Trundle

Snappers are most like sea turtles. As a group, they hatch together, without family anywhere to be seen, but already knowing where to go. They hatch as they'll live their lives - walking.

Trundle's snapper instincts were no less, despite her lack of back legs and the strong plague instincts brought by Plaguebringer's blessing of elemental energies. Hatch. Rest. Front leg forward. Front leg forward. Pull. Rest. Front leg forward. Front leg forward. Pull. Rest.

She was one of the first to hatch, and had the opportunity to watch all the eggs around her rock and crack and reveal walking snappers, already moving toward their goal.

Front leg forward. Front leg forward. Pull. Front leg--- No, rest.

Belly on the ground, Trundle quickly became aware of the pulsating beat of the plague lands. The world was alive and striving. Beautiful.

Front leg foward. Front leg forward. Pull. Front leg forward. Front leg forward. Pull. Rest.

Trundle couldn't hear the others any long, but that was beautiful, too. Just hatched, she already knew that the pounding of little feet and shuffling of dragging tails fading into nothing was a good sign. Nothing had interrupted them, and the ground still smelled of them, and just them. And everything else the ground smelled like. Interesting.

Front leg forward. Front leg foward. Pull. Frong leg forward - Oh, ow! Okay, that plant stung.Amazing, plants could defend themselves. The baby heartily approved of that, and took strength from it. Turn? Could she turn and avoid it? Front leg side. Shuffle, shuffle. Front leg side. Pull. Okay, yes. She could be strong like the little plant, too.

Trundle learned a lot in the first several hours of her life, and moved steadily onward without any hesitation. Everything was beautiful and interesting and amazing. Instinctively she knew that everything fought for survival, but it never occurred to her that she was, too. It certainly didn't come to mind that everything around her was more likely to survive her first 24 hours of life than herself.

---

Grum knew it. Those blasted snappers had laid their eggs in his front territory. He'd grumbled and grumped at the eggs every day, but never failed to stop by - and more often the longer they sat there. Why, he'd be horrified if anyone knew, but between you and me--- several of those eggs only survived because of his watch. We certainly can't suggest that he was delighted when he sniffed the air to smell a new hatchling smell, nor that he'd plodded alongside those hatchlings for most the first the day. The abundant food along their track certainly had had nothing to do with the tundra.

For all of his troubles, he was still a plague dragon, and those were still young plague snappers that had hatched. When the day grew long, it was time to give his farewells and head home before exhaustion found him in an unpleasant situation. If they survived, it was because they were meant to survive. That was all there was to that.

"Oh, another trundler!" the tundra grumped out his surprise at seeing the baby snapper - somewhat off her path, and practically at his front door. "Blessed the same as me, I see it. Double blessed, are you, tiny trundler? A start like that will make you strong in the future."

Before he'd finished his words, certainly not covered with awe at the tyke's determination, Grum already held her wheelbarrow-style, and half-guided, half-shoved her into his den where he fed her and lectured her about not going out to wander at night. He certainly wouldn't be awake to see how she fared.

It was only instinct that she didn't listen to his warnings, and the next morning Grum had to wheelbarrow her back to his den, a routine they followed each morning and evening until - thank the plague mother - her instincts redirected to count a circling path around his home as her path to wander.

---

Grum was not the inventor of her wheelchair, but that is a tale for another time.


Grum