Vesta

Vesta is quiet, likely mute, but she is far from silent. She communicates largely in body language- fanning her wings, twitching or swinging her tail; but she most prefers to communicate through touch. She sometimes grapples with the issue of recognizing the need for personal space, but once aware, is more than willing to work around a lack of touch. She holds her pride closely to her heart, and is prone to taking dares in order to defend it. She'd a hardworking metal-forger, despite her current inexperience; she hopes to specialize in jewelry and sculptures, and loves sharing her work with others.

Vesta is afraid of drowning, and avoids any possibility of fishing. She is very close to Serimir, who she credits with saving her life. She can frequently be seen curled around the small, green Spiral, and often exchanges gentle touches and friendly kisses with her.

~~~
Her first moments were filled with warmth and cinnamon, with dark orange plumage tucked around her cracking egg as she emerged into a cooler, but far from cold world. There was no need for words, then, just warm touch, gentle licks from a tongue. She wasn't alone, despite being born from a one-clutch nest, she had her parents, and she was content.

~~~

She never found much of a need for words, then. Heat, touch, they worked together to speak volumes in a way that words never quite reached her.

The other hatchlings from the neighboring lairs did not see the world in the same way as her. They scorned her, pointing out how her pale feathered wings had turned her tongue to lead, how no hums that even resembled the crackling flames ever escaped from her. It burned her, inside, but no words could she form to defend herself.

So it was that she retreated into the forge. Hours upon hours were spent in there, watching the more experienced dragons create wonders from metal and sand, the ash and heat that rolled around. She'd hide there and watch and learn and, occasionally, craft something simple herself out of scrap, until her white wings were stained ashy grey. She reveled in the feeling of cool metal heated up until it was cherry-red to be forged into something amazing by the flames. And once more, she was content.

~~~

It had started with a dare, a jeering remark from that one rude Nocturne from the Molten Scar. The other hatchlings were aware that she lingered around the open furnaces of the Emberglow Hearth, they knew how already she was developing the prideful talent of metal-forging. They were jealous. So he'd challenged her to fly alone to the Blacksand Annex and take some of the softest clay and metal there, and craft it into something breathtaking, and to bring it back when it was done for them to see. Long tired of their cruelty, and determined to prove her worth and skill, she accepted, and off she flew to the Annex.

It wasn't so bad, at first. She'd found herself a secluded spot along the obsidian sands and began to work. She was ambitious in her craft; she twisted the land into long, spindly branches, that grew longer with every strike of a hammer, every gentle caress of her claws. It would be perfect, wait until everyone saw what she could create!

And then the ground shook, as a nearby volcano rumbled and prepared to erupt. The soft ground splintered under the force, and she was sent rocking and tumbling along. Dark claws fumbled to keep her creation close to her, and desperately, she took to the sky to fly away from the now-dangerous forging area, when blistering heat slammed against her back and down, down, down she fell, and she thought that perhaps she was hurtling towards the ocean before her eyes fluttered shut. . .

~~~

There was warmth around her, rather than cool, salty water. A warm amber glow that shone strongly through her stubbornly closed eyelids, and the smells of a hearth. There were no words, just the crackling of fire, but even still, she was content. Alive, and content. . .

~~~

When she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by many shades of green and blue. A warm, pleasant breeze blew against her soaked feathers, and she became aware of the fact that someone was holding her. She glanced up and saw a small, spirally dragon, as green as the world beneath them, flying, carrying her in a strong, yet warm grip. Her feet carried what remained of her project, but it mattered little for the moment. Exhausted, her eyes drifted shut, but she focused on that grip, that strong, yet caring, warm grip around her small body. . .

She would be content to stay like that forever. . .