Four

Four is the epitome of a plague mirror. Large, strong, lean and fast, Four's splattered white body gives him the appearance of being covered in blood, and he survived a bad burn which left his wingtips blackened and holey. The skull he wears covers his burnt head. He rarely talks and only responds to the name Four, seemingly having no 'proper' name.

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Four

Four eggs. Four hatchlings. The Mother was supposed to be part of a strong pack, not holed up in a crevice squatting over a bunch of eggs. When the eggs hatched, Mother tried to rejoin her pack only to find that the hatchlings couldn't keep up, couldn't run across the wasteland yet. They stumbled over bones and ditches. Mother lashed her tail and snarled and picked up her pups and carried them one at a time over crevices they couldn't jump. One. Two. Three. Four. She said this to herself every time she had to look back over her shoulder and check, every time she had to pick them up in her maw, every time they stopped for the night.

Mirrors weren't meant to be alone, and Mother was impatient to rejoin her pack. They had come across others, but it wasn't hers, and she was determined to find hers. Across a stream of putrid green water - One, Two, Three, Four. Mother had fallen into a routine, and certain hatchlings had been designated certain numbers for Mother to keep track of, to differentiate. Names? No, no, these weren't names, it was just temporary, for until they got home. Once they were in a pack, they would be named properly.

Sometimes, Mother had to fight monsters, beastclans, even other dragons, and she would dig her claws into their flesh and rip, lock her jaws around them and bite down as hard as she could while her hatchlings scattered to find places to hide. Once she was done, bloody and tired, she would find them one at a time. One... Two... Three... Four.

The hatchlings grew faster, their stamina increased, their footing stable on the uneven, fleshy ground. Mother could sling her neck over her shoulder while she was running and count her hatchlings keeping pace with her. One, Two, Three, Four. Now, when Mother had to slash and bite at enemies, her children could help, jumping on the backs of their foes and biting ankles.

One day, a monster appeared, a huge, mutated Toridae. Mother lunged at it and fought viciously, but it was stronger, and Mother's teeth could not pierce its scales. Battered by its attacks, Mother called her children and fled, running across the boneyard, ducking between giant skeletons. One, Three, Four. Two, Three. Four, One. Three, One. Two, One, Three. Mother couldn't keep track of her children as they weaved through the uneven ground to avoid the pursuing Toridae. And then a pack was running towards them, turning the tide on the monster. Mirrors descended upon the mutated reptile and Mother lost all track of her children, returning to the fight.

When the Toridae finally fell, the pack feasted on the remnants and turned to leave. Mother spotted four red-and-white children within the throng and called them. They would follow this pack.

When they settled down for the night, one of her children washed his skin of his red splatters. Mother stared as the Mirror she thought was her fourth hatchling turned pure white, blood splatters washing off.

She returned to the place they had fought the Toridae and searched the entire area with the help of her pack, but they could not find her Fourth.

Mother counted her hatchlings obsessively. As promised, she had named her children when they joined the pack, but she counted in her head. One, Two, Three, and nothing, every time they left a shelter. One, Two, Three, and nothing, every time they started to eat. One, Two, Three, and Four, who would forever be Four, the last one in the list, and nothing else.