Statement of shadow Skydancer Solace, familiar keeper, on getting lost as a hatchling in the marketplace

I have never been partial to company. Being around others is draining, even if you are fond of them. Even sitting with another in silence you are hardly able to think. They breathe, they shuffle, and their emotions demand constant awareness. Have you ever been in a room with someone who is sad? You can feel their mood dampen everything, even if they say nothing. Just the way they hold themselves weighs everything down. And even if their mood isn’t foul, you’re constantly aware of it. How can you relax when someone else’s thoughts are in your head?
Sometimes it gets so bad that even the sound of another dragon’s breath is enough to make me snap. I am not prone to violence. I shudder at the thought of even raising my voice when it’s fully justified. But the rage I feel in those moments is a terrible thing. Imagine what it is like to loathe the presence of someone you love.
Normally I simply leave in those moments, but when I was a hatchling I didn’t have the choice. Every day I had to sit for hours trying to learn my teacher’s lessons over the constant whispering of my peers, and at home my parents constantly had friends over who asked probing questions about my life. The few moments I had to myself seemed cause for concern. My parents constantly pushed me to play with others, and they whispered to each other in worried tones when I didn’t. I’m certain they purposefully brought me to crowded places—the trading post, the fairgrounds, anywhere I would have to deal with others.
It was on one such occasion, at the marketplace, when it happened. My mother was trying to decide between identical decorative glass orbs, and my father was busy chatting with a neighbor he’d bumped into. The crowd was thick and oppressive, the sun was too bright, the noises too loud. I asked repeatedly when we were going home, and they kept promising me it was soon. The minutes continued to pass. I was very nearly on the verge of tears at that point, but, being otherwise a well behaved child, I bit them back so as not to cause a scene.
And then a stranger nearly stepped on my tail.
I broke. I fled beneath the wooden stands and into the dark, trying desperately to get away from the stamping crowd, the ever pervasive sound of conversation.
I don’t think I went far, but when I came to my senses I didn’t know where I was. Surely I was only a few shops down, having run beneath the tables for only a moment, but when I tentatively poked my head out to see where I was I could see nothing familiar. Nor could I see anyone around—was this part of the market closed? Was I somewhere I shouldn’t be? I stayed under the cart for a long moment, fearing I would get in trouble if I was caught ducking under the shops, but soon I realized no one was coming. I crept out onto the dusty street, and studied my surroundings.
At first glance everything seemed to be perfectly normal, besides the fact no one was around. The stalls were all fully stocked, the air smelled of freshly cooked food, and cheery music played somewhere in the distance. Everything was clearly open—and at first this was a relief. I was free to prance about, checking out the various goods on display, take in everything at my own pace. The air, which had been dusty and hot with bodies was clear and cool. I could finally breathe again. I could finally think.
But as I wandered further I began to grow uneasy. Something about the light seemed off. Things were dimmer, grayer than they seemed before. And the fact that the stores were open— all ready to go despite the quiet—suddenly felt ominous. It wasn’t just the customers that were gone, I realized. There were no shopkeeps.
My anxiety began to deepen into fear. Surely no one would leave their shop unattended, not with fresh food and expensive wares just sitting out for the taking. Unless they had had to leave quickly, for some reason. Was there some sort of danger? Some disaster? I ran down the street, but I could see no one. And I called out for my parents ,but my voice suddenly seemed all too quiet—I was certain no one would hear me. Finally I reached a familiar place: the stand with the glass orbs. But like everything else, it was now empty. The two orbs my mother had been choosing between were gone.
Now I was certain my parents had left. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed I was gone. I had always been so quiet, and they must have assumed I was with them. Or worse, they had simply had enough. Maybe they had looked for me for a little while, but with disaster looming they had decided to leave me for dead and hatch a better child, one who would play with her friends and love hugs and could look other dragons in the eyes.
I crawled beneath the cart and started to sob. For some reason I suddenly thought of the mice that lived near my cave—the ones I would bring food too when I got the chance. Who else would feed them? Make sure no one ate them? I bawled harder and harder—and suddenly there was a great big eye peering under the cart.
It was my mother. I immediately ran to her, and as I did so I realized the air was filled with noise again. Dragons jostled about, the sun was bright—it was as if nothing had happened at all. I asked my mom how long it had been, and she looked at me like I had said something strange. According to her no one had gone anywhere but me—she and my father had searched for a few minutes before they heard me crying beneath the cart. I was in no mood to argue, and I begged them to take me home, and for once, they actually did.
I haven’t really talked about this since. I still don’t like extended conversations, and there are few dragons I feel close enough to tell. But I’ve realized that just because others can be overwhelming doesn’t mean I have to be alone. Animals don’t have the same effect on me as dragons, and I’m perfectly content taking care of them until I can match them with someone who needs a bit of company.

Statement Ends