Ruisgte

A dragon's scales are his pride and glory, a declaration of individuality and family, as well as protection from disease, the elements and enemies' attacks. To be born without scales is an affront to most dragons' very definitions of what a dragon is, at a deep level.

In a species as fiercesome and warlike as Wildclaws, any offspring unable to keep up with the clutch is unlikely to survive to adulthood. Rùisgte is no exception. Though his parents chose not to abandon him at hatching, they did not- could not, in their minds- make any accommodations for their hatchling's unique needs. As he grew, the inevitable squabbles with siblings and the general accidents of childhood began to take their toll on his vulnerable skin. Blows and scratches that would slide off a normal dragon's armor instead cut deeply into soft flesh and the hatchling began to lag in growth behind the others. Injuries festered and the hatchling fell into a downward spiral.

Unsure what to do to help their young child, the Wildclaw parents decided that the kindest thing to do would be to leave him, letting his life end before he suffered any more. Carrying the sick hatchling, the parents went to a deserted place, found a shaded spot, and left the hatchling. Too weak and sick to follow his family, the scaleless hatchling cried pitifully until long after the other dragons had disappeared.

The Lightbringer took pity on this tiny, helpless creature. As the day wore on and the sun and his infections began to take their deadly toll, another pitiful creature approached. Dirty, skeletal and bleeding himself, Draoidh was as close to giving up as he had ever come. His decision to stop and rest- possibly for good- under the little clump of rocks saved both their lives.

Rùisgte was well past the point of reacting when Draoidh shuffled into his lonely tomb, and he did not become aware throughout the long hours that the Guardian put in to save his life from the awful fever that had set in. Nor did he become truly awake for the terrifying days the older dragon spent trying to prevent a resurgence, fighting day and night to keep himself and the hatchling dry, warm, fed and protected from all that roamed the wilds.

When he finally did wake, Rùisgte found himself wrapped securely in several layers of blanket, tail, claw, and wing, enclosed in a cocoon of protective flesh. The Guardian felt him stir and dragged his eyes open to see a bright yellow pair staring blearily but coherently up at him. For the first time in his short, violent life, Draoidh laughed with pure unfettered joy. They had made it through.

Neither dragon was out of the woods for good, but both had found something they desperately needed in the other. As soon as Rùisgte was strong enough, Draoidh took him out of the wilds, wandering until they found a clan where the Guardian felt safe. Eventually, the ugly wounds healed to scars, and the young Wildclaw grew up under the watchful eyes of the older dragon. Draoidh taught him everything the Guardian knew about combat, survival, and the various skills that a dragon needed to keep a household running smoothly. In return, Rùisgte taught the older dragon how to trust again, and to open his often-wounded heart to others. Together they two dragons are stumbling through life as a well as they can. Neither will ever forget the scars they bear, physical or otherwise, but neither Rùisgte or Draoidh would trade them in if it meant losing the family that they gained in one another and the clan.