fairy wings glowed when they were in use and thus flying would've give away their position immediately, forcing her to take to the ground.
A familiar smell reached his nostrils, causing him to pause mid-step, and his glowing eyes cast their gaze down to the base of the stalk to his right. A glimmering smear of red coated the surface of the plant, next to a trail of tiny footprints leading in the same direction he was heading. He was almost amused at the painfully-obvious trail she had left behind; for those living in the heart of Feywild's wilderness, they did a poor job of keeping themselves hidden from predators. Even a blind fox could follow a trail like this…then again, she was just a child.
But it proved his gut instinct correct; the furling's family was indeed here. At the Lee of the Stone.
He gave a soft croon and wisely continued on before the smell could take his mind again, taking precaution to avoid touching the spilled life-fluid as he passed it. A quick glance to the sky through the cornfield canopy told him that he was nearing the stone, and through the distant stalks he could see brief but sharp flashes of sunlight reflecting off a surface of glass…the window to a farmhouse, perhaps?
And no sooner had he seen the glint of light did another sign of inhabitants reach his senses, this time his ears, which perked up as they detected them: Voices. Several distinct ones. It was hard to tell the exact age and gender, but they sounded like more children. The furling's siblings, perhaps? Or other children of this new colony?
Spyro slunk as low as he could to the ground as he approached the edge of the cornfield; so low his underbelly was just shy of actually dragging across it. The few blades of grass between the stalks, as well as the fallen strips of corn leaves, brushed against his scales as he slinked forward like a giant cat, not making a sound. He willed his eyes to lower the intensity of their glow, becoming no brighter than the flickering embers of a dying campfire, keeping himself hidden as he peered out from between the stalks that lined the edge of the field.
It almost felt like a dream, looking out from the darkness of the past decade and out into the light of a distant memory come to life. Even if said memory had been changed drastically from what he remembered it to be.
The Lee of the Stone was one of the most recognizable landmarks in central Feywild: a single massive stone larger than a small castle, standing tall in the center of a bank-side glade, curving out of the earth in an almost claw-like formation towards the west and forming a cave-like outcrop that cast a natural cover over the ground beneath it. The stone's withered yet mighty appearance was a testament to its age, having stood undisturbed in this spot for thousands of years; moss covered the surface area in scattered clumps, while wild vines and roots hung in the air from off the edges, swaying lazily in the soft breeze. The area facing the stone's cliff-face was an open grassy field devoid of trees and bushes (or at least used to be an open grassy field), leading down all the way to the distant river's edge, which flowed past the glade in an outward curve.
All of this was a very welcome sight to the home-weary Safi'jiiva. The perfect sunning spot for any large reptile: a warm stone surface to nap on, and a comfortable shaded area to slip under if it got too hot. Even at his current size, the stone was still more than large enough from him to use.
He could feel the warm stone on his belly already.
But then he saw what was sitting in the shade beneath it, and any good-natured curiosity he held instantly vanished.
Standing right at the base of the great stone, tucked comfortably in the shade underneath the curving ledge above, was the picture-ese definition of a rodentkin farmhouse. The majority of the building was buried within the earth, carved in stone, with only the upper half emerging from the surface; this was normal for rodentkin, being a partially-subterranean race that built their homes underground to hide from predators. The layer of dirt and grass covering the surface of the block-shaped stone emphasized this, clearly done so make it look like part of the glade. Though a soul-bearer would recognize the telltale clues: the small chimney poking out of the ground puffing a small wafting column of smoke, the simple door made of wooden plants lashed together with twine hidden within a shallow burrow in the side of the 'hill', and large round windows that were partially obscured by overhangs of grass. One could easily compare it to the dwellings of hobbits, albeit made with more primitive materials and more focused on protection from outside dangers rather than over-indulgence in comfort.
And gathered in front of the burrow where the door was hidden were some of the inhabitants of this mousey hobbit-hole: three mice furlings, confirming themselves to be the source of the voices he had been hearing as they spoke amongst themselves. The young, blonde-furred girl was in the middle, softly sobbing in the embrace of another furling as she clutched her bleeding arm.
The one holding her was a much older furling girl wearing a patchy, sleeveless dress that was a pale lavender in color; the blonde one's sibling, he guessed, given how openly-loving she was acting for the younger mouse. Her fur was a very light chocolate-brown, almost grey, with a lighter countershaded snout and underbelly. Her ears were concealed by a large pink bow she wore in her hair, which was not unlike the bow tied around her sister's waist. Her eyes were a bright sky-blue in color, rather than the dark-brown of her sister's, while her nose was a dark pink.
The second was a chubby boy furling that was probably only a year or two younger than the older girl, with fur that was a light-grey in color with a near-white countershade on his belly. The only clothing he wore was a plain blue shirt that was tucked lightly against his fur, almost too small to fit around his chubbier frame. His eyes were brown like the youngest, while his nose was a darker reddish-brown. He seemed more focused on finding the source of his sister's injury rather than comforting her, patrolling the small area like a watchman on duty, swinging a stick he held with his paw as if it was a sword.
…and…that was all of them.
Spyro blinked both sets of eyelids in a reptilian manner as realization struck him full force: there was only one house. And there was only one set of furling siblings on the farm.
This wasn't a colony. This was a single family of mice!
What in the Great Fire of Akatosh was one family doing all the way out here, within fair-folk borders, separated from the rest of rodent-kind by several days' worth of distance? A colony he could understand, as that meant numbers and reinforcement to protect themselves from danger, but a single set of two adults had no means to fight off the more dangerous predators of the wild. Unless there was some sort of hidden magical means to protect themselves (which was unlikely as only rodentkin royalty were wealthy enough to afford magical training) they were a literal buffet just waiting for hungry monsters to show up, even when hidden under the protection of the Stone...
The Stone...
...His Stone.
In the darkness of the shadows, the glow of his eyes shone through like piercing blades of light at that thought, his lip curling back into a tooth-baring snarl as he growled angrily. All the places they could've settled down...all the potential spots in all of Feywild they could've chosen to invade...and it just had to be under his stone. Didn't it? Why did he expect anything else at this point?
Any sensation of curiosity or empathy that he had felt for these newcomers up to this point quickly crumbled away as another sensation forced its way through them with a fiery vengeance. One far more ancient and powerful than simple moral emotions, one he was far more familiar with, and one that was well known and feared through the cosmos by men and gods alike:
The jealous, burning, all-consuming Wrath of a Dragon.
She could feel the power hitting her body even before she saw the glow come from within his body.
Zoe's eyes widened in dread, and she quickly fluttered backwards into the inner cornfield (which was, admittedly, a very bad place to take shelter from Dragon Fire), pushing herself through the stalks off the original path and putting several dozen feet between herself and her dragon. Spyro's snarling visage was so angered and filled with hate that it could kill a fully-grown behemoth with mere eye-contact alone; a rumbling fire was blazing in his lungs, shining through the edges of his scales, and forming a spiderweb of fiery light across the length of his underbelly.
His claws dug tightly into the ground, leaving long scratches in the dirt...which began to glow with brilliant blue streaks of lightning-shaped cracks that spread out from his paws.
Before the fairy's eyes, the very life-energy within the surrounding earth itself began to drain from it, flowing out through the cracks to be absorbed directly into the Safi'jiiva's body, through the bottom of his paws. The cornstalks around him began to shrivel and wilt, their lush green flesh turning brown and cracked as the very years were sucked out of them and into the Elder Dragon's body, fueling his power and rage alike. The doll that he had been carrying fell from his jaws and landed on the dead ground with a soft thump, now missing half of its arm to the flames.
And the final pièce de resistance: his eyes. Having changed from a vibrant gem-like purple outlined by bright gold into a solid golden-orange, akin to the glow of fire, his pupils narrowing into perfectly straight slits.
She couldn't stop the weary sigh of disappointment from escaping her lips, and she shook her head softly. Honestly, she was surprised he had the emotional fortitude to hold out for this long. Perhaps it was seeing his favorite stone taken over by mortals that was the final straw. After everything he had gone through before: waiting too long to embark on a venture to find a potential emotional anchor, followed by a rushed attempt met with failure and a war against the green-skins for the sake of said failure, he had finally reached the boiling point. And without the anchor to fall back to, the final stage would be the one that Oberon and his kingdom had worked so hard to avoid…
But regardless of when and why, the future of the Purple Dragon was set once again: the mistakes of the past had been repeated. The exile into darkness complete.
And if they were extremely lucky, some of them might actually make it out alive.
…oh well...at least it would be quite the final show.
Spyro slowly swung his heavy head from side to side, flames licking the sides of his jaws and hot embers billowing from his nostrils, as if trying to physically break the conflict of Sapient Empathy versus Primal Instinct raging within his mind, raging as hot and ferociously as the fire in his lungs. It was all he had to keep himself from bursting forth from his hiding place in a violent rampage. To rush the thieves and send them fleeing for their lives. To unleash his flames upon this entire farm and burn everything that had twisted his stone to the ground, even as the leaves around him began to crumble into dust and liter the earth in dead soot.
The world had taken enough from him already. First being forsaken by his own kind, then dragged into a war that had nothing to do with him, forced to fight against a cruel and violent enemy with weapons designed to hurt as much as possible as they killed, and then finally winning the war, proving his truth to the world a dozen times over, only to be cast back out by the very ones he saved!
Was everything he endured not enough?! Was he not even allowed to have this one thing to soothe the Tight Emptiness?!
The front door to the farmhouse opened with a soft creaking of wood; the Safi'jiiva's burning eyes instantly locked on the barrow and narrowed dangerously, his rage focusing on the two new rodentkin that made their presence known.
The first was a completely different subspecies of rodentkin altogether: a fat old shrew with shaggy gray fur and a face that had withered by time to resemble that of a crocodile, albeit with far less teeth. She was perhaps the most dressed out of the entire group, with a faded-blue apron tied around her pear-shaped body, a purple scarf around her neck, and a pale-peach cap around her head. She carried a bundle of white bandages in her arms, huffing up the steps out of the burrow as she did so; no doubt meant to dress the injury the youngest furling had endured.
His eyes narrowed in impatient thought; there was no way a shrew was the biological parent of mice furlings. Even when not accounting for her age, which was well past that of bearing children, it was impossible for the different sub-species of rodentkin to inter-breed. Inter-marry, yes, but such unions would never bear fruit. Either a married member of the family or a friend of it.
That scraggly old rodent couldn't possibly be the one...
Another rodent followed the shrew from within the burrow, their form hidden both within the shadow of the door frame and behind the bulbous frame of the whiskery hag. His eyes erupted into brilliant flames as they locked onto the concealed vermin, a deep, guttering growl rumbling from his throat and through his bared teeth.
That was the one: The parent of the furlings. The one who brought their family to the stone.
The one who had stolen what was rightfully his.
NO!
This was his home! His Lee of the Stone! It was his long before any of them had even been born! They had no right to claim it as their own!
He was done! Done letting these mice, these fairies, the other dragons, the gnorcs, the very world itself take what it would from him, as if he was nothing more than a diseased beggar !
He was Jendovahzoor! He was the Son of Akatosh and Lord of the Elements himself! And he would endure this torment and humiliation no longer !
He was going to take it back…take all of it back!
AND IF THAT MEANT HE HAD TO SWALLOW ALL THE REALMS IN HIS FLAMES, SO BE I-!
The rodent revealed herself, and as she did so the wounded furling cried out a single, pained, pleading word:
"Mommy!"
And with that one word…it all ceased.
As if suddenly submerged at the bottom of the ocean, the burning flames suddenly…dispersed, vanishing into empty smoke. The fierce cosmic glow within his body snuffed out like the flame of a candle, leaving nothing but a small area of dead farmland hidden within the field. The rising fire in his throat caught as the dragon froze mid-breath, remaining still as stone for a good several seconds, before the flames slowly retreated back down his trachea and dispelled within his lungs. And his eyes, wide with a mix of several emotions, slowly returned to their soft purple shine.
He didn't notice the change in his eyes. Nor did he notice his fire dying down or the smoke fading into the sky above him. He didn't even notice as Zoe, who was shocked silent herself at the sudden change, take a hesitant step toward him from behind.
Everything else seemed to fade away around him, his eyes locked on the final newcomer.
She was a young-adult mouse rodentkin, hardly any bigger than the eldest of the children…her children, he realized. He could see the resemblance to them: her fur was a very light brown as well, reminding the dragon of the color of chocolate milk, with lighter brown countershade across her belly, torso, face, and around her eyes, while her nose was the same color as the oldest furling's. She wore a simple farm dress with a dark-red corset, white sleeves and neck, and a dark pink skirt; the dress was worn and used, with tears and holes along the edge of the skirt and patchwork on the sleeves; signs of a hard yet happy lifestyle. And around her shoulders she wore a patchy-wool cloak that was a bright red in color, the edges worn and tattered in places.
But the feature that stood out the most were, by far, her eyes: very pretty sky-blue eyes, and full of a strong…warmth; the soft shyness in her expression and the timid uncertainty in her posture were completely eclipsed by it.
Spyro couldn't tear his own eyes away from them.
He watched in outright captivated attention as the mouse mother quickly made her way to her injured child, carrying a small clay jar in her paws. She took a seat on a root next to the house, wordlessly beckoning the blonde furling to her; the tiny mouse pulled away from her sister's hold and allowed herself to be scooped up into the loving embrace of her mother's arms. After a few seconds of comfort, she set her child on her lap and held her close as she dipped her paw into the jar; she scooped out a small dollop of what looked like honey with her fingers, using her other hand to hold out the child's wounded arm. The furling whimpered in dreadful anticipation, but her mother gave her a reassuring hum before she slowly and gently smeared the honey-stuff over the wound.
A pained squeak escaped the furling's mouth as she jerked against the contact, large tears rolling down her eyes as what Spyro now assumed to be medicine no doubt stung the exposed flesh.
A sensation the dragon was all too familiar with himself…
Then a new sound reached his ears, and his world was shaken yet again. As the furling cried from the pain, her mother comforted her as she cleaned the wound by softly humming a song to her child; a soft, beautiful song that bloomed with a loving warmth that seemed to make all the pain go away. The child's sobs slowly died to timid sniffles, and she relaxed to the touch, as if the song itself had the power to soothe the pain.
It was so simple…so ordinary…so forgettable. By no means a song that even the lowest of bards would consider playing, let alone the legendary scores performed by the royal musicians of Feywild.
It was one of the most beautiful things Spyro had ever heard in life.
It was like the call of a siren to him; the warmth in that voice…it outright clawed at the tight emptiness within his ribs, hooking onto his insides from within and tugging on them in her direction. As if she had the means to fill the emptiness. To finally put an end to the accursed emotional torment in his gullet and bring forth the sense of peace that he had endured for so many years.
But he dared not move from the spot. For another, darker sensation held him in place; the knowledge of what he was, and how they would see him…and what he had done.
It was then that he finally mustered the strength to look away from the warmth and turn his gaze to the desolation around him; he recoiled a bit at the sight, shifting back a step as he truly took in the sight of what his wrath had done to their home.
The small area of the field around him, once full of healthy green cornstalks ready for the light of summer, was now a testament to the destruction of his wrath. The stalks standing in the radius of him, once filled with youthful life, looked as if they had been aged hundreds of years in mere seconds, their once healthy leaves withered and crumbling away. The ground around him was covered in dead plant matter and the soil was a dusty sand color, as the very dirt itself had been drained of the life-giving force of the planet itself. Nothing would be able to grow in this spot for a very long time. And before him, covered in the dead soot and part of its arm burned off, was the small doll that was his original reason for following the furling, now permanently damaged and dirty.
That doll…these gardens…this very home...they had all been made by that mother mouse and her husband…the furlings' father…to give them and themselves a home. A strong roof to protect them from the dangers of the world. Warm food to fill their bellies. A lifetime of warmth-filled memories that they would carry on to their own children…all made with the same warmth she held for them.
And he had been mere seconds from burning it all to the ground.
What. Just. Happened?
That was the only thing Zoe could even bring herself to think as she stared at her dragon in stunned, disbelieving silence, unable to bring herself to comprehend the sudden transformation that took place before her very eyes. She had been so certain that this was it: the final straw that would've broken the camel's back and bring forth the wrath and ruin of the Aetherian Safijiiva upon the world once more. In that one great, terrible, potentially-apocalyptic moment he was a living inferno of fiery draconian rage, ready to destroy everything the intruding mice had built within his glade, and most likely bring about the next Great Cleansing after.
But then…in nothing more than a split second of time…he was not.
The wrath of the purple dragon…the rage and hate and pain of ten years…just gone. Vanished into thin air. Replaced with an outright hypnotic wonder in his eyes, which never strayed from the sight before him.
She never would've believed it had she not just seen it with her own eyes; the fairy wasn't even aware the emotions of dragons could be so strongly influenced in such a manner. She was currently standing several feet away deeper into the cornfield to Spyro's left, and thus was unable to see what had captured his attention so vividly, as if hypnotized by whatever he saw.
Was it something about the Rodentkin? What was going on? What did they do?
Then, as if the spell had been shattered, Spyro took a step back and looked about the area his power had drained when he was about to blow, seeing the damage he caused for the first time. To Zoe, it was nothing to think about; areas being destroyed by a dragon's power, be it fire or otherwise, was a common occurrence when dealing with said dragons…but Spyro looked outright shaken at the sight, as if he had done something horribly wrong. A pathetic gurgling whimper escaped the young Safi'jiiva's jaws as he sank to the ground, his body shivering animalistically as he curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut as if he was trying to hide away from the world.
The deep-rooted instincts of a Dragon Fairy flared in her blood at the sight, and she was rushing to his side without a second thought, using her wings to flutter-hop across the ashen floor and land next to his head.
"What happened? Are you alright?" she asked, reaching out a hand to touch him.
Spyro's eyes snapped wide open, and he was back on his feet in an instant, jumping like a startled animal caught off guard. Zoe quickly jumped back at the movement herself, putting a respectful distance between herself and the distressed dragon, holding her hands up to show she meant no harm; when he realized who she was he relaxed, guttering a deep reptilian sigh akin to the heavy breathing of a crocodile.
He turned his gaze back to the sight of the stone's new inhabitants, staring at the scene with a mix of emotions glowing in his eyes: sadness...guilt...uncertainly…
…and…longing.
Zoe blinked in surprise. Longing? That was an emotion she hadn't seen him express since they were first told they would be going home. She followed his gaze to the small house at the base of the stone; to finally see what on earth could possibly cause such a reaction with-.
That's when she finally saw her: the mother of the furlings, who had just just finished wrapping the youngster's arm in the bandages that the shrew had brought out, adding the finishing touches to the dressing; to top it off, she placed a soft kiss on the bandaged wound, as if to will the pain way through love. It might not have done anything to truly nurse the wound, but the furling's tears dried from the loving act, none the less. The mother mouse smiled the warmest, most loving smile the fairy had ever seen in her entire life before she scooped up the child in a warm, protective hug.
The very image of a mother's love.
Oh.
Oh.
"Don't."
Spyro turned his saddened gaze back to Zoe, emitting a soft, almost pleading croon. Zoe, however, sadly shook her head. She knew what would happen if he tried, and it would only end in pain.
"You are a dragon, one of the mighty Akatosh. They are Rodentkin, mortal and fearful of all with sharp teeth…" She told him softly, gently caressing the end of his snout. "…And a dragon's teeth are very, very sharp."
To that, Spyro simply lowered his head and closed his eyes, a guttering moan of sorrow trembling through his jaws.
The fairy sighed, giving him a reassuring pat on the snout; she looked up to see the mother mouse stand up with her child in her arms, carrying her back into the burrow, with the old shrew and other two furlings following closely behind. The young dragon watched with an almost-pleading sadness as the last of them disappeared into the shadow of the burrow, up until the door closed shut behind them.
Then, and only then, did he finally turn to leave. His long tail pushed and snapped many of the dead cornstalks over as he turned himself around, the withered plants falling to the dead ground with heavy thuds.
Zoe fluttered to the ground and simply stood there, watching with a sad expression as the young Elder Dragon made his way back the way he came, the last of his spine-covered tail slowly disappearing into the darkness of the field. She waited as the footfalls grew too soft for her pointed ears to pick up, and once she decided he was far enough way...
...she promptly summoned her wand in a flash of magic and held it up like a sword, turning toward the house with a very unhappy glare.
It was time to start what she came here for.
And a mere family of mice would prove to be much easier to get rid of than an entire colony would have; one house, one group of about five or six, and no visible or magically-detectable defenses from Fae magic that she could see. Frankly, she felt it was too easy: all it would take was a powerful fire spell to erase it all in a single blaze, leaving no trace that rodentkin had ever gotten this close to Feywild. Spyro would get the Lee of the Stone back, the Council would never have to know rodentkin were ever here, and she could continue her duty for Spyro in peace. Literally everybody wins.
…well…everybody but the mice themselves…a small family of mice, just trying to live their lives, not even aware of the trouble they were causing.
She gave a long, weary groan, running her free hand down her face in exasperation as the unwelcome stings of empathy and pity made themselves known, preventing her from raising her wand against the house…one spell…it would only take one spell and that would be that. No fuss whatsoever.
But of course, it couldn't be that simple after all, could it?
And besides, if Spyro were to find out they were killed, especially that mother mouse…who was just trying to raise and protect her children…she doubted he would take it well.
She gave one final, groaning sigh as she de-materialized her wand in a cloud of sparkling pixie dust, returning it to her magic. Fine…she'd play it nice. As easy as it would be to simply wipe them out, she would move the little loving mousey family to a safe place of sunshine, rainbows, and all the cheese they could eat. One of these days, she had to get around to looking for a means of removing that pesky little parasite called compassion from herself.
Though if she had been watching her step rather than berating her own sense of morality, she would've noticed the long string pulled taut in front of her path before she tripped it.
*SNAP!*
"WAAAHH!"
There was a loud whip-like crack as the rope snapped against her ankle, and before she could so much as blink the ground around her exploded in a flurry of leaves, dirt, and string. She shrieked in alarm as her entire body was enveloped in a net of thick yarn and hoisted high into the air with a whipping motion, the bent cornstalk snapping straight and yanking the trap tight around its victim, like a spider's web catching a fly. Acting on instinct, she immediately tried to summon her magic and teleport out of the net; this resulted in a painful, almost electrical shock as her magic was forcefully dispelled, causing her to yelp in pain.
These were anti-fae strings, made with special enchanted materials with the intention of stopping fairies from using magic. A trap made deliberately for her.
And judging from the loud ringing of the bell tied to the string that held the net, she knew it was only a matter of time before the spider answered the tugging of the threads. Or in this case, when the mouse came looking for the cheese. Unable to do much else but wiggle, the strung-up fairy could only stare blankly ahead and mutter her mind under her breath.
"Oh, Sard Me."