Zahrah

| Zahrah. Not a warrior, but a fighter. |

| Relationships |
Siblings: Dima, Malak
Charges: Servaas, Sevil, Spas

"Don't let her adorable roars fool you -- she bites."

Zahrah is an absolute spitfire. Her temperament is as black and white as her stark markings; she's either brawling or doting. There is no in between, and as over-the-top as her Guardian instinct comes across, it's a much better side of her to be on than the other.

It's her sisters who rein her in, who keep her temper under wraps as much as they possibly can. Dima's way is one of contests: who can leap the highest, fly the longest, catch the most mice. When she's worn out she's not quite so ornery or quick to pounce. Malak's way is sheerly through her presence. She may be silent, but the reassuring sound of her measured breathing and even gaze always defuses Zahrah. Even if she storms off into the forest, tail thrashing everything behind her, frustrated by how together her sister is... it's better than getting herself into a fight.

All of that being said, she revels in territory disputes - any excuse to let loose and flex her claws. She fights without regard for herself, opening her body to an attack if it means a chance to get another blow in. Battle is her element, and while her clan bears the brunt of her temper, they appreciate when she rises to the challenge.

- The Foundlings -

A massive, lashing tail tipped in black whistled through the air, nearly breaking the sound barrier like the crack of a whip. The tail was attached to an equally massive body covered in a thick, heavy hide spined with stiff fins. Her maw was full of glistening teeth, some curved for hooking into prey, some needle-sharp for spearing fish.

Three pairs of ice-blue eyes watched, enraptured, but paralyzed by their fear. She stopped, massive purple eye rolling, mouth open as she scented the air. "Who's there?" she thundered, her voice a guttural growl that rumbled the air in their chests. "Don't answer", "Shh, be quiet", "Don't let her find us," a chorus of tiny voices whispered among themselves.

"Whoever you are..." Her head swayed, honing in on the scent. "I will find you. Reveal yourself, now. I'll not be happy if I have to find you myself."

It was Servaas, the eldest brother, who stepped forward first, a mere fleck of black against the lush green of the earth. He mewled fiercely, tiny fins clattering against what would one day become an armored hide like the one of the dragon towering before him. Zahrah's laugh was immediate and booming, and her tail slammed the ground. "If I'd known it was a house cat hiding out here, I wouldn't'a made such a production of it." His siblings crept out behind him, low on their haunches, fins pinned back. "Excuse me, house cats." She laughed again, a rare sound for her. Quickly, she scooped him up in her paw and brought him closer to her line of sight. "Where d'ya hail from?"

He scrambled off of his belly, sitting back in her paw. "Somewhere cold," Servaas squeaked bravely. She cocked her head, looking at his eyes. "I can see that. You're a long way from home. How'd you get all this way?"

His paw scuffed against hers as he looked down. "I dunno."

Zahrah's voice softened uncharacteristically. "We'll figure that out." She set him down before swiveling her head and unleashing a mighty, bellowing roar into the dense forest. After a few minutes a crashing, snapping mass encroached upon them. Another female Guardian, identical to the one before them, skidded to a stop, shaking leaves and twigs from her horns. Behind her, a more serene presence followed. White, like Zahrah and Dima, but with rich swirls of obsidian as opposed to the harsh splashes of it at her paws, tail, and throat.

"What is it, Zahrah? You stormed off in such a huff that I didn't think we'd be hearing from you for awhile; you've never cooled off this quick be-"

"Shut up, Dima," she snapped. "I found these." Her tail wrapped them and ushered them forward, into the circle in the center of the three sisters. Dima gasped and dropped her head to greet them, sniffing at the fearful hatchlings. "Oh, young ones! They're so little!" Even Malak looked surprised, her eyes widening.

Servaas, Sevil, and Spas were trembling, their eyes wide with fear. "Quit it; you're scaring them." She shoved Dima impatiently. "What are we going to do with them?"

"I think that we should take them back to the clan," said Dima, and Malak nodded in agreement.

"Well, obviously." What she said was practically a snarl. "We can't leave them here. Look, they're weak. They're from the Southern Icefield." The shock was evident on their faces to hear how far they'd come. "What are your names, young ones?"

Servaas stepped forward again. "I am Servaas. This is my sister, Sevil, and my brother, Spas."

She turned and sunk to her belly, letting one wing fall to the ground, offering it to the small dragons. "Come, we'll bring you back to the clan. Can't have you slowing us down on the walk back," she said gruffly. Tentatively, the three siblings clambered into the divot between her shoulders where her wings sprouted.

It was then that they became a part of the clan, a part of a family. Servaas, Sevil, and Spas have seen the other side of a gruff, usually angry Zahrah. She has shown them, and only them, that she can love, that she can nurture. While she has no interest in hatchlings of her own, she seems to have taken several of indeterminate origin under her wing. Literally, they sleep beneath the membranes of her heavy wings as opposed to alongside the other young dragons.