Babs

“An egg?” the two dragons peered down at it, quizzical looks plastered upon their faces. “Abandoned, here?” the dark grays and greens of the tundra’s fur shifted slightly as she knelt, a claw reaching to turn the egg over.

“Careful,” behind her the guardian warned. She turned to look at him. “It might not have been abandoned willingly. It’s mother could be out searching for it now.”

She took this into consideration herself, eyes moving upwards and towards the edge of where they stood. A place like this did not bode well for abandoned eggs, purposely or not. No, she decided, this egg’s mother would not be back for what had been lost. Carefully, she picked it up in her claws and held it close. Heat barely radiated off of it, telling the dragon that it would be some time before it hatched on its own, had she and Char not intervened. She turned back to the other, egg still clutched close.

“I see,” he murmured. “We’ve chosen to take the egg, then?”

“Yes,” came her answer. “Mayhaps what hatches from it will be of great value to us all,”

“If you say so, Azusa,” Char sighed, but nodded, following her as she walked ahead.

The egg did hatch, but not immediately. Despite his uncertainty of bringing the egg with them and rearing what came out as their own, it was Char who softened at the news of the egg’s impending hatch. He would spend hours at the nest where Azusa set it, warmed with dragon breath and shifting gently as the dragonling inside began to prepare for its debut. When the dragon inside emerged, both Azusa and Char had been there for it.

“Welcome to the world, little one,” Char’s voice was the first to speak to the hatchling, drawing his focus to the large guardian that loomed over him. He was a guardian as well, with eyes bright red from the effects of being born within the plague lands. The nest that the egg had been incubating in was secluded from most of the area they now resided in, but the sounds of a few other dragons milling about could be heard. His eyes flickered behind the two that regarded him at the voices, then back to Azusa and Char.

“Hear the rest of the clan, do you?” Azusa mused, kneeling down and placing a claw out to stroke the hatchling’s cheek gently. “We’ll introduce you to your new family soon enough, sweetling. Let us pick you a name and find you something to eat. You’ve taken the first big step of your life.”

For a dragon that had been left to fate before even hatching, it seemed that the same fate had planned on a life of greater purposes than previously would’ve thought. Azusa and Char might not have taken the egg, might not have even noticed it when they had come to settle in the area and start their clan. But they had and they did, and their goals had just begun to be realized within the first few moments of the hatchling’s life. Choosing on the name Babs, he became more their child than an egg left in the wilds of the plague flight’s territory. Raised as though he were their flesh and blood, the two showed Babs the life he deserved.

Over the course of the years, Babs’ adolescence had been spent watching the humble clan grow from the small gathering he had first seen upon hatching to what it would eventually become. He was a devoted dragon to his clan, and even as a young whelp he took great pride in assisting the other members as well as his adopted family. While many came and went, more filled their ranks and the clan proudly found themselves quite established thanks to Azusa and Char’s efforts. They taught their eldest the ways to run the clan as well, already seeing in him great potential to lead when they decided to step down.

Eventually this time did come, and Babs joined the ranks amongst the other elders within the clan. He had new duties under this new title, but his face and nature were not forgotten amongst those that made up the clan.

“Babs, would you help us, please?” one of the dragons called out to the guardian as he happened to be walking by. He had plans to meet up with one of his adopted siblings, a request to spar for the afternoon. Babs was not a talker, shying away from conversation the best he could and preferring to speak with his actions. He relented however when the dragon called to him, a sense of desire to help those of his clan always taking the lead.

“Yes, what is it?” he asked. Whether he intended to sound gruff or not was never a question that the longtime members of the clan asked. They’d known the guardian well enough that his preference for short responses, curt words and all around quietness were not a reflection on his opinions on the dragons that resided in his home. His desire to be of use and help, his genuineness, they were felt in his actions.

“We’ve found that we’re low on sugar for the bakery,” the dragon replied, holding up a list of the last delivered supplies. “We think if we can find the confectioner in a good mood, he may be generous to divest some so that the baker isn’t without.”

“I’ll take care of it. Make certain the baker orders extra sugar this month from the vendor to repay the confectioner,” he replied, already moving away from the dragon in order to see that the situation was handled immediately.

“Yes, of course, Thank you Babs!” the dragon chirped happily at his retreating form, knowing that while it was one of the things that Babs was responsible for, the guardian was not the type to dally on performing his tasks. Babs himself sighed softly, finding himself roped into rationing sugar, but secretly he was content to help.



To walk among his clan was an honor in Babs’ mind, one he had earned through his diligence and quiet guidance, the small gestures and gruff speeches. It was his actions that bought him a place among his clanmates, not his word. The words he used always came so slowly, dragging across his tongue and tasting of sand to be spit at the feet of dragons he cared about too much to subject to such treatment. They were rough, growling, useless things that brought little comfort and no help. His actions were what guided him, what brought him joy in life as he watched their effects spin out into his clan. They were a rainfall in the desert, or so he hoped.

Now was no different. As he walked amongst the richly decorated halls, eyes roaming over the fabric banners strung up along the walls. The finely woven tapestries spoke of stories, some telling tales of the clan itself, some dictating ancient traditions, and some depicting nothing more than a sun creeping closer to the horizon. There were small candles carefully clasped in translucent orbs that hung precariously from the ceiling, every other one unlit in a perfectly balanced array. As Babs entered the wide chamber where they held meetings, he could track a dizzying spiral of lights that centered around a swirling sun and moon at the peak of the ceiling.

Music played cheerfully in the background, quick beats that invited dancing and joyful cheers from those around. There was clattering and scraping as tables and booths were shifted into place, clanking and the occasional crash while artisans placed their finest works on display. Muttered curses, excited chatter, heated arguments and vivid discussion echoed around the chamber. It was the symphony of the clan.

And all this for the Solstice.

Babs wove his was slowly through the crowd, taking care to step carefully around the booths and boxes of fragile goods. It was a pleasant experience for the Guardian, despite how difficult it was to walk amongst the crowd; his limbs felt far too long, too large, and several times his wings or tail would catch on some decorative cloth or gilded rope, threatening to pull a booth to the floor. Still, he got to see his clanmates in their elements, their eyes alight with joy as they placed their pride and prized possessions on pedestals for all to witness. Their motley of colors and sizes made it all the more delightful to view, everything from golden Imperials to vivid orange Wildclaws to soft blue Faes. They were quite the collection.

Eventually, two voices could easily be picked out over the noise, each growling and affronted in tone. It was easy enough for Babs to make his way towards the argument, pressing through the crowd as they fled from the raised voices. It was no surprise that the culprits were a familiar pair, one determined Snapper and a snarling Bogsneak, arguing while they placed various geodes and gemstones on their booth. Babs approached with a sigh, struggling to maintain a neutral face as Horus practically slammed a large purple gem on the ground.

“No, I assure you, you don’t cook watermelon!” Horus’ shout echoed around the chamber, causing chatter to quiet for a moment before sparking up again, even louder this time.

“Perhaps you don’t, but I find the flavor quite intriguing,” Mooneyes huffed, narrowing his eyes at his friend, “Besides, you’re the one who insists on putting tomatoes in green soups!”

“Tomatoes belong in green soup, but watermelon does not belong over a fire,” Horus insisted, turning away from the box he was unpacking to jab a claw at Mooneyes, “That’s like trying to cook water!”

“The term is boil.”

Babs stepped into the fray before it could come to actual blows, bodily moving between the two friends and giving each a stern glare. “Enough of that, what’s the problem here?”

“Mooneyes thinks that--” “Horus is full of--” “--cooking watermelon is sacrali--” “--while tomatoes are red and--”

It was incredible how the two managed to both talk over and through each other, sending Babs into a spiral of confusion with a budding headache. With a sigh, the Guardian beckoned the two to be silent, then turned to Horus.

“Explain, briefly.”

With a huff of annoyance, the Bogsneak sat back on his haunches. “We are having a spat about food. Mooneyes believes that grilling watermelon is a reasonable way to serve a fruit that is mostly water--” the last few syllables wound up more of a growl than anything “--and he’s judging my habit of putting tomatoes in green soup!”

“It’s called green soup, not green and red soup! Why would you put a red fruit in there?”

“It tastes good,” Horus hissed, his tongue flicking out in a way reminiscent of an angry snake, “Food should be about good tastes, not just aesthetics!”

“Haven’t you heard of the idea that you taste food first with your eyes,” Mooneyes shot back.

“Enough of this,” Babs cut the pair off, tiring of the argument. Close friends should not argue over something so pointless; he had to solve this quickly. Wracking his brain for what little he knew of cooking, Babs threw together a mental plan and prayed that the miners would at least work with him a little.

“Consider it this way,” Babs said, his voice gruff but reasonable, “You should each try the other’s… dish.”

There was silence for a moment as the miners glared at each other, mulling over Babs’ offer. He could see the two of them working through his reasoning, the gears slowly turning in their heads as their anger and annoyance faded.

“Alright,” Mooneyes conceded, straightening up and forcibly softening his gaze at Horus, “Alright, I think that’s reasonable. I’ll try your mottled green soup, and you try my grilled watermelon. One way or another, we will figure out who is right in this.”

“If anyone is,” Horus grunted, his posture relaxing slightly, “Just don’t char mine, I don’t like charcoal in my food.”

“That is something we can agree on,” Mooneyes nodded slowly, turning back to the box of geodes beside him, “Nothing good comes from overcooking things, particularly over open flame.”

Babs slipped away in silence as the miners lost interest in their argument, their postures returning to something more friendly. He could hear their chatter disappearing into the rest of the crowd’s work as he left, their conversation having turned to a discussion of open flame cooking. Content that nothing would be broken, friendships included, Babs set off through the lair once more.

Eventually, Babs found himself idly walking down the bustling kitchen hallway, carefully avoiding the various kitchen aids rushing to and fro trying to prepare for the banquet. The smells were utterly delightful; rich gravy, finely spiced chicken, salted fish and freshly shelled clams. The aromas battled for dominance in the air, daring passersby to enter the kitchens and claim the delicious prize within.

Weaving his way through busy clanmates, Babs ducked into the kitchen and was immediately bombarded by a parcel of… garlic? Grunting when the bulbs landed heavily on his head, Babs peered up to find a shelf laden with more garlic, onions, potatoes, and yams groaning precariously, the items atop it threatening to spill onto his head. With a huff, Babs reared up onto his hindlegs, and swept the entire shelf’s contents into his arms, settling them on a nearby empty counter before they could cause more damage. It was the sound of a frustrated and mildly frightened screech that finally drew Babs’ attention to the rest of the kitchen.

It was utter chaos. There were stacks of pots and pans needing to be washed, piles of compost material tucked in the bins for disposal, plates upon plates upon plates of food ready, and still more being cooked. A frying pan full of fish was sizzling angrily, a pot of potatoes nearly as tall as Babs’ forearm was close to boiling over, and about four dozen uncooked loaves of bread sat on the counter. However, it was the cook herself that was most noticeable.

Kaho was quite literally flying through the kitchen, a blur of brown, red, and blue that occasionally crashed into the walls when she couldn’t stop quick enough. One moment she was tending to the fish, flipping each with precision and speed Babs’ couldn’t fathom, and the next she was halfway across the kitchen, frantically pulling out a dozen loaves of bread before they burned. For a moment, the Guardian could only watch the cook work with astounding speed, up until disaster struck.

Babs could only assume Kaho was aiming to land in front of the counter to stir the large vat of sauce, but overshot it by a hair, landing atop the stop instead. With a yelp, she leaped off the hot surface, unaware that her tail caught on the pot itself. Before Babs could react, it tipped, sending a huge wave of steaming red sauce splattering across the ground and up Kaho’s legs.

The few kitchen staff present fell silent, only the sizzling and bubbling of cooking sounding as Kaho stared at the mess at her feet. Babs, hoping to stave off any dramatic response from the understandably upset Wildclaw, stepped forward and cleared his throat, catching Kaho’s attention.

“Perhaps you should slow down.” Well, it wasn’t precisely what he wanted to say, but it still was solid advice. However, judging by the cheerful facade that was slowly crumbling off Kaho’s face, it may not have been the right thing to say.

“Unfortunately, I can’t,” The cook said finally, her voice cracking just a tad as she stepped out of the sauce, flicking it off her legs like an angry cat, “There is so much to do before the banquet and now there is even more! Oh by the Eleven, this will set us back so much… and now I can’t go get my herbs... “

“Herbs?” Babs perked up at the problem that he knew he could reliably solve; he was no cook and had little experience in the kitchen, but ferrying things about the clan was a talent every peacemaker developed.

“Yes, herbs. I’ve run out of basil, oregano, parsley, rosemary, thyme, and everything I use for my orange chicken! I don’t suppose I could impose on you for a moment…” Kaho trailed off, glancing up at the Guardian hopefully.

Babs neglected to reply, instead moving to righten the sauce pot with a faint smile. Kaho breathed a sigh of relief and hurried away, having to tend to some other dish. The kitchen moved back into gear, helpers hurrying around to tend to the food while more moved finished courses out. Babs quickly set himself to work.

In the space of half an hour, Babs managed to clean up the worst of the sauce spill (it rather resembled a murder scene in the end), take out the overflowing compost and waste bins, return unused ingredients to their original location, and par down the amount of dishes needing to be washed. With significantly less mess around them, the kitchen staff seemed to move more freely, their tense shoulders loosening up as Babs worked through the mess they were unable to keep up with. Though Kaho couldn’t leave the dessert sauce she was frantically stirring, she sent an immensely grateful look his way.

Catching a passing kitchen staff, Babs quickly obtained the list of spices Kaho needed, along with a variety of other herbs the rest of the staff requested. Without another word, Babs slipped from the kitchen and continued on his way, his steps slightly quicker as he had a destination in mind this time. Purposeful as his strides were, his mind still wandered to the festival around him. It was difficult to imagine where his clan would be without a bright spot like this in their life, something to say they had made it to the best of the year and they were here to make it through the worst. A time to acknowledge that long days were giving way to long nights, but Shade be damned they made it through before and they would again. The Wasteland was not a forgiving place, but neither were the dragons within it, his clan included.

Perhaps that would go in his speech, it was actually quite the nice line. He’d have to write it down.

With his thoughts idly circling around half baked speech concepts and grumbling about it, Babs arrived at his destination. The garden was enclosed by a glass greenhouse in the front, keeping the worst of the busy-body dragons from trampling or tampering with the various plants inside. Even through the clouded glass, Babs could spy Oberon’s shimmering blue body moving cautiously about her plants, tending to each with the care a mother would show her hatchling. It was inspiring in a way.

Ducking inside, Babs was struck by how different the atmosphere in here was. The glass was sound proof, rendering the inside significantly quieter; only the pattering of water hitting stones and the occasional shifting rocks sounded within. Oberon glanced up as Babs’ entered, offering him a gentle smile before returning her focus to her plants. Babs approached carefully, cautious of where his tail was; he had accidently trampled a rather tender plant before and was not keen on a repeat of the tongue lashing that followed.

“Here for some herbs?” Oberon didn’t look up as she spoke, carefully combing through a thick flower bed to remove weeds.

“Yes, for Kaho. How did you know?”

“I’m not surprised,” Oberon said with a grin, looking up at Babs at last, “She always seems to run out of things at the worst time possible. Plus, you smell of the kitchens, it’s not hard to guess where you’ve been. Let me see that list.”

Babs obediently passed the list over, glancing around the garden as Oberon worked to decipher the chicken-scratch writing. It was in full bloom despite the late season, a menagerie of colors and flowers blossoming in scattered beds. Brilliant reds, pinks, oranges, soft blues and gentle yellows, rich purples and the occasional pure white flowers covered much of the space. Anything that wasn’t flower was filled with rich green pigment from their leaves, all meticulously cared for.

A glint of light caught Babs’ eye, pulling his gaze to a glass disk hanging at the top of the green house. It was mostly clear glass with a tightly coiled golden rope in the center. Wrapped in wire webbing, it hung in direct sunlight, sending cascades of refracted rainbows about the room.

“Alright, all of these are around here. Let’s see, here’s the italian herbs,” Oberon shuffled off, drawing Babs’ attention away from the glass fixture to follow the gardener around. He stood back as Oberon carefully plucked rounded leaves--basil? Oregano? He had no idea--and placed them in a bag, though his eyes kept wandering to the glass dangling above him.

“It’s called a Sun Catcher,” Oberon said softly as she passed a bag labeled basil to him, then moved on to the next plant, “Orche and I made it earlier today, before festival preparation began. It actually captures the sunlight and holds it until nightfall, though I haven’t tested it fully yet.”

“Orche does have the strangest inventions,” Babs muttered in response, gazing at the Sun Catcher. If nothing else it was a beautiful thing, as small as it was.

“In this case, it is a useful one as well. She suggested making it a couple weeks ago when I mentioned having troubles with my succulent garden,” Oberon said, gesturing towards the mostly finished sandy bed nearby, “It took some time to get all the materials ready, because apparently alchemy requires a great deal of precision when it comes to ingredients and preparations. We had to find some rather dangerous herbs at the market!”

Oberon seemed particularly chatty that evening, and for the entire ten minutes she garnered herbs, she was explaining what had gone into making the Sun Catcher. Truthfully, Babs only understood half of what was being said, but the genuine joy on Oberon’s face was enough for him to muster up a gentle smile that vaguely crossed his face. By the time Babs had a collection of 15 or so small bags of herbs in his satchel, Oberon was finishing her tale.

“Of course, now I have much to do in the garden. I’m quite unsure if I will make it to the festival itself.” Oberon tisked idly, picking up a watering can to head back to work.

“Can you not use your magic to get enough done?”

Oberon looked up with a vaguely startled look, honestly appearing genuinely confused and caught off guard. Just as he was about to try and ask about it, Oberon nodded slowly.

“I… I can, for some things. Sorry, I guess I never considered that,” Oberon said with a note of wonder in her voice, a pensive frown appearing on her face, “I suppose I can just do the fine tuned things, the more delicate plants and weeding by hand. Then the rest I can use magic for… hmm, yes I think that would work. Babs you're a genius! Perhaps I will get to see the festival this year!”

With a simple nod in response, Babs quickly exited the room, allowing Oberon to turn her focus back on her plants. Outside the garden, things were starting to get into full swing.

There were still various dragons running food towards the banquet hall, but there were no longer artisans among them. Babs shoved the bag of herbs into a passing kitchen staff’s arms, muttering something about Kaho’s request, then trekked back towards the main hall.

Stepping into the hall was a treat in and of itself. Colorful tapestries lined the walls, draping lights hung from the ceiling, woven into dizzying spiral patterns above him. Carefully crafted suns and moons hung in pairs at various points along the web of lights, catching the rays only to scatter them about the hall.

More impressive was the artisans settled about the room. There were booths of every shape and size arranged in a vaguely circular pattern, each holding the most beautiful and impressive of wares. The seamstress and weaver had thick bundles of cloth and cloaking tapestries draped around their stall, the metalworker’s holding elegantly hammered swords and a complex looking woven metal chalice. There were hunters with fine pelts, magicians casting spells and scribes with thick tomes of their knowledge. Carefully weaving through the crowd, Babs approached the now complete table of Horus and Mooneyes, who were engaged in a squabble that was significantly kinder toned than before.

“I still maintain that you will like grilled watermelon,” Mooneyes said as Babs arrived at the table, “I find it rather… crunchy.”

“Sometimes, your mind baffles me,” Horus huffed, turning towards Babs, “Pleasure to see you again, Babs.”

“Pleasure indeed! Thank you for the help earlier,” Mooneyes said with a cheery smile, “Have you got to see much of the wares yet?”

“No, just got back from delivering Kaho some herbs,” Babs replied gruffly, letting his eyes wander over the stones on the miners table.

There were stones of all sizes, their colors ranging from mottled brown to dull green--ores, Babs presumed. Nestled in rich purple velvet were gemstones of all colors, from the milkiest white to the richest reds and everything in between. Some were barely the size of Babs’ talons, others nearly as big as his head, each displayed with pride. Then there were the geodes, set carefully on staggered shelves to display all their glory. Their monotonous grey-brown outside was partially visible from the angle they were set at, though their richly colored interiors were the centerpoint. Blues, purples, oranges and reds, it was difficult to choose a favorite, even as Babs surveyed them with his typically calm facade.

“Glad you chose to stop by here,” Mooneyes said suddenly, drawing Babs’ attention away from the stones, “Horus and I have been quite busy these past few weeks. Iron ore is great and all, but really, these beauties are our real treasures.”

“Speak for yourself, the rhodium deposit I found in that deathtrap of a cave is my type of treasure,” Horus snorted in reply, despite his current movements to delicately shine a gem and place it on a satin pillow.

“One day I will teach you how to properly go through a cave without finding cave ins,” Mooneyes sighed, “Honestly, even with your ridiculous opinions on food, I wouldn’t want to walk this land without you. And I certainly wouldn’t want to be buried under a mountain with you!”

“When we die, I’ll make sure we are buried apart.”

“You say that like you’ll be in control of what happens after we die.”

“I’ll be a ghost.”

“And a grouchy one at that.”

Babs felt a reluctant smile grace his face as he watched the two friends banter, though he pretended to be interested in the stones atop their table. Inevitably, the conversation turned back towards food, this time a discussion of the proper way to broil assorted fish, which Babs took as his cue to leave, drifting away as quietly as he arrived.

For some time he simply wandered the hall, idly glancing at the wares of his clanmates at offering muttered greetings as he was spoken to, though he neglected to converse as other leaders might have. Still, his clanmates were happy, content with who he was and trusting the old adage of “actions speak louder than words” as they always had. Finally, he arrived at the vaguely concerning table of Orche. At first glance, the alchemist’s table seems unusually tame, featuring a finely decorated green ceramic frog, a simplistic knife, and a inky black pen. However, as soon as Babs glanced behind the low counter, his original assumptions were revised.

Orche was settled on the ground behind the counter, idly arguing with a boar while a small turtle sits atop her head. There is a grand piano shoved in the corner opposite the boar pen, which appeared to have feathers growing out of the wood. Orche looked up as Babs approached, a wide grin splitting her face as she rose with a flourish, nearly dislodging the turtle atop her head.

“Babs! Hello! It’s good to see you. Come to see what I have made recently?” Orche gestured to the items set on the table top, ignoring the boar at her feet.

“Apparently,” Babs responded, peering suspiciously at the ceramic frog, “Care to explain?”

“Ah, that’s an alarm. See, this etching here is how you set it--” Orche reached forward to delicately draw patterns on the frog's back with her claws in demonstration, “--and then, it will go of-”

The ceramic frog began to make a riotous noise, cutting Orche off with what must have been the crow of a very annoyed rooster. It continued in this ear splitting manner, ceramic throat moving as if it were alive until Orche frantically tapped its head in rapid succession. After a moment of delay, the frog fell silent, letting out a final croak that sounded almost disappointed before stilling at last. Orche looked slightly sheepish, straightening her non-existent tie before turning back to Babs.

“And wake you up… Well, at least it won’t fail to wake someone,” Orche laughed at herself, drawing a smile from Babs as she moved on to the pen. “This is something I’m rather proud of, perhaps the scribes could make use of it! Look, it writes without ink,” Orche said as she produced a paper from below the desk, scribbling what appeared to be a math equation on it before pushing it to Babs, “It uses nearby moisture to write, though… hm, writing in a moist climate isn’t precisely good for paper, is it…”

“You could keep some water nearby,” Babs commented, twirling the pen between his claws, “Unless it needs to be airborne.”

“At the moment it does, but I’m sure I can change that. Perhaps I add some agate to the body of it… Well, a problem for later. Look at this! This knife fixes things!”

With no further warning or explanation, Orche smashed the ceramic frog with her paw, only to pick up the knife and swipe it through the crushed remains. Indeed, as the knife moved, the ceramic pieces began to reform, turning from dust to thin slivers. As the Alchemist continued to methodically run the blade through the shattered frog, it built from slivers to chunks to pieces to a whole frog, completely intact and without trace of breakage. Orche grined proudly, vaguely resembling a mad scientist with the amount of teeth Ridgebacks always showed. Babs barely kept the smirk of amusement contained, though his brow did creep upwards in amusement.

“And that’s not even the best thing here! That piano over there,” Orche said quickly, gesturing as her excitement built, “If you play it, it quacks like a duck. I already got yelled at to stop with it though, so perhaps another time. And this boar, well, oh no.”

It took Babs only a moment to spy the issue as Orche turned around, or rather the lack of one. The boar that had been snuffling at Orche’s feet had entirely vacated the area, somehow bypassing the fence without being seen. With an exasperated sigh, Orche passed the turtle on her head to Babs and began to scour the ground, stepping with great caution.

“The boar eats dirt,” Orche explained as she searched, leaving Babs to occupy the small and strangely furry turtle thrust upon him, “And so far he’s escaped five times by tunneling. Perhaps I shouldn’t have set up on the dirt area…”

“Is he not hiding in that hole,” Babs questioned, though his eyes quickly slid back to the turtle in his grasp. It was flailing its tiny limbs slowly, jaws stretched out to snatch at the end of the banner on his shoulders. Adorable.

“That’s where he was last time. Ah ha! Here he is,” Orche exclaimed triumphantly, dragging a disgruntled boar from the ground as he munched on a dirt clod, “Really, we wouldn’t have to do this song and dance so often if you would just stay nearby! Thank you for looking after Taps.”

“Taps?” Babs said, handing the turtle back as Orche returned to the table.

“The turtle. Sir Snap Taps is his full name, but I call him Taps. Snap may have fit him better though,” Orche said fondly, placing the furred reptile atop her head once more, “He likes to chew on fabric.”

“So I noticed,” Babs replied, idly fiddling with the slightly gnawed on end of his banner. With a nod goodbye, Babs slipped away from the Alchemist’s stall, watching as more dragons stepped up to the table, capturing Orche’s attention with ease.

The Guardian meandered through the artisans’ show for a few minutes more, drifting by stalls with approving nods and vague smiles until it was time for the banquet. He followed the mass of dragons out the hall and towards the grand dining area, which had been relocated to the outdoors due to the mass of dragons all eating at once. The struggles of a mess-hall style meal plan.

Despite being located in the Scarred Wasteland, the dining area was rather plesant, mostly due to their resident mage’s intense efforts to make the area presentable. Any signs of pustules and disease were eradicated, and the grimy red dirt was covered in soft grass, though Babs had no idea when it had been planted. There was a pair of raised stone daises that stretched long enough to house the clan as they ate, though a shorter perpendicular dais was withheld for clan Elders. Sliding between an Imperial and Wildclaw bickering over seating, Babs took his place among the other clan Elders, curling his tail neatly over his paws as he watched the others file in.

After several long moments, the motley of dragons settled at the table, which was laden with an equally diverse range of food. Soups, salads, kebabs, sandwiches, stews, breads, and whole cooked carcasses were arranged neatly (if somewhat crowdedly) on the table, sending a delightful array of fragrances in the air. There would be something for everyone, from the smallest Fae to the largest Imperial among them. From his position, Babs could spy the excited figures of Horus and Mooneyes, who were quietly discussing the food before them, motioning to dishes in turn. There was Orche and Oberon, who were engaged in an intense conversation on what Babs assumed was some alchemical feat Orche wanted to explain to the gardener, though Oberon’s expression said it was not as boring as he would assume. Kaho was stalking through the tables, ensuring every piece of food was where it should be before hurrying to the center stage, just in front of the Elders.

“Friends! Clanmates! Family, if you will! Please, a moment of your time, settle down,” Kaho called out loudly, drawing a slow silence to the crowd, “Thank you. Thank you. Alright, I’ll make this quick since I’m really not trying to make a speech I promise. There is enough for everyone here, and everyone's favorite delights are among our meal tonight! Dig in, enjoy, and don’t try for leftovers!”

With an uproar of cheers, the crowd did just that. Dragons reached towards the plates, piling their own high with their favorite foods. Horus and Mooneyes became absolutely enthralled with tasting the various delicacies, their critique being heard over most of the conversations around them. After a moment of observation, Babs followed suit, snatching various foods from the platters to eat, though he wasn’t paying attention to what precisely he was eating. It was all delicious.

The beginning of the banquet passed without note. Babs sat among the Elders, idly listening to conversations while watching his clan below him. He caught snippets of the discussions of Horus and Mooneyes, their critiquing having quickly turned to a fascination on the grill of the fish with the occasional soliloquy from Mooneyes regarding the spices. Shifting his attention away from the miners, Babs found himself listening into the discussion between Orche and Oberon, who neglected to remain at the Elders table to no one's surprise.

“...should hold at least 24 hours worth of light,” Orche was saying as she shelled the mollusk in her paws, “Though, depending on how accurate we were, it may hold a week's worth.”

“Truly amazing, Orche.” Oberon’s reply was partially muffled by the vegetable pasta she had just delved into. “I really appreciate all you have done for me. The Sun Catcher itself looks amazing in my garden, and it is quite the helpful creation!”

“Oh, it was nothing. Well, it was something, but not too much. I mean,” Orche let out a frustrated sigh, “It wasn’t too much effort I promise, I had lots of fun with it. It’s not every day you make something on the Summer Solstice!”

“They are quite the bunch, aren’t they.”

Babs nearly jumped out of his skin at Josce's voice near his ear, turning sharply enough to bump his face into the Imperial’s broad neck. Josce startled away, offering Babs a sheepish laugh before relaxing, his gilded features catching the rays of moonlight in a shower of color.

“Apologies for startling you,” Josce said gently, his signature smile on his face, “Thought you knew I was here.”

“You’re quieter than you think,” Babs replied, forcibly relaxing his muscles as he turned back to the crowd. “They are… quite the bunch.”

Josce chuckled at that, letting out a sigh as he idly picked apart a pastry on his plate. His eyes roamed the crowd before them, a soft smile on his face; it was strange to see the charismatic dragon at this softer, quieter side, not as exuberant as he was known to be.

“I like to think that the Solstice is a moment of movement,” Josce said after a long moment of silence, “That our world is moving from the long summer days to long winter nights. Neither is worse than the other, just different, with different benefits to each. I’ve seen the Wasteland boil over in summer and freeze in the winter, and the same for the dragons within it. In summer we watch the animals thrive and grow, and in winter they fall back to the earth to decay. I suppose that is why the circle is such an important symbol for this day--life circles onwards, with days and nights, life and death.

“Maybe it is foolish of me to say, but this festival is about a balance to me. What was once cast in sunlight must now be doused in moonlight. What was once warmed with summer heat is now cooled with winter winds. Things circle back and balance each other,” Josce paused, raising his glass in a quiet toast between the two friends, a twinkle in his eyes, “We have grown much in the summer months, thrived in a land of plagues and disease. I’d say that’s worth a toast.”

Babs was silent for a moment, then relented and raised his glass, tapping it to Josce’s with a satisfying clink. “To the sun, and all it brings us.”

“And to the moon, and all it shall bring us.” Josce grinned, taking a long drink from his glass as he turned back to the crowd. “I suppose we should also toast our clan as well, we wouldn’t be here without them. Everyone here brings something to this clan in their own way, like… like a tropical forest. Though we are all different with different purposes, it would not be the same without any one of us. What is a tropical forest without a toucan? An iguana? A tree snake? Hm, perhaps I have read too much poetry as of late, I’m getting quite invested in this mediocre metaphor.”

Babs snorted a laugh at the joke, but his mind was still gleefully turning over the words before it. Different yet important, a menagerie of dragons and artisans that made up their clan in the best way possible. It was a comforting thought, and a touching one at that.

Soon after their one-sided conversation, Josce left Babs to eat in peace, allowing the Guardian to continue his clan-watching in silence. Once every dragon had had their fill and the platters of food were mostly empty, it was time for the finale to their festival: the fireworks.

Babs once again found himself caught up in the throng of dragons heading for the raised hill they were viewing the fireworks from, though Orche slipped out to prepare the explosives themselves. Babs settled among his other Elders, knowing he would be called upon for a speech that he truly didn’t want to give. Perhaps a sentence or two would satisfy the more vocal dragons of the clan. He watched as his clanmates filed in, the smallest Faes finding perch on Imperials shoulders, Spirals wrapping around the nearest slender object like a snake. Only when all were assembled and quiet did Babs step up to the stone that represented a podium, facing his clan.

“Thank you all, for being as you are,” Babs said, forgoing introductions in favor of brevity, “This clan would be rubble without you. And a thanks to the sun, I suppose, for all it has given us, and for all it will give us in the future. Shall we begin?”

Judging by the rampant cheers from the crowd, Babs’ taciturn speech was of no surprise nor issue. The cries of excitement echoed around the landscape, strangely happy for a place filled with disease.

Babs’ couldn’t hear the first release over the crowd, but the following boom reverberated in his chest, rattling the armor and bones nearby. Turning at the last moment, Babs could catch the fading sparks of a white firework dancing through the night sky, looking more like stars than embers from the distance. The crowd's cheers turned to various noises of excitement, hushed whispers rippling through the crowd as the show really began.

The next firework Babs caught in its entirety, watching the dim grey trail fly up over indigo sky only to explode in a frenzy of color. Embers of green, blue, purple, and red scattered about, wavering around like a strange octopus in the sky. They stood still for a moment, then faded away, only to be replaced by a series of quick yellow stars that danced around the fading image before flickering off themselves. It was silent for a moment, then another bone-rattling boom echoed over the land as an enormous orange firework exploded into a twisting spiral. It slowly faded away, only to be replaced by a mirror image spiral, this one in twinkling silver. Then, another shot up, this one followed by a brilliant white trail that was swallowed by the burst of green and blue that formed itself into a ball.

The sun, the moon, the earth. How fitting.

The crowd’s murmurs rose in volume as the show went on, their cries of delight nearly overtaking the explosions as they watched showers of sparks light up the sky. Great red streaks cut through the night, followed by more twinkling yellow stars and a shower of iridescent sparklers that rained towards earth before flickering out. There were emerald green vines that were burned out by soft pink roses, brilliant blue orbs that were filled with multi-colored fish-like blobs. The show was as diverse as the clan.

Babs made no attempt to tear the smile from his face as he watched, his scales cast in dazzling colors from far above. It seemed to last for both hours and mere minutes, eventually culminating into a single firework that flew up silently, far above the apex of the others’ flights. At last, it exploded with a boom that echoed over the land once more, sending sparks of red, orange, and yellow about, which swirled and danced across the sky. Whatever magic Orche had woven into the firework took effect, pulling the embers into a magnificently burning orb that cast it’s warm glow down as if it were the sun. It stayed for several long minutes, then began to fade slowly, waning like the moon. The sky was dark for a moment before light sprung to it once more, silver embers waxing in from the edge of where the sun was. Now it was a moon, brilliant and shining, sending waves of soft silver light down over the clan. Soon enough, it too faded, whoops of joy and cheerful laughter taking its place.

Now the sky was truly dark, the real moon hidden by clouds, leaving Babs to bask in the light of his clan.