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Sorry it took me so long, but apparently I felt the need to write over a thousand words?
Greymatter's name had been both a description and a joke, once. She prided herself on her dedication to logic, to intellect; she favored brain over heart if ever they were in conflict. But at the same time, shades of grey had no place in her world. She saw a stark division between right and wrong, and she had no patience for those who tried to confuse and complicate matters.
She knew her values. She knew what was important. She'd lived her entire life in the Southern Icefields - not in the clan of her birth, but the land of her birth. The cold was a part of her, so deep in her bones she couldn't feel it until it was gone.
She'd never expected that to happen, but the Viridian Labyrinth was the opposite side of the world in every conceivable way. It was an unexpected trip, escorting a would-be exalt who'd had second thoughts back to her home. The girl was soft, foolish, gangly and awkward, but after she cracked a joke about "cold feet" that earned her a glare from Greymatter, at least she was quiet.
The trip took them all the way to the Behemoth, at the heart of the Nature territory. "Here?" Greymatter asked. It was so hot here, and humid, and so... noisy. The howl of the wind was missing, but instead there were noises from so many living things - howls and chatters and birds calling and leaves rustling.
"Yes, down here!" The youngster drew her wings in close to her body and dove, all fear of Greymatter long-forgotten, and Greymatter was left with the choice to follow, or count her task done and turn back.
She'd never fully be able to explain what moved her to follow the girl down through the jungle canopy.
She tried, though. "Just curiosity," she said, when her new hosts asked. "I've never left the Icefields."
They seemed to think of her as a traveler, at first, one of the many that they hosted. Just passing through. And so did she. She could go home whenever she wanted. She reminded herself of that, whenever the heat left her sprawled out, wearily, in the high branches of some tree where she could at least catch a breeze. She remembered the way she used to feel a little proud, a little condescending, whenever a dragon from some other region shivered in temperatures she considered mild. Were they smiling internally in the same way down below? It was too hot to care.
But then the rain came. A drop on her wing, her arm, her head, and then, abruptly, a downpour. She'd heard of rain, certainly, but this was a nightmare! She scrambled down to ground level, but water was still dripping through the branches, falling on her in unpredictable dribbles. She raced for the main clan structure against the Behemoth's trunk, and waited until she was undercover to shake herself off like a dog.
"That was exciting," a deep voice rumbled from nearby.
"That's one way of looking at it," she said. She'd met the speaker before - Zalitz, an Imperial, one of the clan's chief warriors. He often stationed himself near the huge entryway to the main structure, like a guard, though they never seemed to fear any danger.
Shaking herself off had rid her of some of the water, but not enough. She felt disgusting. "Ugh, I need a towel. Many towels."
"I'll see what I can do," he said, to her surprise, getting up and moving further in.
Really? "Thank... you?" she called after him.
He brought her a pile of towels, made for dragons of their size - "lucky for you it wasn't some poor fae on duty," he said, and she replied, "I'd have drowned the poor thing" - and he helped her to dry the spaces between the spines on her back that were always hard to reach.
"Better?" he asked, finally, and she nodded.
"Much," she said. "Thank you."
"I'll put in a word with the cooks about seabeak soup," he said, leaving her with a pile of damp towels and a newfound motivation to at least stay for dinner.
Not that she was going to leave while it was raining, of course. Or after dark. But soon, she told herself. Any sensible Ridgeback would take it as a sign, and flee this sweltering place where water fell from the sky - so much so that all the locals spoke, horrifyingly, of a "rainy season." But inexplicably, even to herself, Greymatter stayed.
Oh, she had her reasons. There was the prospect of an entire season of rain, after all. She might as well wait that out. But she also felt... different, here. It was hot enough to melt the cold from her bones, and sometimes she wondered if it had melted more than that. These nature dragons were all as soft as the youngling she'd brought back to them, silly and sentimental. They observed ridiculous taboos - don't eat that kind of animal, don't pick the first or the last fruit of the season from this particular tree but no others, you should only use the red flowers from this plant to make tea - and they showed their emotions as freely as hatchlings.
She remembered her first winter, in the Icefields. She'd been a hatchling, still, and she'd thought she might die of the cold. She'd huddled close to her siblings and shivered and cried. How many winters had it taken before she was hardened into the ice she'd been so proud of?
She was still proud of that. She'd withstood conditions that would kill most of these dragons. She understood, as they didn't, that sometimes coldness and harshness were required, that sometimes difficult decisions must be made.
But at the same time, her home clan had been a place of warmth, of love, and she valued that, too. These nature dragons might have rules and customs that made no sense to her, but their hospitality and kindness were familiar. They didn't even run an inn, though several of them spoke of establishing one, from time to time - they hosted travelers simply out of hospitality.
They were naive, and reckless. She'd heard the stories of the calamity that had once befallen her home clan; she knew this world was a dangerous place. They were fools, but for some reason she couldn't hate them for that, and they seemed to need a voice of reason here.
She'd just have to stay and be that voice, then.
Sorry it took me so long, but apparently I felt the need to write over a thousand words?
Greymatter wrote:
Greymatter's name had been both a description and a joke, once. She prided herself on her dedication to logic, to intellect; she favored brain over heart if ever they were in conflict. But at the same time, shades of grey had no place in her world. She saw a stark division between right and wrong, and she had no patience for those who tried to confuse and complicate matters.
She knew her values. She knew what was important. She'd lived her entire life in the Southern Icefields - not in the clan of her birth, but the land of her birth. The cold was a part of her, so deep in her bones she couldn't feel it until it was gone.
She'd never expected that to happen, but the Viridian Labyrinth was the opposite side of the world in every conceivable way. It was an unexpected trip, escorting a would-be exalt who'd had second thoughts back to her home. The girl was soft, foolish, gangly and awkward, but after she cracked a joke about "cold feet" that earned her a glare from Greymatter, at least she was quiet.
The trip took them all the way to the Behemoth, at the heart of the Nature territory. "Here?" Greymatter asked. It was so hot here, and humid, and so... noisy. The howl of the wind was missing, but instead there were noises from so many living things - howls and chatters and birds calling and leaves rustling.
"Yes, down here!" The youngster drew her wings in close to her body and dove, all fear of Greymatter long-forgotten, and Greymatter was left with the choice to follow, or count her task done and turn back.
She'd never fully be able to explain what moved her to follow the girl down through the jungle canopy.
She tried, though. "Just curiosity," she said, when her new hosts asked. "I've never left the Icefields."
They seemed to think of her as a traveler, at first, one of the many that they hosted. Just passing through. And so did she. She could go home whenever she wanted. She reminded herself of that, whenever the heat left her sprawled out, wearily, in the high branches of some tree where she could at least catch a breeze. She remembered the way she used to feel a little proud, a little condescending, whenever a dragon from some other region shivered in temperatures she considered mild. Were they smiling internally in the same way down below? It was too hot to care.
But then the rain came. A drop on her wing, her arm, her head, and then, abruptly, a downpour. She'd heard of rain, certainly, but this was a nightmare! She scrambled down to ground level, but water was still dripping through the branches, falling on her in unpredictable dribbles. She raced for the main clan structure against the Behemoth's trunk, and waited until she was undercover to shake herself off like a dog.
"That was exciting," a deep voice rumbled from nearby.
"That's one way of looking at it," she said. She'd met the speaker before - Zalitz, an Imperial, one of the clan's chief warriors. He often stationed himself near the huge entryway to the main structure, like a guard, though they never seemed to fear any danger.
Shaking herself off had rid her of some of the water, but not enough. She felt disgusting. "Ugh, I need a towel. Many towels."
"I'll see what I can do," he said, to her surprise, getting up and moving further in.
Really? "Thank... you?" she called after him.
He brought her a pile of towels, made for dragons of their size - "lucky for you it wasn't some poor fae on duty," he said, and she replied, "I'd have drowned the poor thing" - and he helped her to dry the spaces between the spines on her back that were always hard to reach.
"Better?" he asked, finally, and she nodded.
"Much," she said. "Thank you."
"I'll put in a word with the cooks about seabeak soup," he said, leaving her with a pile of damp towels and a newfound motivation to at least stay for dinner.
Not that she was going to leave while it was raining, of course. Or after dark. But soon, she told herself. Any sensible Ridgeback would take it as a sign, and flee this sweltering place where water fell from the sky - so much so that all the locals spoke, horrifyingly, of a "rainy season." But inexplicably, even to herself, Greymatter stayed.
Oh, she had her reasons. There was the prospect of an entire season of rain, after all. She might as well wait that out. But she also felt... different, here. It was hot enough to melt the cold from her bones, and sometimes she wondered if it had melted more than that. These nature dragons were all as soft as the youngling she'd brought back to them, silly and sentimental. They observed ridiculous taboos - don't eat that kind of animal, don't pick the first or the last fruit of the season from this particular tree but no others, you should only use the red flowers from this plant to make tea - and they showed their emotions as freely as hatchlings.
She remembered her first winter, in the Icefields. She'd been a hatchling, still, and she'd thought she might die of the cold. She'd huddled close to her siblings and shivered and cried. How many winters had it taken before she was hardened into the ice she'd been so proud of?
She was still proud of that. She'd withstood conditions that would kill most of these dragons. She understood, as they didn't, that sometimes coldness and harshness were required, that sometimes difficult decisions must be made.
But at the same time, her home clan had been a place of warmth, of love, and she valued that, too. These nature dragons might have rules and customs that made no sense to her, but their hospitality and kindness were familiar. They didn't even run an inn, though several of them spoke of establishing one, from time to time - they hosted travelers simply out of hospitality.
They were naive, and reckless. She'd heard the stories of the calamity that had once befallen her home clan; she knew this world was a dangerous place. They were fools, but for some reason she couldn't hate them for that, and they seemed to need a voice of reason here.
She'd just have to stay and be that voice, then.
