Altair

Altair had never been one to get too attached, and so when his clan leader sadly announced that they could no longer provide shelter for him, he left without too much remorse. The Coatl was a grown male, and was not worried about finding another suitable home. The only requirement he carried with him was that he be allowed to continue his practice; the dragon was a potions master, of sorts. It was his passion, really. It was one of his most favorite things, creating such fantastic things with just a few ingredients. Until he joined his current clan in Snowsquall Tundra, it had been his only love. Then, he met Areta.

The Coatl was not entirely sure what it was about her that drew him to her like moths to a flame. Her beauty was one thing, of course. No one could deny that she was a lovely dragon (and he oftentimes thought that they matched quite perfectly), but it was more than just her appearance; Altair would never admit to being so shallow as to love her just for her looks. No, it was more. The lady at a wit about her, yet carried this genuine nature that he grew so fond of. Plus, she did not mind his potion-making. If anything, she expressed an interest in it that the inexperienced Altair took to mean she was interested in him.

The realization that she wished to remain friends hit him like a ton of bricks. For once, Altair had allowed himself to grow attached. He’d allowed this dragon into his heart, yet she refused to take it. As he pined for her day in and day out, it dawned on him that he could fix this. He could win her love, even if it was in an... unconventional way. He’d do what he did best: he’d make a potion.

And make a potion he did. It was the first of its kind to be made by him (romance had never been his highest of priorities), yet Altair was not worried. He didn’t call himself a master simply out of pride. He truly had talent, when it came to brewing these concoctions. Always exact, always precise, always, always, careful. He double checked his measurements, researched the potency of his ingredients. This potion would be a success, just like the rest.

It was not until after he’d administered the potion to Areta (he’d slipped it into a Snowflake Urchin he’d caught, just for her), and he’d counted his hoard that he realized something was amiss. He had made an error, miscalculated the potion. A sense of dread filled the Coatl, but only for a second, because Areta had appeared, and she was confessing her love for him. It had worked. Or so he thought.

Areta grew obsessed with him. She cared more for him than she did their four hatchlings, who he could not bring himself to even look at, much less care for. He was flooded with guilt; he owned all of their mother’s love. When he wasn’t being showered with her affection, Altair was working with his potions. Surely, surely there was a way that he could fix the potion. Yet everything he found also resulted in Areta’s love for him disappearing, and he could not have that. He could not live with her knowing it had all been a lie, knowing he’d done this to her. All the time spent with his studies meant he left the children on their own, to fend for themselves. He hoped the rest of the clan would take these hatchlings under their wings. The day the last one finally left their nest was a relief to the Coatl.

Now, it's just him and Areta, and his search for a solution continues.