Notane

Notane knows power.

His mate reeks of it, even more than the crimson runed Ridgeback Demona. Scripa overflows with power, making her the most feared and envied among the Bloodletters.

Notane knows he is lucky. As the only other male Scribe in the clan, the two of them were paired together in the hopes that Scripa's power would be passed onto their offspring.

Notane knows that this probably won't happen. He knows that Scripa is different. She used to despise him, the brick colour of his runes, the physical sign of his weakness... But now she doesn't care.

She looks at him like she would look at a stranger. And Notane knows that somehow, this was the price of her power - her memories stolen, devoured.

But this is better. He will not try to change her back.



The First Nest



It was, he thought, somewhat ironic. The hope of his mates power passing onto their offspring had turned sour.

Four eggs, and none of them Bloodletters. The power didn't flow through their runes. The taste of their power was sour, like milk left out in the sun. They didn't smell of blood.

Scripa didn't seem to care, and Notane followed her lead. The four children would be trained and then sent to the Forum for the Shadowbinder.

"They will have to train with the Hard Bloodletters," Notane noted.

"If they survive it," Scripa said, and that was that.

Perhaps their next nest would be more successful.



The Second Nest



His mate was watching the hatchlings when he arrived. He didn't really need to see them to know they were failures.

"Would you like me to tell Demona?" Notane asked, stopping just behind his mate.

With a flick of her tail, Scripa rose. It was moments like these, these casual movements, that truly betrayed the power the blood runed female had. Her movements were smooth, controlled in such a way that made Notane feel as if he were a hatchling again, learning how to coordinate his limbs.

"No. I will tell her myself."

Notane nodded. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"If you like."

His mate seemed lost in thought as they walked. Notane stayed behind her, his steps measured so that he kept a moderate distance from her. He knew Scripa stayed with him for no other reason than because Demona wanted the power to be shared with more than one individual. It was an unselfish wish, surely, but Notane knew Scripa wanted no part in it.

"Scripa," he said, catching her attention. She looked at him curiously. "Why don't you tell her you don't want to do this?"


There was no hesitation in her response. "Because I don't think her ideals are in the wrong place. The betterment of the Bloodletters should be the goal of every one of us."

"Yes, but..." He hesitated, moving to stand at her side as he tried to come up with the words he wanted to say. "You can't share your power, can you?"

That wasn't quite what he had aimed for, but he hoped it would get his point across. He hoped she didn't take it as an accusation.

She regarded him silently for a moment, her pale blue eyes giving away nothing. "That remains to be seen," she replied neutrally.



The Third Nest



Notane was not blind to his mate's discomfort. Even before she had woken up... changed, there had been something feral about her anger. And so he had made the clever decision to leave her alone.

He spent a good amount of time in what was fondly called the kitchen by the Scribes. He liked the garden better, truthfully, but the plants had been harvested and withered already. All that was left to do was the crushing and grinding and dicing, something he knew Scripa disliked.

Notane heard the raised voices from his and Scripa's part of the lair and slowed down.

"Why did you think it would work now?" he heard Scripa hiss. "How many perfectly good Bloodletters have you given to the Shadowbinder? Devouria must have had some issue with this, at the very least."

It was a perfectly sound argument, in Notane's mind. He'd read enough to guess at what Demona was trying with her decree. He'd read enough to know it worked rarely, and usually only when the Bloodletters were particularly weak.

The Bloodletters today were not weak.

"This conversation is over."

"Yes, it is."

Notane stayed very still as Demona stormed from their place, her power snapping and crackling. She didn't notice him, but her power lashed out across his body like a live-wire. He stiffened, fighting back the instinctive reaction to lash out with his own power, knowing he would lose.

As the shock of Demona's power faded, however, Notane realized he wasn't hurt. He flexed his muscles, marvelling at how easily they responded. Months ago, he would have been unable to move without pain, the echos of Demona's power crippling his own for hours.

As he stepped inside, he noticed Scripa watching him from the corner of her eye. At the same time, he felt a foreign power he hadn't even noticed slither away from his skin. He stared at her.

"I believe you can take these to Devouria for exaltation," was all she said, but Notane felt a warmth settle in his chest all the same.



The Fourth Nest



He understood her rage, he thought. It had nothing to do with failing Demona - Scripa had become increasingly apathetic to the other Scribe, and it was easy to see why if the Ridgeback was trying to rely on an outdated method to... To do what, exactly? Gain more power, obviously, but for herself or for the Bloodletters?

Notane had a strong idea who Demona wanted power for, and it wasn't the Bloodletters.

Scripa's rage, he thought, was at herself. Where Demona no longer thought of the Bloodletters, whatever change Scripa had undergone hadn't changed her willingness to better their magic, their strengths. It was something he had always admired her for.

He looked at the two hatchlings a little sadly. They would know nothing of the mother but her rage, a rage that was never directed at someone. Even now, when he heard the telltale sound of whispers compounding on each other until the sound was closer to a scream, he wasn't afraid.

And if he walked outside and saw the remains of Scripa's rage and thought them beautiful, who could blame him?



The Fifth Nest



Notane had never felt so full in his life.

Not full in his stomach, although he had had a lovely meal - full in his heart, in his chest. The tiny Scribe, scratching in the dirt with her perfect claws, was partially the source, but the other portion sat directly to his left, watching the hatchling as well.

"She is perfect." He didn't think he'd ever meant anything as truly as he did that - except, perhaps, those secret times when he whispered his love to a rarely sleeping Scripa.

His mate nodded. After a moment, a frown creased Scripa's brow, and their hatchling turned to stare at her mother.

Notane felt his scales prickle.

Before he could ask, or say, anything, steps shuddered towards them. They knew who it was, and without a thought Notane gently took their hatchling into his claws and set her onto his shoulder, gently nudging for her to hide in his mane.

"Where is the hatchling?" Notane's eyes flickered to the two Shattered Bloodletters, Pleo and Shaora, who followed Demona for no reason he had ever been able to discern. He and Scripa were outnumbered, but he had complete confidence in his mate.

"Leave," Scripa said.

And Demona ignored her. It was as though the crimson-runed Bloodletter thought Scripa was no longer a threat, which baffled Notane. Scripa was always a threat to Demona, and to the way she lorded over the other Bloodletters. He looked to his mate, a question in his eyes and on the tip of his tongue.

He felt the hatchling move too late. He saw the greed, the madness, become a storm in Demona's crimson eyes, and he flinched as she leapt forward, her considerable mass coming straight for him - and for their hatchling.

Notane needn't have worried.

It was the first time he had ever seen Scripa's power directed at anyone. He trembled at how easily she dealt with the Ridgeback, hardly twitching a muscle to keep the larger dragon pinned in place.

"I hold all the power," Scripa said, and Notane shivered.

Demona left, her pride thoroughly wounded. The Shattered Bloodletters paused in following her to give Scripa equally calculating looks, which she ignored in favour of pacing up to Notane.

"You are not hurt?"

"I am fine," he assured her quickly. "The hatchling too."

Scripa nodded. "This cannot go on."

Notane was not surprised. "Would you like me to talk to everyone?" The Hard Bloodletters, he knew, would relish the chance to end this. Salpicar would follow Adrika, and most of the Softs followed Salpicar.

Scripa sighed. "We had best speak to them all."