Aina

When she reached adulthood, as was proper, she set herself to deciding what her defining talent would be.

“It will be impressive, of course,” her father said, tapping her cheek affectionately with a whisker before continuing on to his favorite polishing seat.

Her mother, too perceptive, nuzzled her briefly. “Choose what is right for you,” she said softly.

The young dragon pulled away hastily, causing her mother to sigh. For a moment she considered admitting how difficult it all was. The expectations. The fond and patient looks from her parents, so confident that their daughter would manifest something that proved her truly remarkable even among Pearlcatchers. Some noble calling from deep within her. They didn’t understand that no matter how hard she listened, nothing would speak.

No. She couldn’t say that to anyone. She was a Pearlcatcher.

She gazed down into the depths of her pearl. So small yet, it barely filled a cupped hand. What memories would it contain in its layers to come?

Days passed. There was no need to hurry; long and careful meditation over the choice of one’s life’s direction was considered a sign of refinement. But each day galled her more and more.

She couldn’t think of anything.

The arts of the hand were not for her. Her eye for color was no better than a Guardian’s, her ear barely adequate for her to learn Coatl if she so desired. Dance ... she enjoyed it, but possessed no more than her native grace, and that just wasn’t enough. In desperation she considered the way of the warrior, but retreated from the lurid imaginings that notion conjured with a shudder. And while she could have been a mapmaker, or a lair-shaper, or a researcher of plants--her great strengths seemed to lie in her fine powers of observation and memory for detail--she knew full well that her father would never, ever consider any of these sufficient for the family honor.

And then, one night, as she curled and recurled herself restlessly around her pearl, it hit her. The most difficult talent of all for a Pearlcatcher to master. Impossible, many said. This would impress her father. And her mentor in this tremendous undertaking would be her mother. She would understand. And she, always able to see the truth, would help Aina truly achieve her goal.

Her tail lashed in the darkness, thumping against the cushions. I will master this, she vowed. This talent, this impossible task. I will master the art ... of modesty.