Guerilla

1.
The coatl hesitates at the entrance to the lair.

He sees a number of shapes threw the gloom, milling about or still in sleep. The cavern smells unpleasantly of sulfur mixed with the sharp, cloying aroma of the puddles of green ooze scattered about. A hatchling plays in one such puddle near the entrance, a dragon with similar coloring who may only be his father keeping careful watch.

A gracefully colored sky dancer is waiting for him, her tail curled around her feet. She looks out of place here, few scarce feet from a bubbling lake of pus. The coatl forces himself to approach her, thinking she must be the welcoming committee.

“Welcome,” says the skydancer, dipping her head to him. “to your new home. I am Arashmia…” She looks politely expectant.

The coatl’s tongue whisps out nervously. “I am unnamed,” he says. “but your welcome is appreciated. This place is…very unlike the birthplace of my clutch.”

He thinks briefly, mournfully, of the windswept, grass plains he’d left behind, before forcing the thought away. It does no good to torture himself. This is home, now.

Arashmia’s stern eyes soften. She sees the despair he is fighting off.

“The others are excited to meet you, but I can have them wait, if you wish.”

It’s a kind offer, and it’s tempting. The coatl weighs being rude to his new family against his discomfort, and compromises.

“Slowly?” He says, hopeful.

Arashmia appears to approve. “Very well. I would introduce you to my sister-Matron, Teyla.”

The dragon who answers this name is gorgeous, and more out of place than Arashmia. Her glittering white hide is spotted with flecks of green—ooze. The coatl looks to the hatchling, and to the watching male, and realizes they are mate and offspring to her.

The new skydancer’s feathers trail over the stone, also touched with ooze, and the coatl sees her red, red eyes. Arashmia’s too.

No, they are not out of place. They were born here.

He dips respectfully. Obviously the dragons before him are the highest of this lair.

Teyla’s eyes sparkle with as kind a light as Arashmia’s, though a touch less aloof. She, too, sees his unease.

“Come into our home, Unnamed. It is as warm as any lair. Eat your fill, sleep, and relax. We are your family. We will be good to you.”

The coatl’s heart is warmed by the skydancer’s promise, and he nurses a beat of optimism. This place is very different from his plain lands, but there is no reason he should not come to love it as much.

He follows the skydancers into the lair, and it is warm.