Bujo

Bujo wandered around the Windswept Plateau. He had been forced out of the Scarred Wasteland by his birth clan once they realized that he was related to Naomi, even though the connection was three generations removed. He found a secluded spot in the Zephyr Steppes where he could lay down and closed his eyes.

"I'll just rest for a few minutes." He thought. "Just long enough to regain some strength to look for food."

As Bujo drifted off, his mind wandered to his former clanmates. As he slept, a mist surrounded him and a soft voice whispered, "See what your lineage has wrought upon your clan."

When he opened his eyes, he was back in Rotrock Rim. He was looking over the head of the clan. The head was meeting with the elders, trying to figure out rations for the lean season. Bujo startled, and realized that this wasn't the present. It must be a few months ago, since there was a large amount of meat in the storehouse. There certainly wasn't that much when he left a few days ago. The head and elders were arguing about how much meat everyone should get per day, especially since there were so many wildclaws in the clan. They did a count and realized that if all the other dragons ate foods that they didn't prefer for half the meals, then there would be enough for the wildclaws until they were able to hunt more. Some dragons would be unhappy, but if they were to get through it, they would have to accept the rationing.

The scene faded into another, this time it was clear by the meat stores that something had happened. The elders didn't seem to be much older, and they were all there, so none had died. A quick peek out the door when the last elder filed in and Bujo realized that it must have been just after the start of the lean season, the trees had lost whatever little they gained during the growing season. It must be only a few days ago, after he had left. The head was pacing back and forth, clearly agitated about the lack of meat. Bujo watched as they fought about how to feed the hungry eildclaws, trying to decide how much less they would have to eat to get through the season without starving. The discussion went on for a long time, and eventually it was determined that the clan would have to split up. The wildclaws would have to leave for the lean season, and try to find refuge with a neighboring clan.

Bujo followed the clan head out of the storehouse as he went to make the proclamation to the clan. After the clan had gathered and learned of the news, many of the families started crying. There were mixed families that had parents of two different breeds and younglings of the same. They would have to be split up so that they all had the best chance of survival. Bujo started to feel for the children, they were to be cast out just like he had been. Granted, they would be able to come back in the future, but the next few months were uncertain.

He realized that it was his actions that had created this conflict. He had been the one that had brought back the rotten piece of meat that had infected most of the other stores. Maybe his bloodline really is cursed by his great-grandmother. The images faded out and he slowly woke up.

"Well." he mused. "I can't hold a grudge against them for kicking me out now. I really did split up a lot of families in one fell swoop. Who will be willing to take me in now? And will this curse make me do that to another clan?"