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Alexandrite, now known as Nathyrra, lived deep in the Icefields, where the Beastclans roved and the blizzards took no quarter. She belongs to a rare species of amphibious Spirals that lived far beneath the ice. These Spirals spent their lives in the dark waters leagues away from the sun.
As a result, Alexandrite had never seen her clan. She only knew them from the eerie white glow of their eyes.
Forged in the dark, her species were fearsome hunters – the myriad sealife fell prey to their razor-honed claws.
But something deeper was waiting.
One wintertide night, a great black monster arose from the depths. Alexandrite never saw it, but remembers feeling the titan-sized beast billowing up beneath her clan, larger than a thunderstorm. A low, groaning thunder surrounded her body. Three miles above, ice began to crack.
Her clan paused.
Then, without warning, her clan was gone. Snapped up as easily as the Spirals snapped up eels.
Fleeing upward through the black, Alexandrite raced the swelling night- instinctively climbing ever upward, shooting through the water in a straight line – like an arrow leaving a bow. She swam as the black pursued her, and her muscles cried out for relief.
She burst through the ice, up into a world of cold and night. Billions of white stars sparkled far overhead, in the grand dark cathedral vault of the Icefields' sky.
To her shock, someone warm crouched on the ice. She blinked up, chest heaving, at a friendly Pearlcatcher, with eyes that seemed impossibly familiar- like something she'd once seen in a dream.
“Alexandrite,” Anathea began, and the name settled on her as familiar and fitting as her own skin.
The leviathan snapped at Alexandrite’s body, and she slid backwards with a cry- but Anathea snatched Alexandrite’s wrists and hauled upward on her, wresting her free of the monster’s grasp, shouting above the ice in determination and defiance; “I’ll not lose her again!’
The monster vanished.
Then Alexandrite lay on the frost, panting as her gills switched for the first time to her small lungs, which burned. Her ears and eyes burned, too, overwhelmed by the sudden noise and the faint white starlight.
She fainted in Anathea’s arms, unaware of the Pearlcatcher’s smile. But she knew she was home.

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As she grew to love Anathea’s clan and live beyond the sea, the Spiral changed. She was quick to accept the ways of earth-walkers, but slower to understand them. In the water, you swam, hunted, ate, and slept. Above the waves, there was so much conversation—debate over what was right and what was wrong.
Her scales slowly changed colors as she absorbed the sun. Now, she reflected the boundary between the land and the ocean, that twilit space between day and night, or between one life and the next. Accepting the clan was easy; accepting the weight of Anathea’s loss was harder. Some nights she doubted the strange tale of Anathea’s lost egg and her peregrination into the frozen, wild north. How could they be related if they weren’t even the same species?
For a long while, though, she lived as Alexandrite.
Anathea, for all her wandering and wondering, eventually noticed the Spiral’s discomfort. She suggested that she find a different name. The two would remain family, but her daughter should have the pleasure of a different identity—perhaps one different from her water-bound clan, too.
Nathyrra, with its tastes of foreign incense and hint of glamour, serves its bearer well. It is a symbol to her of moving beyond that twilit space and becoming her own being.
The males around her and Anathea are quick to notice her luminosity, but slow to approach.
Can you blame them? She’s not mute, but many believe her so because she doesn’t see the point of chatter. Regal in appearance (and unintentionally in demeanor), she serves as Anathea’s retainer and protector, never leaving her side for a moment.

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Nathyrra was helping Erriskiel unpack from his latest expedition to find rare scrolls and tomes, and in doing so, inadvertently knocked a box of letters over. She scrambled around, turning in knots out of anxiety, trying to gather them all up before they were lost to the brisk breeze. Her quick gaze wandered over the pages as she plucked them up, and her eyes widened. They were almost all headed, 'To My Dearest Mephala', and none of them were finished. There were messes of crossings out, blotches, angry scrunched up balls where the words hadn't come out right or where he had changed his mind, or given up in sheer embarrassment.
She smiled, slowly, understanding, and packed the box again up tightly, tying it firmly with packing thread. She returned the box, carefully, and handed it ceremoniously over to Erriskiel. He gave her a suspicious look at the thread holding it closed, and she shrugged- "It fell over. I gathered them all up, though." She smiled at him, "You should try finishing one, someday. You never know unless you try."
Erriskiel turned pink under his bushy moustaches. "Ale-"
"Nathyrra," She insisted,
"Sorry. I forgot- Nathyrra- I - beg of you, please don't tell anyone, especially not- I couldn't bear it-"
Nathyrra took pity on him. "Fear not, old man. Your secret's safe with me."
He inclined his head, then hurriedly turned his back on her, scrabbling around- "It was here- somewhere- wait- ah! Yes, here-" He returned with a dust-covered scroll, a rare rune holding it sealed. His paws caressed the edges, and he blew off the dust.
"This is very precious," He told her, "A very rare thing, a gift I've kept to myself this long, in case it was needed. It is magical, opening the seal will turn the person who holds it into a new shape, a different dragon altogether. I know- your mother has told me- that you are not yet comfortable in your skin."
Nathyrra's mouth opened and closed, wordlessly. She was genuinely stunned that her mother had said anything, to anyone, let alone divulged personal information about her daughter- "I didn't know she was- listening," She remarked, wonderingly. Maybe she finally had started getting through the wall of Anathea's grief, after all! "I'm glad she's talking to- anyone. Even if it's not me."
Erriskiel smiled faintly; "Don't worry, I don't count as anyone. I'm just the archivist, remember?" He held out the scroll, and she took it automatically.
"I want you to have it. If you ever want to use it, or trade it for something else that suits your spirit more, please feel free. Take it in thanks, for keeping my secret."
Nathyrra hefted the scroll, thoughtful. "You needn't bribe me," She started to say-
"That's why I want to give it to you. Because I didn't have to. That's what makes a true friend."
Nathyrra smiled in thanks, and flew away- she sat for hours that night, thinking it over, turning the scroll over and over in her hands.
She asked her mother for advice, but Anathea just smiled faintly, and patted her on the head, distantly humming. Before Nathyrra left though, she spoke softly; "Fly free on your own path, beloved daughter. Anything you choose to become, I will know you and love you the same."

When the sun rose above the hills that morning, so did a skydancer, as blue as the depths of the ocean from whence she came; the sunlight touched her wings and cast frail coils of gold across her
skin, and she smiled like she'd never smiled before. Finally, free, limitless, as she'd always wanted to be. Nathyrra stretched her wings and soared.

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Nathyrra collects exotic fish, breeds them in vast tanks. But she doesn't eat them. Honestly. That would be very strange for a Skydancer. Nothing like her, at all.
Second one by ibook!