Meeting of Founders
The trio returned with high praise. For every one of the Imperial's relaxed strides the smaller mirror took two or three leaping bounds. The little guardian perched on Hydrangea's back, as they galloped ahead of Bithor. Squealing in delight, the two smaller dragons celebrated more openly then the more serene Imperial. It was their ruckus that alerted the Lair to their return.
On Bithor's back hung the hide of the Golden beast, and the sacks of meat and other odds and ends they discovered while out hunting. Evanel greeted her mate with a flourish of red wings and a soft nuzzle on his cheek. Two two life partners bonded for a few minutes, while Hydrangea introduce the new guardian to Cherrywing, the clan's Matriarch.
"She's a righteous fighter, this one is," Hydrangea cooed as she set the guardian down before the flowery fae. "She has the heart of a princess, but the guts of a mirror."
"High praise," the fae's monotone voice was accompanied by a slight surprised raising of her frills. The mirror purred in agreement.
"She's got claw marks from the parda we fought. They must have been after her, and managed to survive long enough that we interrupted their meal." Hydrangea lifted the small guardian's wings to show the Matriarch the now healing wounds.
"I see." Her wings fluttered, and she called to a nearby dragon. "Go get Elderith and his mate. We have a somewhat wounded hatchling." The dragon huffed understanding and trotted off at a quick pace to the underground cavern of the healers.
The red-winwged Matriarch looked back at Hydrangea and asked, "Where did you find her?"
"By the edge of the rainsong jungle." Bithor answered before the blue and brown mirror could, and dipped his head towards the tiny fae.
"In the neutral territory?"
"Yes, was there an attempt to settle there?" Bithor asked.
"At one point, but no more. The beastclans hunt there, and they are already an annoyance. We don't need a war in an area like that. Best leave it to the wild things." The Fae sighed. "We decided to expand west instead."
"Then we may have intruders," Hydrangea added, "This is where we found this newly hatched youngling."
"Really?" She fluttered to the top of the canopy in a sudden rush of wings. Another fae conversed with her and then shot off in a burst of autumn color. When she returned, Hydrangea stared at her in wonder.
"What is it?" Bithor's mane prickled in concern.
"We know the beastclans are unhappy with dragon-rule, and we've had our share of confrontations." Cherrywing's monotone voice gave her words a deeper dread. "But they may be pushing at our borders a little too much and forcing families out and into the jungle lands."
"Do you think..." Hydrangea started, but Bithor cut her off.
"Are you saying she's a...?" Bithor hesitated as Cherrywing flittered up to his head and rested her tiny head on the end of his massive nose.
"I don't know, we need our Painter and Exalt master. If she bears a red-colored mark and the Gladekeeper's sign.. she might be...."
"But.. there would be two of them here then!" Hydrangea's glee was so inappropriate Bithor growled. The mirror, surprised at the reaction by her brother in arms, subsided into a small curled up ball. The tip of her tail covered her nose. One does not even anger an Imperial.
Ever.
"I know, and that is a bad sign for us all...." Cherrywing sighed, her colors suddenly faded by a fraction.
A few moments later a black-winged green wildclaw walked up to the gathered dragons. From the North side of the Lair came a pair of shaggy green tundra. Cherrywing greeted them both, flaring her frill vibrantly in welcome.
She first flitted to the Tundra. "Elderith, Elethea thank you. I know it's uncomfortably hot up here for you two, but the little one is wounded. I must speak with Reshara for the moment."
The two tundra grumbled, but got to work. Cherrywing tunred in mid air and swopped down to the wildclaw. "Reshara, thank you for coming so quickly."
"I was nearby, talking with Kudzu and Ivy, young love and all that, they want to get the same patterns." Reshara chuckled in good humor.
"Ah... yes.. well... I need to know if this one is red-marked." Cherrywing's frill lowered in the same degrees as Reshara's eyebrows raised.
"I... see... do you think...?"
"Yes.... maybe..."
Without another word the Painter walked towards the young guardian, closed her eyes, and spread her hands above where the tundras were working. She swayed slightly as she dropped into her trace. The healers continued their ministrations as if the wildclaw were not there. Bithor and Hydrangea glanced over towards Cherrywing, concern in their eyes.
A few minutes later, a sound of rustling leaves heralded the arrival of a long and lanky spiral, just old enough to be counted as an adult among them. Behind him came a gray-pelted, golden winged wildclaw. Bithor and Hydragea bowed their heads low to the Captain of the Guard, though the wildclaw was much shorter of stature the Bothor, she was a capable fighter and a proven cleric of the Gladekeeper's will.
"Drakenvulf, I'm sorry if I interrupted practice?" Cherrywing slowly flew over towards the wildclaw.
"Not at all matriarch. Your messenger said it was urgent. I was merely going over the basics of tree-combat with Wartorn here." The wildclaw motioned to the spiral. "He must be ready whe he is finally called to service."
"Aye.... and you may have two to train." Cherrywing's frill dropped. She fluttered over to where the tundras and Reshara worked and motioned to the small guardian hatchling.
"Truely?"
"We found her today, new hatched." Bithor added.
"She is a fighter, "Hydrangea quipped from under her tail.
"Is she?" Drakenvulf lifted her head and looked down the length of her muzzle at the little dragon, not quite as impressed with such stories. Reshara took in a deep breath, and stepped back, nearly stepping into Drakenvulf. The gray-wildclaw hopped out of the way with a single, smooth, deft movement. When Reshara finally came to and saw Drakenvulf, she dipped her head low in apology.
"Crimson." The single word left a chill down all of their spines. Reshara once more uttered that word, "Crimson, and a powerful color it is as well."
Drakenvulf frowned and wrinkles the end of her nose enough to cause the nostrils to flair. She marched over to the little guardian and crouched before it. With a curt greeting to the healers, she turned her attention to the hatchling. The two regarded each other for a moment. Then, Drakenhart's hand shot out and pinned the Guardian to the ground by its face. The little dragon struggled, hissing and snarling, at such mistreatment. However, Drakenvulf was not paying attention to the young dragon's complaints.
Her eyes were rolled up and her head lifted to the sky. She swayed slightly and the others watched in fascinated interest. All of them ignored the hatchling's snarling cries. One did not interrupt a communion.
Ever.
A few minutes passed, and the youngling settled down as she realized she wasn't going to be harmed. Being pinned was uncomfortable, sure, but she was still alive. Eventually the pressure was released, and Drakenvulf looked down at the little one with a new interest.
She looked up at the gathered dragons and nodded her head. "She is..."
Cherrywing frowned. Hydrangea grinned like a mad dragon. Bithor's face tightened into a contemplative scowl. The other dragons glanced at each other with various expressions of concern and fear in their faces.
The spiral slithered through he air in awed excitement. "I'm not alone?"
"No," said Drakenvulf, "she is Warborn. Child of Gladekeepers claws."
"So war is coming?" Bithor rumbled.
"Yes," Drakenvulf muttered.
Breaking Point
A Frigid Requiem
