Prelate

Prelate didn't pay much heed when his father and his brother went off to the skies, rendering some sort of service to the Icewarden. He was born here, and was raised to be a good dragon, and honor the Icewarden and the other 10 deities. But the many dragons in his clan that he counted as his aunts and uncles came from elsewhere, seeking a place to settle down after having fun. Among them was his dad.

He was shocked that Lugus volunteered himself to be exalted. Deep inside, he had thought that he would be the "exalt fodder", as some such dragons were sometimes called. (Whether it is a degrading or honorable term is up to the dragon). For one, he didn't even have a name. (Neither did his sister, really. And Lugus was the only wildclaw of their siblings, the only one who took after their dad. Surely he was too unique to be let go of forever.

Yet, Lugus had a mind of his own. In retrospect, it was understandable that he'd want to go. He always seemed to be wistful, looking somewhere far, almost all the time. Named after a deity of light, he seemed to embody the ethereal, intangible nature of light more than the bright, happy nature.

Soon he was followed by their dad. He wondered why. Dad, after all, never felt like an outsider here. Nearly half of their clan was from elsewhere. He always fit in.

Of course, their dad, as many do, loved his children very much. He was sad to see one of them go. Perhaps, as a wildclaw himself, he subconsciously felt very attached to his only wildclaw son. He pushed back thoughts of not being the favorite in his mind----

"Seriously? Look, exaltation isn't such a bad thing, really. The only ones who think it's demeaning to be exalted are the ones who think it is."

"What? Auntie, what do you mean?" Was she reading his thoughts?

"Don't hide your feelings. And besides, you don't exactly keep your thoughts private."

She was right. He did tend to write anywhere, and didn't really keep his diary organized. And she was holding it in her hand, the pages made of various sizes and colors of paper neatly arranged by date.

"I believe this is yours?"

The clanmother, the progenitor, his Auntie Cailleach (how was he supposed to pronounce her name?), had seen his diary.

"Nothing to be ashamed of dear. Do not be ashamed of what you feel. They are part of who you are. You may be wrong, you may be right, but never hide."

And with those words, she departed, perhaps to find another cousin's mementos scattered around and return it to them with some vague advice.

She did make him ponder though.

He had seen his sister saying goodbye to everyone the past few days. She was also going off on an adventure. His fellow unnamed sister----hm, was there some reason they were both unnamed? Perhaps their destinies lay elsewhere? Was this why he sometimes felt like he didn't belong?

He went up to his sister as she was packing.