Phobos

Phobos grew up in the Scarred Wasteland, in the middle of the Abiding Boneyard. She wandered for years, learning how to survive and, maybe more importantly, how to honor those who didn't. Over time, she became a very skilled Mortician, sending many passed away dragons to the Great Beyond with dignity and respect.

She met her mate Coma by the Wyrmwound, where he was learning his own craft. She fell in love with his passion for life, for survival despite all odds, his need to cure and learn. Soon, they became inseparable, him, treating the wounded, her, those who didn't make it. Later, they met Gaia who told them she was headed toward a new clan, who was looking for representatives from every flights.

Phobos enjoys the quiet and mostly keeps to herself, which gives her an aura of mystery and secrets. She's soft spoken and thoughtful, dignity and grace seeping her every moves. She has the reputation of being gloomy, but that's not quite true. Her mind is simply turned toward death. Her good friends, Perigee and Dawn, call this her "professional quirk", which never fails to make her smile.


She's willing to teach her craft, but no dragons so far has been willing to learn. In-between funerals, she decorates her nest and herself with dried roses and lace. In this nest, she raised three beautiful Mirrors, who left to join other clans and later went on to serve the gods. She misses her hatchlings, of course, but she is very proud of them.

Her youngest though... Little Coraline, she misses that one more painfully. She was always different, a little black sheep in the middle of the snow. Coma and her tried their best to respect her difference and take care of her the best they could, but no matter how hard they tried, they seemed to always fall short. There was something in Coraline they couldn't properly understand or nurture.

And then came the fight. She had been worried sick all night. Coma kept on telling her this lair wasn't a prison and Coraline was free to come and go as she pleased, but a snowstorm was coming and as ressourceful and smart as her hatchling was, there was only so much someone so young could do against the cold. When finally the little dragon came back, Phobos asked her where she went and, without waiting for the answer, reached down to pick her up.

Coraline latched out, biting her to the face until she bled. Blinded by pain and fury, she did something she had never done before: she raised her voice and screamed at her to leave, now. And the hatchling did, leaving her to nurse her wound with her mate's assistance.

For weeks, she waited for her child to return, looking for her whenever the weather cleared up enough. She feared she'd find her frozen to death, for the first time dreading the idea of having to give the last rites to a corpse.

But time passed and still no signs of Coraline. Phobos kept on thinking of her little one, the last one, and wondering how things could have gone if she had been kinder, more patient. She now mourns her child, hoping that wherever she is, she's happy and safe.