Blight

xxxxxThat's the motto of the Plaguebringer, and it's been adopted by Blight since she was hatched. Her parents, ever superstitious, threw her out of the nest the day she was born because of her eyes: sclera blacker than nights in the Tangled Wood and irises redder than freshly-spilled blood. Her pupils were slits, reminiscent of a snake's, with the genes to match. She heard whispers of words she didn't yet understand at her young age, but never forgot. Shade-touched, the healers murmured when she opened her eyes. The Bloodbound, the oracles and scholars breathed when they noticed the crimson of her scales and the wraithlike pattern that slithered up her wings.


xxxxxBanished, the clan leader declared when her parents expressed their fears. A blight even the hardiest Plague clan would not survive.


xxxxxShe took her name from the malicious words. She was on her own, a dangerous thing for a young Mirror. It was exactly what her clan had wanted: she would die alone, exposed to the elements, maybe be killed by a Serthis looking for a quick meal.


xxxxxToo bad they hadn't counted on compassion.


xxxxxA sweet Snapper, leaving the Viridian Labyrinth for the first time to wander Sornieth, came upon the first beautiful thing she had seen thus far since entering the Wasteland: a tiny Mirror hatchling. Tears were flowing from the infant's wonderfully unique eyes. Not Shade-touched after all, just a rare genetic mutation. Quinn knew a bit about life in the Scarred Wasteland, but she hadn't expected the survivalism to begin so soon. She did know, however, about how superstitous this flight could be, not at all like their northern neighbours. Every other dragon who had seen her had probably ran or flown away as fast as they could the moment they spotted the dark of her eyes.


xxxxxQuinn wouldn't. She knew what it was like to be judged for her birth conditions.


xxxxxShe took in little Blight and carved out a place for them on the edges of the Wandering Contagion, for the Mirror's benefit. Quinn knew she couldn't stay long. Her nomadic nature would give her a few months at most before she had to leave the Wasteland behind and enter the Tangled Wood en route back to her birthplace. She taught Blight history, teaching her everything she knew about the First and Third Ages, even about the ancient rivalry between the Gladekeeper and Plaguebringer.


xxxxxShe taught her what she knew about fending for herself. Fishing for seafood, something they could both enjoy. Building a shelter. How to care for others, and if they didn't reciprocate it, how to fight back.


xxxxxIt was hard to stay anywhere for long: Quinn would abruptly get up from their shared burrow and start walking towards a new location, Blight scurrying behind her with what few belongings they shared. Perhaps this constant movement helped. It kept Blight from meeting too many unsavory dragons who could connect her - or, more likely, her eyes - to a location where they could rid the world of her abnormality. And probably take Quinn with her.


xxxxxBlight learned to trust her new guardian. The now-adolescent Mirror was certainly curious, intelligent, and creative. She was constantly asking questions, and used her knowledge of fishing to adapt it to hunting. Her flying abilities left much to be desired, as one would expect when raised by a Snapper, but she did manage to catch a few sparrows and used the skulls, feathers, and sinew to imitate the jewelry Quinn wore. Quinn was very proud of her daughter for making such a piece and helped her drape it over her wings.


xxxxxMonths later, Quinn and Blight were planning to settle down at the southern edge of the Abiding Boneyard where it bordered with the Wandering Contagion so they could form their own clan. Quinn had made lots of contacts with the nomadic packs via tradewinds gull and the duo was expecting a few of them to arrive the next morning. They found it hard to fall asleep that night with all the excitement.


xxxxxThe first new member arrived a few hours earlier than promised. It was the middle of the night, and pitch black. Blight heard the sounds of rustling and woke up her guardian. Her heat-sensing eyes picked up the faintest signature, and it moved very deliberately towards Blight. She backed up a few paces and opened her wings to protect Quinn, unable to tell her what was happening. Her crests flared and her eyes narrowed. The signature was not the shape of a species she knew of nor a Serthis, and Blight felt her heart race at the thought of this unknown threat. She looked back at Quinn to check on her for the briefest moment, but that was all it took. The stranger leapt at the pair, missing Blight by a crest-length and landing directly on Quinn's jugular.


xxxxxThe metallic scent of blood quickly filled Blight's nostrils, and she let out a scream that could probably be heard from the Reedcleft Ascent. Quinn's body heat swiftly succumbed to the chilly night, but her killer's was still glowing orange. The being in question zipped away, its job done, and filled with rage Blight followed. She pumped her wings up and down with all the flight strength she had; a chase was much harder on her wing muscles than a quick leap. Without her Mirror eyes tracking the assailant's heat signature, she would have been as dead as her guardian.


xxxxxShe quickly caught up. From this distance, the murderer looked like some sort of flying Serthis. Impossible, she thought, but at least its wings were too small to travel quickly. Even with her lack of experience, Blight was fast enough to fly over the Serthis-dragon, tuck her wings in, and dive at her prey, teeth bared for the kill. It shrieked in terror before her jaw closed around it.


xxxxxBlight glided to the ground and dropped the vile thing. Breath heaving, she screamed and raked her claws through it, shredding the body into hunks of bloody flesh. She found a sick delight in taking its warmth, revenge for what it had done to Quinn. When she had finished, it was an unrecognizable pile of meat. She turned her back on it, clenching and unclenching her flight muscles, and loped back to Quinn. What remained of the murderer would only be good enough for the vultures.


xxxxxBack in the den, she curled up in the hollow formed by Quinn's body, hating how empty and cold it felt. Despite this, she pressed her body closer, trying to warm her up as if that was how she would bring her back. She stayed there for the entire night, sobbing, missing her. Blight would do anything to have her only family returned to her. Her heart ached, was sore where that piece of her had been torn out. She would make any deal with anyone she could, and if no one knew a way, she would find one. Shade, she would make one.


xxxxxShe couldn't do anything about it now. Flies were already crawling over Quinn's scales, so she needed to work fast. Blight dug for hours until her claws ached and she needed to fly to reach the rim. She rolled Quinn as gently as she could into the hole (she refused to call it a grave), a tall order considering Quinn was much heavier than she was. She filled the pit with dirt, murmuring soft words with every clawful. Trinkets they had collected together were lain with care on top of the mound to mark it. Blight removed the beaded jewelry from her wings last, but stopped short before placing it with the others. She had an idea.


xxxxxThere must be other dragons out there mourning their loved ones. Survival of the fittest. The Wasteland was merciless, and some dragons weren't strong enough. Quinn had been strong. She was just unlucky. Blight knew it was supposed to have been her. The stranger had missed her and hit Quinn. It was an accident; she wanted to fix accidents. They would be reunited one day, if it took her a lifetime.


xxxxxYes, she thought, raising her head to a godless morning. The weak die so the strong survive.