Tiptap

tiptaptiptap

The skitter of claws across the ground barely registers in Zeal's ears; the Abiding Boneyard is full of dragons and Beastclan wanderers alike, and his duty is merely to put down any that pose a discernible threat to Haven. It isn’t until the thing darts across the path in front of him that he pauses, flaring his nostrils and narrowing his eyes. He can’t smell anything unusual, which makes him all the more suspicious.

“Who’s there?” Zeal calls gruffly, stretching his wings out and falling into a familiar fighting stance. “Reveal and declare yourself. I am a Warden of Haven, and this close to the city, you are under our jurisdiction.”

All that answers is the humid wind, and after a moment, he shakes his head. Maybe he imagined it. It could have been—Plaguebringer forbid—a tumbleweed, he decides.

…

tiptaptiptap

“What was that?” Zeal whips toward the sound, expecting to see the culprit. The Abiding Boneyard stretches out in front of him and Caspian, empty as it has been every time he hears that blasted noise. The Imperial regards him curiously, and Zeal wonders (as he often does) if there’s an amount of disdain in the look.

“I didn’t hear anything. But there’s nothing there. I’d smell it.”

“I thought so too, but I’ve never been able to. I just hear…rrh, never mind.”

Caspian hums lowly. “All right then. Shall we continue? I know Chief Remir wanted us back before noon.”

“Yeah.” Zeal pads along after him, though he glances over his shoulder more than once as they return to Haven’s main gate.

…

tiptaptiptap

“There,” Zeal mutters through gritted teeth. “I swear, if you couldn’t hear that, you have wool in your ears.”

“Zeal, it could have been anything. Probably a rat.” Oriana rolls her eyes—a sight that always makes Zeal wonder if it makes her dizzy—and flicks her tail irritably. “You need to let this go. There’s talk that you’re sick, you know. Go see Juniper, or at least quit obsessing over this.”

“It’s not—rrh,” Zeal sighs, frustrated, “It’s not my imagination, and I’m not sick.”

Oriana frowns. “It’s not me you need to convince, dear.”

…

tiptapti-

“Got you!” Zeal growls, pouncing. He slaps his paw down on a tail (wait, two tails?) and the creature he’s caught squeals in a mixture of pain and fear. Two sets of needle-sharp teeth embed themselves in his arm guard and he gapes in shock at the creature…no, dragon hatchling. He uses his free paw to grab it around the middle and pulls until its jaws come loose from his arm. The hatchling struggles in his grip, twin heads snapping violently.

“What in Plaguebringer’s name are you?” he asks dumbly, uncaring of the hatchling’s panic and unsure if it can even respond. “Hey, calm down, kid. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The hatchling merely hisses. Zeal shrugs, and unceremoniously shoves it into his bag, tying it shut tightly before spreading his wings and making a beeline for the closest corridor into the city. His patrol is far less important than this.

Remir looks unimpressed as Zeal bursts into his den without so much as announcing himself. He’s used to the obelisk’s enthusiasm, though his manners leave much to be desired. Caspian, having been there for his own business, shuffles to the side to allow Zeal the metaphorical floor.

“What now, Warden?” Remir asks, venom in his voice barely concealed.

“I told you all I wasn’t imagining it!” Zeal proclaims triumphantly, upending his bag and sending the hatchling spilling out. It hisses again, eyes darting wildly between the three dragons. Caspian lunges to block the exit a split second before it runs out, and it yelps as the more dominant of its two heads collides with the imperial’s leg.

“What in Plaguebringer’s name is that?” Remir asks, eyes wide and fins standing on end.

“It’s a dragon,” Zeal says unhelpfully. He scoops the hatchling up, and it finally quits squirming as all three dragons consider it curiously.

“From where? Look at its eyes; it’s Arcane. But it smells like…us.” Caspian says, peering down at the hatchling.

“Can you talk?” Remir addresses the hatchling directly. “What’s your name? Where are your parents? What are you?”

“Aberration,” the hatchling snarls. It’s a pitiful sound, really, aimed to intimidate with zero of the impact.

Remir nods as if the single word explains everything. “I see, I see. Fascinating. Well. Zeal, if you are willing, I’d like to entrust you with the care of this little one. Make sure some food gets into them and see what else you can learn if they want to talk.”

“Uh…”

“Come now, I have the utmost confidence that a caring parent is just what’s needed in this situation. Off you go, then.”

Remir steers the larger dragon from his den with the determination of someone who really does not want to deal with it right now, and Zeal finds himself trudging back to his own den with the hatchling in tow.

“Do you have a name?” Zeal asks once they’re inside. The kid sulks, his two heads glancing at each other briefly before the right side one shakes a ‘no.’

“Hmm,” Zeal rumbles. He thinks for a moment, then his eyes gleam. “How do you feel about Tiptap?”

The hatchling is silent for a few seconds, each head tilting and seeming to consider it separately while his claws tiptaptiptap on the stone floor below. “Yeah,” he gravels out, “Tiptap.”