Dewdrop

After emerging from the sap that had almost cocooned her fractured egg, the young fae's first memory was of destruction. The den she found herself in was ripped apart - shredded and desecrated as if a hurricane had torn through it. Around her lay the fragments of other eggs. When she pressed her snout to the ground the scent told her family, it told her she was supposed to be surrounded by her brothers and sisters and yet… there was no one.

With no other choice, the young hatchling left the ruins of her birth home to fend for herself in the vast Starwood Strand. As she grew, the fae had to fend for herself in order to survive. She scavenged for insects, taught herself how to hunt, and most importantly she learned to be wary of the older, stronger dragons. The family units were the most threatening.

Sometimes, as she watched them in their pack and clans, she felt a deep, aching pain that settled in her bones. Something that told her she might’ve had that one day – a family. But as quickly as the tendrils of envy and longing came, she brushed them aside.


The Fae found her hunting grounds swarmed by wandering Tundras. Perhaps they didn’t even notice her, but she felt the panic gripping her like a vice nonetheless.

She quickly darted into the nearest bush she could find and forced herself to take deep breathes because she was safe in here wasn’t she?

The panic came rushing back when the “bush” began to shift and she started to realize that the “leaves” she though she would be able to hide in was in fact long, fluffy fur.


She prepared herself to fight. Although she was almost certain that her being a Fae would mean that she held little to no chance of winning, the young dragon resolved to go down kicking.

But she stopped short when she felt the rumble of laughter coming from the Tundra. Cautiously, she poked her head out of their fur, looking up to meet their gaze. And as she looked into his eyes – which she thought absently were the same vibrant shade as the rose quartzes she so admired – her soul thrummed with something other than the fear or anger that she had become so accustomed to… it was something softer, something warmer.

The strange little thing her heart did at the crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he smiled down at her was alien.

“Hello there, my name is Russet.” The Tundra rumbled, his voice reminding her of safety and warmth and home. “Might I ask for the name of my lovey new guest before she makes herself at home?”

She stopped short, the answer escaping her. For all these years alone, she’d never felt the urgency for a name, to pick something all her own. She’d always just been… her. There was never a time, a place, or a need to do so and she never thought there would ever be.

But as she met his expectant gaze, something in her clicked into place. She had raised herself; kept herself alive. She had no family name, a people to go home to, or anyone she relied on.

“I am Dewdrop,” She said, steel in her voice and arcane magic singing in her veins. “The first of my name."

(Lore written by the amazing CharCOL!!)