Gideon

---

When he was young, Gideon spent a lot of time trying to be just like his father. He trailed him wherever he went, pestered Kennar into teaching him to fight, even frowning and remaining silent when he wanted to laugh and chatter.

But finally, Gideon decided that he just wasn't cut out to be gruff and stoic. He liked chatting with the rest of the clan, liked to laugh and joke and be loud, liked to say what he really meant, rather than remaining grim-faced and reserved. And he hated fighting. Unless it was the play fights he had with his brother Osmanthus.

So Gideon at last returned to being only himself: cheerful, boisterous, friendly, and very slightly oblivious. He never noticed, for example, his oldest brother Hashi's wistful envy of his close bond with Oz, never noticed Zhethran's jealousy of his relationship with his father. As far as he is concerned, they are all one big, happy family.

He and Oz have been the best of friends ever since they were hatched, spending the majority of their time in each other's company. They used to wrestle and tumble together when they were young, though the fights grew more and more one-sided as Gideon quickly outgrew his brother. Instead of an all-out brawl, Gideon merely held his brother down while Oz kicked and squalled and was finally forced to admit defeat. Gideon has always been careful, however, never to use his superior size and strength to hurt him - or anyone else in the clan.

He razzes Oz - in a friendly way - about his strange choice of occupation, teases and pulls faces at Zhethran to try to get him to smile, has long conversations with Hashi, talks charmingly and comfortably to Primrose despite her shyness, and picks out unicorn trinkets to slip to Ephah when he isn't looking. He has always been grateful for and happy with his family, blood-related or otherwise. For some time, however, he has been feeling uneasy and restless, as if there is something else he ought to be doing.

After long debates with himself and internal struggles, he has at last decided that it is time for him to set off on his Search. Now he just has to decide how to tell his family.

---

"But why?" his mother wailed. "Why do you have to go?"

Gideon winced. His talk with his father had gone surprisingly well. His dad hadn't said much of anything, actually. Merely looked surprised for a moment, then nodded firmly in understanding. It was part of the reason that Gideon had gone to him first, because he wouldn't get a lecture, and because he knew that, as a guardian dragon, his father would understand. He had known he wouldn't have it so easy with his mother.

"It's just something I have to do," Gideon said. "I've been thinking about it for a long time. It's past time I went."

"But we're a traveling clan! Why do you have to take off on your own?"

"Because, Ma, it's my Search. It's what guardian dragons do."

"Your father didn't. Did you?" she asked, turning to Kennar.

He blinked at her. "My Search ended the day I met you," he said matter-of-factly, then looked as if he wanted to take the words back.

"See?" his mother said, rounding on Gideon. "Kennar didn't feel the need to run off on his own."

Gideon rolled his eyes. "He means, Ma, that you're his Charge."

It was Caoimhe's turn to blink. "What?" she said. "I'm what? Kennar, what does that mean, exactly?"

His father looked cornered. "Well, it - ah... I - um-" He shot a glare toward Gideon and Gideon made a face back. It was long past time his mother knew what she was to his father. He had never explicitly said that she was his Charge, but everybody knew it. Except his oblivious mother, of course.

Gideon watched wryly as his mother bombarded his father with questions, and Kennar looked more and more panicked. He gave a quiet snort. This was the dragon he had tried so hard to emulate? Reduced to a quivering heap by a few personal questions? What sort of upbringing had he had that had made him this way? He never talked about his past. His mother seemed to know, but despite her near-constant cheerful chatter, she never talked about it either.

"Never mind. We'll talk about this later," his mother said abruptly, cutting off his father's stammered explanations. She turned back to Gideon. "I want to know why. Why you feel you have to do this. Why now?"

"Windsinger's toenails!" Gideon swore, suddenly angry. "Every guardian does this. I have to grow up sometime. You can't keep me here!"

"Is that what you think?" his mother said, her voice going quiet and wavery with emotion. "That we're holding you prisoner?"

All the air left Gideon's lungs in a rush and he slumped to the ground, the anger leaving as quickly as it had come. Of course that wasn't it. It had been his own reluctance to leave his family, to leave behind the only life he had ever known, his own fear that had kept him with his clan. What if he never found his charge? What if he did, but he lost it? He had heard of guardians that went crazy from that loss. He didn't want to join their number. And what if it was something smaller than that? What if he took another dragon as his charge and they hated him? What if he took a clan, and he didn't fit in? What if it was a place, and he didn't know how to deal with staying in one place? He had been born into a traveling clan, it was the only way he had ever lived. What if he didn't know how to stand still?

"No," he said, his voice low. "That wasn't what I meant. It's... it's hard to explain."

"Try," his mother said softly.

"It's... it's like-" Gideon stared into the air, trying to formulate his feelings into words. "It's kind of like... I'm missing a little piece of myself. And I can still go on, I can still laugh and cry and enjoy things and I could go my whole life, if I wanted to, without this piece but I just wouldn't be... whole." He shook his head, knowing he had not come anywhere close to explaining properly. But his father was nodding as if he understood, and his mother was looking at him, her eyes teary but resigned.

"All right," she said. "All right. You can go. You're right, you're an adult now, and you don't need my permission. But you have my blessing."

Gideon felt his own eyes well up, but he fought back the tears. "Thanks, Ma," he said, getting to his feet and pulling her into a one-armed hug.

She snuffled into his shoulder. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow," he answered. "It had better be tomorrow." Or else he'd never go.

"All right," she said again, pulling back, scrubbing at her eyes. "I'll tell your brothers and sister."

"I'd like to tell them, if that's okay," Gideon said.


The news went over pretty much as he had expected. Primrose and Ephah looked dismayed, Hashi told him quietly that he would be missed, Oz started to bawl, and Zhethran... well, it was always a little hard to tell what he was thinking.

The next morning, Gideon was up before the sun. He had barely slept at all, beset by an uncomfortable mixture of excitement and nerves. He pulled himself away from Oz's sleeping body and made his way to the edge of the precipice they were camped near, one of the few places within the Tangled Wood where you could see the sky.

It wasn't long before Oz crept up beside him, settling down against his side. He didn't say a word, and Gideon didn't either. One by one, the rest of his family gathered around him, leaning against each other, taking comfort from each other. Silently, they watched the sun rise above the mist.

At last, when Gideon felt he could delay it no longer, he pulled himself to his feet and turned to his family.

He pulled each of them into a fierce hug, even Zhethran, much to the mirror's surprise. "Take care of them, yeah?" Gideon said in a low voice when he pulled away. Zhethran looked surprised, but nodded.

"Thanks," Gideon said. "I don't know if I've ever told you, but you're a great brother." The mirror's face crumpled into a strange expression, but Gideon had no time to think about it as he was bombarded by other members of the clan, burying him in arms and wings, shouting encouragement, wishing him luck.

Oz threw himself at Gideon once more, blubbering again, and this time Gideon couldn't stop his own tears. He gathered his brother up against his chest, snuffling into his fur. He wondered if they would each be okay on their own. He and Oz had not been apart longer than a few hours since the day they had hatched.

"I'll miss you, little brother," Gideon said, setting Oz down and trying for a smile.

Oz gave him a soft-pawed smack and a wobbly chuckle. "I'm your big brother, and don't you forget it. Snaggleface."

"Only by twenty-seven minutes, furball," Gideon returned, his half of their old argument.

"Still counts," Oz said, then stepped back as a heavy claw fell on Gideon's shoulder. He turned toward his father.

"Take care, son," Kennar said, giving his shoulder a squeeze. And that was all. Well, Gideon knew better than to expect long speeches from his father.

Kennar backed away, and Caoimhe stepped up to take his place. Gideon leaned down, and his mother leaned in to press her forehead against his. She inhaled deeply through her nose, as if trying to memorize his scent.

"May the Windsinger fill your wings, and may his winds bring you back to us someday," she said, her voice soft, a blessing just for him. "I will miss you, my son."

She stepped back, and Gideon straightened. He nodded once, unable to trust his own voice any longer, then turned and launched himself from the cliff, before he lost his resolve. He heard the voices calling farewells behind him, but didn't turn. He faced ahead, and flew toward a horizon that seemed to wobble through his tears.

Gideon glowered at the trees that surrounded him on all sides. This was not how he’d expected his Search to go.

The morning he’d left his clan had been a bright, beautiful day, once he got above the ever-present mists of the Wood, and when the wind had dried his tears and the novelty and exertion of the journey had distracted him a little from missing his family, he’d been filled with a sense of excitement and daring. Here he was, traveling the world by himself—who knew what wonders he might see! (And dangers, but those seemed small and unlikely under the wide-open, sun-swept sky.) What looked like a green cloud on the horizon caught his attention, and after a few moments of puzzlement, he realized that it must be the giant tree at the heart of the Viridian Labyrinth. A natural wonder seemed as good a place to start as any, and he bent his flight toward it, crossing first the strait that separated the Nature realm from the mainland and then lengths upon lengths of field and forest, all glittering as light danced on the abundant waters. The land was lush and lovely, and it seemed like a perfect start to his travels.

But even the most enchanting landscape became tiring to look at, especially after the trees had begun to close in, making it more difficult to see the ground, and his wings had begun to ache with the exertion. The Windrover clan traveled mostly by foot—he wasn’t used to so much long-distance flying. By the time twilight had fallen and he’d finally found a clearing large enough to land in, he’d been completely exhausted.

So the next day, he’d decided to walk for a while. And at first that had been pleasant enough too, with lots of jungle flowers to admire and bright birds and insects to watch. But the forest had gotten denser and more overgrown, making movement more difficult; the shadows had gotten deeper and darker, and the shrill cries of the wildlife grew more and more raucous. Unsettled by the strangeness, by the feeling of constriction, he started to feel the wilderness as a thing, a presence that pressed in on him from all sides, watching him, waiting. A growing anxiety made his skin crawl beneath his scales. And it was ridiculous—he was a guardian dragon, one of the largest creatures on Sornieth, so what was he even afraid of?

But...didn’t they say that there were giant toads, bigger than any dragon, lurking in the mirey depths of the jungles?

He’d spent that night curled up in the smallest nook he could fit himself into.

The next day and night had gone on much the same, and the next. And at this point, he was worn out, frustrated, and entirely done with this forest.

If only he could find his way out. But at this point he had no idea what direction he was actually going in or how far he’d come. And the jungle overhead was far too thick for him to take flight and escape.

Resentfully he eyed the trees before him, then paused to look at one more closely. It was a giant even among the other looming ancients, with an unusually wide, squatty trunk and thick limbs.

This was probably a really stupid idea. But he was getting desperate, and it felt like he was running out of options.

Moving closer to the tree, he stood up on his back legs and seized hold of a couple of the most solid branches. Then, with a deep breath, he hauled himself up.

He’d never climbed a tree before—there were very few trees that could support almost eight tons of dragon! But somehow he scrambled his way up, claws digging into the wood as he groped after each new grip. The limbs creaked and groaned alarmingly, but they held. Grunting with effort, he bulled his way through the dense canopy, thick with vines and interlocking branches, his heart lifting as he caught a faint glimmer of sunlight just above him. The tree was starting to get a bit too thin, but he was almost...almost.... Stretching his neck out as far as he could, he finally thrust his head out above the leaves with a gasp.

The glory of the sun and the open sky blinded him at first; he closed his eyes and let the clean daylit warmth caress his face. But the urgent need to see his surroundings came back to him, and soon he was squinting about, trying to get his bearings. On all sides the forest stretched away, a seemingly infinite green, until it disappeared at the horizon. A tiny breeze rippled across that rolling leafy surface, stirring the feathery nearby branches and making them dance.

“Oh, Windsinger,” Gideon muttered, his brief elation sinking toward despair. “I’m going to be stuck here forever, aren’t I?”

Crack.

The terrifying snap was his only warning, and then he was tipping backward, falling away from the tree, a broken limb clutched in his claw. His desperate grab caught air, his claw tips barely raking bark—his wings, half spread in alarm, tangled in the creepers all around him, pulling them along with his fall until it felt like he was bringing half the canopy down with him, a torrent of leaf and branch and flower and vine and dragon that hit the ground with a tremendous crackling thud, followed by a pattering rain of smaller debris.

It hadn’t been a terribly long fall, but he was still rather stunned—and before he’d half gotten his wits about him, something large and pale was fluttering practically into his face. With a yelp, he jerked back as much as he could. Which wasn’t very much, ensnared as he was.

“It’s all right.” The voice was low but resonant, female, and the flashing-winged shape resolved itself into a coral-and-white skydancer hovering before him. She laid a hand on his nose, which was one of the few bits of him that wasn’t all rolled up in vines. “You’re almost there. Just keep going straight ahead until you reach the river, then follow it upstream.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “Walk from tree to tree, so you don’t end up going in circles.”

“Wha—” He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts in order, then started as she sprang skyward, up through the green tunnel that his fall had torn. “Hey, wait—!” But she was already gone, one last flicker of white then out of view. Something yipped up above, a strange sound, not quite avian, not quite canine, and after that all he could hear was the rising racket of the birds and insects that had been silenced for just a few heartbeats by the unexpected disturbance of his fall.

Scowling, Gideon lay where he was for another minute or two, half resting and half sulking, until finally he heaved a grumbling sigh and began wrestling his way out of the tangled foliage. No point in lying around any longer, not when there was apparently somewhere that he was supposed to get to. And annoyingly mysterious as it had been, the strange dragon’s presence had made him realize all at once that he was terribly lonely, that he missed being around other dragons, and maybe when he got there, she would be there, or others, somebody at least that he could talk to. But the sharp hope was uncomfortably mixed with unease.

Almost there, she had said.

Almost...where?