Rianpai

In a colorless land, covered in ice and snow,
Lively dragons claimed the wasteland as their own
_________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________

The Tale

What is home, exactly?

Some call it the roof over your head when the weather gets bad, the rivulets of water running over the windows showing that you are contained, and safe, and given comfort through the material. The concept of home is a living place, written over with memories ingrained into the dents on corners and the stains on the carpet, tales stored inside each nook and cranny, each mark of age its own reminiscing point. It brings pain to leave behind the old furniture and walls when life pushes you out of the building; your life is bound to something you must eventually leave behind.

Some call home the place you feel most belonging to. The friend group you call your own family is a moving home, carrying that same comfort and joy some find inside a building, or a security in their social care. Your trust is that they never break your faith in them. Home can be the classroom with your favorite teacher, who lets you sleep on the back desk until their lesson gets too important to ignore, and lets you eat lunch inside for the quiet. To some, home is the view from 8th and main street, staring up at the rising city and nearly crying from the beauty, from the car sounds and the pigeons, fear of a pointless life being diminished by the feeling of being oh so terribly small under more human creation, things that won't fall in decades and decades and will remain long after the people have moved on. Home is the happiest place.

To some, home doesn't exist. Not because of a saddened tale- in some cases, that may be true as well- but because a wanderlust, or a nomadic chase, is the ideal in their lives. To be constantly moving, sleeping under the stars or waiting for red-eyes in airport terminals, that is the life that creates joy or at least fulfillment. It's not a life most can take, but those who walk it should feel a pride in their ability to adapt. Still, though... Remember to meet people on your way. Loneliness is a fair and equal judge to all. Home doesn't have to exist for happiness...

Again, some call home where they came from. A homeland, a homestead, a childhood home. Home is origin, it's walking where your parents and their parents and their parents went before; it is the smoothed forest trail made by the wild game, the animals not so different from you when you look closely; the pothole-filled road that's existed since before there were cars to drive it. It's the place they may have never seen but deep down know it is the land of peace in their soul, where they can exist without judgement and as the majority. It's the origin of all nostalgia, every trait bringing back that intense longing that may never be obtainable again. They say home is where the heart is, and the heart is bound to that doorstep you fell down as a toddler.

Where does your home lie? Hearth, Hands, Hustle, Heritage? Where exactly lies your comfort?

---

Rianpai grew up as a squirmy little spiral, thick around the midsection with small wings inherited from her father. She never quite grew long enough to fill into her weight; then again, she never really grew much at all. perhaps the plague land diet kept her so small? At the least, they did live on the border where things weren't so hot and muggy. Her, her parents, and her older sister in a quiet and private home, happy and gentle as can be.

She was always her father's daughter, and loved hearing about his tales of travel and where he came from. Every evening after an evening meal, her mother could find her tangled in her father's mane, listening to his with apt attention as he taught her about snow and ice- things she'd never seen- and the Fractallian clan, where her grandparents still lived. The concept of being so cold you could see your breath was like magic! Well, obviously not very impressive magic given her father had real ice breath, but her magic capabilities stopped at bad breath, and anything from Kaine could impress the little spiral. She knew once she grew up, she wanted to see that land for herself.

She grew up too quickly, or at least her mom always said so as Rainpai stopped growing just shy of her mother's length and size. But in her head, it couldn't be fast enough. Her brother was staying behind with the family, and with her father's blessing she was free to go zipping off into the sky, taking the long journey to his homeland with dried rations to last her the whole way. Amazingly, even as it was her first time travelling alone, no ill befell her.

Camping under the stars on the ocean border of the arcane lands was such a fascination! Strange formations not too unlike the bone-like spines from home, though the magical strength of the native creatures frightened her. She even blended in better to this world- blues and pinks not so glaring anymore. But, she continued south as quickly as she could. The world she was approaching would be more fantastical than magic.

Flying in polar wind became much more of a chore. She quickly discovered that her wings would ice over if she glided for long enough on the currents from the snowmelt she accumulated. Landing had to be frequent, sliding over ice and using claws for traction to not tip straight into the sea! The conditions were rough, but she always managed to find half-decent shelter, trees and burrows, to curl up inside.

In the next couple days, she reached the point of no return she was always warned about; the completely flat void of the Reclaimer's Glacier, no landmarks or shelter to be had. Her dad told her to be extremely careful here- dragons without direction never left the snowbanks. Blizzards were frequent. Losing sight of the sun and stars, even more so. But she'd been given strict directions and lessons she'd been sure to memorize.

Yes, those days were difficult, being buffeted by winds and knocked from the sky, waiting out storms, shivering while watching for stars. Eating the last of her rations with a small anxiety over such a light pack. Growing weary of the flattened land. On her third day struggling through the winds in the wastes, something... curious, caught her eye through the blinding kicked up snow. A bright patch of... Flowers?

No, they weren't flowers- as she approached, she could tell their incredibly neon coloration was too... inflated to be a petal. They were some kind of mushrooms, judging by the gills... gently taking them in her claws, she inspected the strange plants with awe. Even here- even here, there were such great things. Her interest never waned as she pried herself away to fly on, and she swore she'd come back to find the beautiful blooms once she'd settled in. And after one last half day of travel...

She caught sight of green trees in the wasteland, a pinprick on the horizon. Matir's taiga! She remembered the stories of the sweetheart, and the kindness her grandfather had shown to the brown spiral, and how she'd been like an aunt to her father.

It was time to meet her family, her grandparents and adoptive great-grandparents, the two entangled clans and the fantastical warmth that surrounded their domain.

It was time to find her destined home.

Little Sister, Little Friend

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Curabitur varius augue quis semper blandit. Donec et turpis at odio euismod posuere. Sed lacinia nisi sit amet cursus rhoncus. Quisque malesuada risus eget justo ornare, id aliquet velit accumsan. Donec faucibus dui sed nulla pharetra iaculis. Ut a fermentum tellus, quis rhoncus ligula.