MoonThistle

Moon loves the Moon. Always has, ever since he was young. His parents had named him Thistle, in hopes of him loving the forest. They wanted him to enjoy what the woods gave to him, security, safety, secrecy.

Such small dragons the Fae are. They stick together, they stay hidden, they stay alive. It is what all Fae know, and all Fae follow. Such is life.

And Moon, or Thistle, loves the Forest. He respects the forest, he thanks the Forest. But the Forest. For him, the Forest is not his master.

And his parents knew it from a young age. His brothers and sisters all loved to stay hidden. But Thistle did not. He wanted to be in the open, he wanted to fly when the Moon was at it's most highest.

His parents knew their son was not Thistle, nor a Fae. He was Moon, and a Moondancer. They warned him, Fae dragons could not dance with the Moon, Fae dragons were small. But he did not feel small. The Moon filled him and gave him magic.

They told him to choose. Was he Thistle or was he Moon?

Both, he had replied. Equal parts.

His parents had shaken their head. If he was not Thistle, fully and completely, then he must be with the Moon.

The Moon had always kept select dragons to guard her, to keep he safe. She was high in the sky, but she feared for the day the humans found to get to her. The humans had brought destruction to all.

At birth, she would choose a dragon. A dragon whose soul had been reincarnated. A moon spirit. It had been decades, centuries since the Moon had chosen a Fae. The Fae had lost their strength, and their magic. But Moon Thistle had just enough of the magic inside him. He had a million souls that cried out for the Moon.

And he joined her. The Moon and he were one. She gave him a gift, the familiar that had belonged to the one he was before. The immortal scorpion that can always see the soul of it's beloved master, no matter what form he takes.

So Moon, barely Thistle now, keeps the Moon. He bathes in her light, he celebrates her dark.