Eiko

When she first meets him, she is brushing the snow off the flowers and humming to herself, a mindless little tune. But it is hard to miss the entrance of an Imperial, and when she sees the shadow in the corridor, she stops and looks up. He is larger than she expected, and she shrinks back, but he does not seem to mean her any harm.

“H-hello,” she says, when he makes no indication of speaking.

She finds herself the sole focus of his intimidating yellow gaze, but then he bows his head to her eye-level.

“Hello,” he says. His voice is low and grave. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“I was born here, not long ago,” she says, and tilts her head up.

Her eyes are purple, and the Imperial blinks and sits back on his haunches. “Shadow… yes, we did find a Shadow egg recently. So that was you.”

She nods, and he turns his attention to the garden. “What are you doing?”

“Looking after the plants,” she says, after a short pause. “There aren’t many Nature dragons in this clan, and I like flowers, so I thought… I might as well…”

“…Hmm. Yes. I suppose you… might as well.”

Is that permission? She isn’t sure, but after a moment, she turns back to tending the flowers. The Imperial settles down, watching, and says no more.

It is hard to forget his presence, but after a while, she finds herself singing nonetheless.



He has no interest in the other dragons of the clan, and little interest in much else, but still he comes to the gardens. For a while, she wonders what he wants. After a time, she decides it doesn’t matter.

Life finds a way to thrive even in the Southern Icefield. Flowers and trees fill her corner of the lair. Birdsong is accompanied by the fluttering of hundreds of tiny wings. In a clan always full of dragons, visiting and traveling, coming and going, it is her little oasis of peace. It is her job, self-assigned, to tend the gardens. It is his job to look after all that the clan holds dear.

He tells her this, when she asks, and she knows without further explanation that he refers to the animals that have come to call this place home. For some reason, the thought makes her laugh, and he when he regards her curiously, she says, “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

“I talk when there is something that needs saying,” he says.

“Mm. And it means what you have to say is all the more important.”

Usually their interactions consist of little more than comfortable silence. Perhaps some dragons would find that maddening, but that is just the way she likes it.



When he conveys his feelings to her, it is in solemn, heavy words. She knows he is sincere; she also knows he is afraid, because this is a matter that he holds to be of the greatest import.

But she laughs and dispels all those fears with that simple sound. “I already knew.”

“You do?” he says, and she nods.

“You never come here to look at the gardens,” she says. “You’re only ever watching me.”