Winnifred

He is pushed out of the nest on shaky legs, exhausted from hatching, with pieces of egg-shell still stuck to his wet hide. He is cold, so very cold, and there are small whimpers spilling out of his mouth with every exhale. When he tries to curl in on himself he is nudged back onto his feet by a large muzzle, where he sways, shivering.

“A male Guardian. Could prove worthwhile. Let’s get a good look at him.”

He is held in place and something warm and wet is swiped over him. It does little to dim the shivers that still ripple through him. So cold and now there is a gnawing emptiness in his belly.

“Iridescent and Shimmer, to be expected, but the colors….very nice.” Something takes a firm hold of his arm...no, his wing and stretches it out. He whines at the pull and tries to get away, get back to the nest where he was safe and warm. “Antique and Orca with Silver Contour. I think we can consider this one a keeper. Take him to the creche while I look over the others.”

Then he is being lifted and he presses as close to the warmth as possible, one wing left dangling since he does not have the strength to fold it away. He is still whining, low hurt noises as he calls for those who should have been there to welcome him to this frightening new world.

Eventually he is lowered and his cries grow sharper, he tries to crawl to warmth but he can’t see--

“Easy there, here you go.” He is set down amidst small bodies like his own, wriggling limbs and soft cries. He whines in response and presses closer, nearly aching with relief when he finds warm, damp hide to press against.

“A decent batch when all is said and done. The rest we’ll send to the Plaguebringer.”



For Winnifred, it’s not that he is ready to fight, as much as he spends every moment braced for one.

Three times. Three times he was forced to the nest to breed, and three times he fought with everything he had to keep his hatchlings.

Three times he failed.

He had been curled up on the empty nest, nursing wounds in body and heart when Menkent came to him. The Skydancer had whispered to him of freedom, of a life beyond forced breeding and watching his young carried away to serve the Plaguebringer, not even allowed to name them.

Winnifred had allowed Menkent to cajole him up onto his feet and had shadowed the other dragon’s footsteps as they crept through the lair, skirting thin membranes that would release a sharp wave of contagion when trod upon. He did not know how long they ran. By the time his legs gave out they were surrounded by trees and an endless darkness that would have scared him if he had not been so tired.

His first few weeks amongst Clan Hesperides were a blur. He continued to shadow Menkent’s footsteps, never very far from the Skydancer, clinging to the familiar in this strange new world. There was laughter that echoed in the shadows and glowing lights that never went out. He might have stayed like that, a wraith in dragon form, if it weren’t for the hatchlings.

They were so small, tumbling along on shaky legs that steadily grew stronger. Small chirps and squeals as they darted in and around the lair, never truly out from under a watchful eye. It had been so strange and it had made his heart hurt to think of what might have been with his own young, what it would have been like to see them grow up.

No hatchling ever left the Clan. Once grown they chose Exaltation, to journey to another Clan, or to stay.

They were allowed to choose. It broke his heart, knowing what could have been.
It shaped him, this knowing. It was the promise of Nyx, the Shadowborn, to her Clan, that none would be given to any god against their will.

So he guarded them as only one of his kind could, let this new purpose fill the hollow shell he had become. He played with them, taught them the lore of the Clan and the ways of battle.

When visitors passed through and commented on the unfortunate shade of a hatchling’s hide or wings, “that one’s slated for Exaltation, I bet” well, tooth and claw made damned sure they didn’t say it anywhere near his hearing again.

So no, Winnifred did not go looking for fights, but he was always braced for them.

There would not be a fourth time.



Lore - Rescued from Plague Flight with Menkent
Forced to breed and send his children to the Plaguebringer, not even allowed to name them.