Cesara

Cesara was named by the clan that sold her, and expected to simply be bought to add to one of the gods' armies. Chert paired her with a handsome skydancer instead, black with red wings. Not a bad life, Cesara thought. While she and Stock grew, she read what she could and watched the other dragons busily at work. So what if she was mere breeding stock? She was left alone most of the time, to read or amuse herself.

Then, after that first clutch, Stock went away to serve Flamecaller, but nobody asked her to leave. In fact, Chert had Cesara sit in with Chisel to learn the basics of forgework, muttering something about moving up to Forge eventually.

Instead of being left alone, Cesara was put to work every day. Not all day. She still had time to rest up and get a little reading in. When Chert asked her if she wanted to pick a new name, she was furious. Cesara insisted on keeping her own name! Chert merely nodded, said she wasn't surprised, and made a note. Cesara fumed over it the rest of the day and into the night. She couldn't even read, she was so angry.

The next day was her first working with Forge, and that was a trial in itself. He flirted and joked any time he wasn't actually showing her how to do some technique. Cesara could tell he was excellent at what he did. She could watch him transform a rough shape into a finished, seamless piece. But he was so obnoxious! He had never treated her this way before, when she was breeding with Stock.

She told him off after a week. Shouted at him at the top of her lungs, really. Surely half the Lair heard her, but only Crucible actually made an appearance, poking his head in from the ceiling to make sure nobody was hurt.

Forge waited it out, then held up a paw. "Okay. It bothers you, so I'll be serious." He caught one of her hands. "Chisel's big, so he overlooked it, but you're not taking care of yourself. You have tar in your feathers. Go ask Bellows about getting some of his family to help you get it out, and we'll find something to protect you when you come back to work."

Pyrochlore helped Cesara comb out the tar, then wash away the soot. With the dirt gone, Cesara could see how torn up her plumage had become. She wanted to cry. The work was ruining her. How could they treat her as some mean laborer? Was that all she was worth?

The other dragons gave her some space for a couple of days while Cesara moped. Then, one day, Gypsum ran over to her. "Come!" the wildclaw said. "Come see!" Curiosity won, and Cesara went with her.

And there was Chert, the leader of the clan, hammering away at the forge. Chert's voice rose in a chant of praise and joy that blended perfectly with the song of the ringing metal beneath her.

That's when Cesara understood. Here, it wasn't an insult to work. It wasn't something the dumb or useless did. It was the highest calling of the Clan. She hadn't been demoted, she'd been brought into the family.

Cesara found some leather to wrap her arms, and gloves for her hands. She was ready to work.