I: Earth to Earth, Ashes to Ashes
Although his partner was a religious fanatic- and it would indeed have been her wish- instead Bard’s first clutch were not immediately sent to serve the deities, but spirited away in the dead of night. They were intended to be sold on the black market; caged, barely fed, and kept in covered wagons as they trundled across the open ground of Dragonhome’s Shattered Plains. When going through a rural township however, their wagon hit a bump and a wheel came off, sending the whole cage lurching sideways and breaking a few bars when it hit the ground. Chaia was the first out of there, launching like an arrow from a crossbow, running flat out then scuttling into the first available crevasse. She never saw what happened to her siblings. The law-abiding clan which the slavers had been passing through however, went up in arms, attacking the drivers of the carts and throwing open cages, freeing the would-be slaves. But Chaia was too young to understand the difference; all she saw was violence, dragon against dragon, death and anger. She wasn’t going back. For how long Chaia hid, she can’t tell, but she followed the crack’s passage, deep under the earth, eating what roots her claws found as she scratched her way to freedom.

It was hard living on the edges of the Greatwyrm’s Breach, which is where all large crevasses end in Dragonhome if you follow them far enough. She had to use trickery and guile, as well as her wits and natural coat’s camoflage, to keep alive and unseen. She avoided other dragons, convinced they all meant her ill. She was a wild child, living off her wits and reflexes and ruthless when she needed to be. She was always a natural mimic, able to imitate others’ voices and movements precisely, a fast learner, so she could confuse and charm her way into beast clans until they shared their food with her and didn’t attack her, because none were exactly sure what she was. Some thought she was a shapeshifter, but the truth was just that she was easily missed, easily overlooked, and very good at becoming whatever she needed to be at the time.

Her fate was sealed when she stole a set of magical panpipes from an ancient shrine in Earth territory, from where their cult worshipped- the second her claws lay upon them, she seemed possessed of a strange unearthly energy. The instrument had the power to bewitch any who hears them; she could make others dance like puppets on a string to her strange, haunting tunes. For a year she lived like this, worshipped as a goddess incarnate by a cult of savages, but she realised she didn’t like the person it was making her become, as violent and unfeeling as the dragons she’d ran from. Eventually, she tired of it. Enchanting the cult to sleep with a lullaby on the pipes, she slipped away in the dead of night. Chaia spent the next few years travelling, then living in the forest; the glade keeper’s realm had always called to her, and here she lived a semi-hermit life on the border of a clan named, appropriately, the Clan of the Fern Ballad. She learned to imitate birds, bees, animals and beasts, lure them into traps or lull them into obedience. The instrument had lost its sway over her now that she was far from Earth lands, and its magic had waned, but her own gifts had developed tenfold- it turned out that the magical crutch had only held her back from her true potential.
Having little need or interest in dragons, whom she considered completely untrustworthy and unpredictable, she had little to do with the clan, so has limited language. She prefers the company of beasts, birds and nature. They are so much more simple. They are what she understands. She can speak their language, and they speak hers.


II: Song of the Lyrebird
The story of the earth-coloured tundra whose music could charm birds out of the sky, intrigued Bard. He wondered about it often, then once under the Heart Oak late one evening, still full of sorrow over his lost family, he was sent a vision in his dreams that he’d long forgotten.

His firstborn daughter, barely toddling, at the edge of her nest and looking intently up at the windowsill, where a sparrow perched- some scrap of greenery held in its beak. Probably on the way to its nest, he thought- but Bard stayed perfectly still, watching his little girl with a curious smile. She made a whistling chirrup, fluttered her wings appealingly, and then chirruped again. Just like a bird. And the sparrow cocked its head, then flew down to alight on the ground in front of her. As he watched, dumbstruck, the sparrow lay the piece of fern at her feet, and cheeped back, then flew away. The tiny tundra gobbled up the morsel of greenery at once, looking immensely pleased with herself, then curled up next to her father again with a huge yawn.
“You’re my little Lyrebird, you are.” He said, and closed his own eyes.

Bard awoke with a start. “Lyrebird!” He shouted, loud enough to frighten half the clan into wakefulness. “It’s her! I’d bet my hat on it!”

Chaia { kh - EYE - ah } Nickname: Lyrebird ♥ a wonderful gift from Bwee Sublime Peacock Meat This sienna-colored fowl is hunted for its unique tail feathers, the hues of which can drastically shift over the course of several years. 40 4 Everglade Hedgehog Meat Green food is full of vitamins! 31 3 Sweet Songbird Meat For those who enjoy saccharine songs and edibles. 17 2 Flecked Bushrunner Meat In one of the most humorous displays in the animal kingdom, males of this quail species race one another to attract mates, rather than fight. 55 5 False-Peacock Quail Meat There isn't much to be said: this quail is just lookin' sooooo good. 55 5 False Podid Meat A smaller cousin of the common podid, these little fellas taste best roasted in the shell. 64 7 ╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮ = Lore = (written by Disillusionist) ♫ Aqualung - Strange and Beautiful ♫ ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯

Deep in the forest, Chaia had only had the birds and beasts to speak to, and soon memories of living with other dragons receded from her mind. This suited her. She had unfortunately seen the worst of civilization: slavery, violence, and hunger. In the forest, all was simplicity; all was peace.

She did not wholly shun dragonkind, however. A clan lived near the forest....Perhaps because they were as peaceful as she was, she’d never felt threatened by them, had even approached them a few times. It was they who had informed her father that she was still alive.

Bard had been overjoyed to see her again. Chaia, so used to the quiet forest, had been nearly terrified of this Tundra and his ineffable joy. But his face...She had seen him, or someone like him before — looking out from her reflection in pools of water. A memory briefly stole into her mind, of lying next to her father, watching a sparrow hop along the ground. “My little lyrebird,” he had called her. His voice had held a deep note of pride that had warmed her heart. He had patted her affectionately on the head.

“Father,” she murmured. Bard was too caught up in emotions to reply, but he smiled at her through his tears. He put his wing around her, and then it was time to go home.

She had always been a little strange. Other dragons whispered about her, but never to her father’s face. Bard wasn’t oblivious, however; he knew his daughter would need special care. He hated to think of what she might’ve gone through, alone in the wilderness....

She had always liked animals. That part of her, at least, hadn’t changed. When she retreated into a ball of silence, staring suspiciously at the Oakheart Dragons, Bard coaxed her away, to places beneath the trees where the carols of the forest were the only sounds. She would sit there for hours, listening to the birdsong.

“We have some familiars who need new friends, Lyrebird,” Bard told her, some days later. She was getting used to him again; she relaxed noticeably at the sound of his voice. Still, her ears were always mobile, and her gaze never stayed still for long, looking everywhere except at him....

It was only when the familiars approached that she calmed down, staring in rapt wonder. The feeling was mutual: from elemental spirits to earthly beasts of the wood, they all regarded her with awe and, it seemed to Bard, deep respect. Here was a dragon who spoke to them in their own languages, who cared to learn their words and listen to what they had to say.

There were rumors that Chaia’s time in the wilderness had turned her into a feral child. Nothing, Bard decided, could be further from the truth. “It has not made her savage,” he decided with fierce pride. “Not one bit. It has made her kinder.”



By Pickpocket!!

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