Brightmyrtle

The stone witch Brightmyrtle is no more than a rumor in some parts, whispers of a dragon with a plan to change the world. Some say that one day the rocks split open, and out she fell, full made, to make a mockery of all things whole. Some say she isn’t real, a wives tale to teach hatchlings not to go into the desert. Her neighbors do not fear her, but trust is something else entirely. Only her mate Lumenthrax, and perhaps some of her children, can pretend to really know her. And even Lumenthrax has questions for her that he’s never asked.

Before she was the Stone Witch, or even Brightmyrtle, she was a mate. Far away, in her native home, she lay clutch after clutch of eggs, none of which would ever hatch. In her amber nest high on the rocks, she and her mate would brood and wait, and not a single egg would ever bare. One night, after another clutch was lost, she dreamt a voice of stone moved through the ground into her ears. It spoke of nothing, but when she awoke, she left her sleeping mate and took to the sky. She flew and followed the aching in her chest.

Over months and years, she slowly dreamt the Earthshaker into her mind. Terrifying dreams, of pillars crashing ceaselessly into a black expanse, her wings torn from her body, her family around her falling, failing… other times, she dreamt of fire streaking through the sky, the sun gone out and black smoke choking her until she couldn't breath, She found her way to Dragonhome, where she would learn her history, and studied at the Pillar of the World. When she’d studied long and hard on the deaths of her many children, and knew that tragedy and loss were as permanent as stone, and that time, as unchanging as it is, is how our ancestors still bring us aid, she flew out once again.

In the vast expanse of Dragonhome, a green and red nest caught her searching eye. Beside it, a great behemoth, a Guardian with pallid scales, lay and looked as if he had been weeping. She looked upon his nest, and saw in it a desperation, a longing to fill up his life with laughter and with peace. She spoke to him, and felt the distant terracotta voice.

So they were mates. He was so strange to her; without a frill, how could she tell if he was scared, or angry, or ready for a fight? His movements were so slow and calculated, he could never flit about like her. At night, she bedded in the crook beneath his wing, and marveled at the locomotion of his heart, dwarfed by the immensity of him. Lumenthrax became her mate at a slow and steady pace, opening his heart and she her own. They each had secrets, each respected those. Her old name--parish it-- was lost now, That old name was someone elses mate. Brightmyrtle was Lumethrax’s mate, and that was that. At night she dreamed as strong as ever, dreams of cosmic grief and long, long memory. By day she learned to sing songs just for rocks. The locals called her rock-witch as she spelled out ancient patterns with the stones, but she cared not. One mans spell is another mans history.

She would hatch eggs that lived. And they would know their history.

Along the skyline, always, the broken pillar stands and looms above.
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Her heartbeat raced once she was not alone. A stranger in her lair-- unthinkable! But still! The sound of padding paws had reached her ears. Lumenthrax had left to fish the river wide, and she had only stopped to rest her eyes... she crouched low in the bowl of the nest. She would die before a scavanger would reach her clutch. Out of the shadows, however, came not some thieving beast, but Oakberry. Bigger by far than Brightmyrtle, yes, but soft around the edges. She padded close, and bending low, she licked the top of Brightmyrtle's small head. Brightmyrtle was, understandably, perplexed.

"Stay if you will." she said, when Oakberry had eyed her for a while. "But I'm not going to offer you free meals."

But then, of course, she did.