Sarajevo

Sarajevo

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Following in her father's footsteps, Sarajevo was once a gifted healer and in her youth accumulated a mild sort of fame. After being called out to care for a young Shadow flight dragon who she couldn't save, Sarajevo was cursed to be cloaked in her own personal darkness. Dragons of a Light clan (?) gradually helped her rehabilitate, teaching her an ancient craft of lantern making. Although she never found someone who could break her curse, Sarajevo returned to her birth-clan and has found peace.

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“There’s nothing I can do.”
The young dragon breathed yet, his narrow chest rising and falling by a hair’s breadth. His iridescent, almost oily scales had taken on an ashy quality, as if burning from within. She looked away, heart aching.
Their audience fluttered backwards, hissing and muttering. Dark, ineffable eyes stared back at her from the shadows.
“You said you could help!”
“I can ease his pain,” Sarajevo said. “I--”
“You were supposed to help!”
Sarajevo looked from one face to another, seeking the speaker. Fear gripped her throat, and further words died on her tongue. This was not a crowd for explanations or excuses. Rearing up onto her her hind legs, her gaze locked on her accuser at last.
Shadow poured forth from the spiral’s empty eye-sockets, eating what little light flickered in the lanterns of the hall. Her hide bore the same oily sheen as her son’s, and it glittered wetly as she boiled over, long body twisting and writhing with grief.
“I’m sorry.” Sarajevo said. “Truly.”
At her back, the fledgling’s life-light guttered--and went out.
The mother emitted a raw, guttural wail and took to the air, trailing smoke-like scraps of shadow. Turning back to her patient, Sarajevo gently closed his staring, violet eyes. She had never lost a patient before. Never.
The mother landed heavily at her side, still screaming in wordless anguish. When Sarajevo moved to place a paw on her shoulder, she spun around, teeth bared, weeping darkness.
“Void take you,” she growled. “Get away! AWAY! Let the Shadowbinder lock you in his endless night, that you might never see your precious light again!”
Sarajevo scrambled out of the crazed spiral’s reach, into the grip of the waiting crowd. Fighting free of their grasping claws and talons, she half-flew, half-fell into the entryway. Not pausing for a backward glance, she galloped through the twisting tunnels, choosing her path at random as she came to a fork and then another. At last, panting and muscles aching, she slowed.
No menacing silent pursuers closed the gap, and as one heartbeat lapsed into another, none appeared. They had allowed her to leave, or she had left them behind. But in her mad-dash through the labyrinthine innards of the Shadow clan’s lair, Sarajevo had lost any sense of direction she’d had. Polished stone and fine wooden arches had given way to packed earth and twisted roots. The glowing fungus that coated the walls seemed dimmer here too, as Sarajevo peered about herself.
Retracing her steps, she returned to the last fork and took the tunnel that seemed to slant upwards--only for it to dip down again a few yards in. Was it just her imagination, or was the fungus fading? No. She shook herself. Now was not the time to lose her head. She had to think. After a moment, she cleared her throat.
“Hello?” Better to die at the hands of the voidlings then waste away alone in the dark. “Hello! Anyone?”
Her echoed voice replied in mocking tones. The rest was silence.
Trembling slightly, she returned to fork. It truly was growing darker--with every step, her vision dimmed. But was it the light or her eyes? Growling angrily at her own fear, Sarajevo began to tear into the earthen wall. At first, her claws dug shallow grooves, but soon they came away with sticky chunks of clay. Pushing her body up, into the dirt, into the dark, Sarajevo wormed her way up.
Either she would suffocate, or she would live to see the stars again. One way or the other.
Her shoulders began to seize. As she pushed the soil back with her wings, her muscles cried out for a pause. Just a little further. Then she would take a break. Just a few more lengths. Surely.
Surely.
The texture changed: less clay, more silt. She welcomed the variety, even as sticky muck gave way to coarse and coarser grain.
Water. It trickled down her forelimb, a tendril of frost. Wracked with thirst, she lapped at the soil and spat back mud. Another dragon-length. And another. And--
Water, not just a trickle but a flood of it. With one final push, she broke free of the earth entirely. The lakebed rose around her, and slick, unseen creatures flitting around her body. Gills and webbed claws filling with water, Sarajevo stretched her poor cramped wings. Dizzy with relief and oxygen, she let the current carry her, swirling gently through the dark. Then: the surface. Birds singing to the accompaniment of insect hum and bullfrog percussion. She breathed in the must of leaf litter and stagnant water and moss. Heaving herself ashore, she closed her eyes and gave up moving for a time.
She woke with no idea how long she’d been asleep.
Sunlight warmed her hide and something nearby was having a fit, honking and splashing. Raising her head, she opened her eyes. And opened her eyes again. Closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened her eyes.
Dimly, she could make out shapes. The sun overhead, a tree to her left. Light and dark. Mostly dark.
Heart stuttering beneath her collarbone, she began to mutter a quick cantrip to sharpen sight, and then began another to clear glaucoma, and a third to ease bruising. Nothing. No change at all. Now panicking in earnest, Sarajevo rummaged through her bags. They were full of mud, but the vials felt intact. She drew the rune for sight on her forehead in what smelled like flycatcher extract, muttering its sign under her breath.
She waited, but the darkness seemed unmoved by her efforts.
Then she remembered the voidling mother.
“. . . Shadowbinder,” Sarajevo muttered.