Campa

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Campa twisted through the air, feeling the currents as they push and pull at her wings. She loved to fly, as so many wind dragons do, but for her she basically lived in the air, only touching down when her wings grow sore or the winds too cold. Indeed, even now, feeling the ache in her wings, she spiraled lower, alighting on a hill. The grass felt coarse and rough against her paws, so used to the feel of only the wind against them, and her legs felt weak from little use.

Campa wished she could stay in the air forever. But, since that was impossible, she ducked into the forest and tried to find some food.

Some time later, with her stomach now filled with a deer or two, Campa curled up under a rock outcropping and settled down for the night.

When she woke up, there was a statue in front of her. Campa slowly rose, staring curiously. How had it gotten here?

The statue moved.

Campa started, then took a second look. Now that she was a bit more awake, she could feel the air around the dragon, could sense the breath going in and out. She could tell it was not a statue at all, but a guardian. The guardian seemed to have crystalline skin, rough against the air, and leathery wings, curled tight to her body. Perhaps her most striking feature was that of her eyes, completely taken over by small white flowers that curled over her brow. It was the one thing Campa could make out clearly from the mass of purple, marking the stranger as a Primal such as herself.

"May I help you?" Campa said, straightening up. The guardian continued to stare, standing stock-still besides from a twitching of her tail.

"Yes," she said, surprising Campa, for her voice was much deeper than she expected, and rasped like claws against stone. "My name is Wyrril. You are my Charge."

With that, the newly appointed Wyrril tramped over to Campa, squeezing herself into the small outcropping, despite Campa having barely fit in the first place. Her fins were flattened, but Campa could still feel the ridgid spines digging into her ribs.

"...Do you mind?" Campa said, a bit miffed at the invasion of her personal space, and still reeling from the revelation. She knew what a guardian's Charge was, of course. Something magically bound the the dragon, that they would protect for the rest of their life. Campa had heard of guardians having dragon charges before, but that they were usually an object or place. Was she now stuck with this Wyrril forever? Campa led a solitary life away from civilization, on her own and free to do whatever she wanted. She did not have a home, instead wandering around at her fancy and spending the days high above the ground.

"No." Said the guardian, burrowing closer.

Campa huffed, than strained and pulled herself out of the now even tighter fit. She could feel the other moving behind her, probably getting up to follow her. The imperial unfurled her wings, taking off with a mighty flap. She could feel the guardian behind her, claws trailing against the treetops. Did she need contact with the plantlife to discern her location?

She shook her head, dislodging the thoughts. She didn't care what Wyrril needed or did. She swerved sharply, heading for the crosscurrents she could feel to her right. She ducked into them, riding the winds with ease. She could hear the guardian flailing behind her, winds battering her wings. Campa smiled vindictively, then was overcome with worry for a second. The winds were dangerous, definitely, but she was sure that the guardian would risk her life to follow her and instead land.

Sure enough, she felt the presence disappear from behind her, and could feel the guardian swoop down to the ground. Campa glided for a bit longer, than turned lazily. Her inner compass was as perfect as ever, and she flapped her wings leisurely. She would head to the Windswept Plateau, she thought. It had been forever since she had been to her homeland.

Many hours later, when the sky was beeping to a rich violet, Campa landed on the ground. She was on the border of the Scarred Wasteland and the Tangled Wood-she knew better to fly straight across the desert, of course-and was expecting to arrive within a few more days. She had made great distance, having flown across almost the entirety of Dragonhome within a day. She found a shady clearing amongst the sparse trees of the border, the skies clear of rain and the forest unpopulated enough to rest undisturbed.

She curled up, a smile on her face as she pictured her homeland. While venturing all over Sornieth was enjoyable, she did miss the windy cliffs.

She heard a thump behind her, felt a warmth settle against her side, and shifted uncomfortably against the spines digging into her side.

Campa was going to scream.

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In which Campa is tired and Wyrril has determination but no social skills whatsoever.

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