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*****

Chapter One Hundred Seven

*****

The First awoke slowly, awash in hazy memories of trudging through endless sand, and unfamiliar mortal pain. A once-hideous headache lingered as a dull thump. He pushed himself up onto his elbows to gaze around. Though the room was dark and empty, the cool dampness of his fur told him someone had recently tended him.

“Mica.” The First spoke her name aloud, and the sound of it brought a smile to his muzzle. “My flash of light in the desert.”

He sat up on the sleeping mat. Hints of sunlight shone around thick hide curtains, providing dim light. The building was constructed of sunbaked clay and sand daubed onto a latticework of wood and sturdy reed. The First tilted back his head, staring up at the thatched bundles of reeds and hand-fruit tree fronds that composed the roof. He could not recall teaching them those techniques. Pride swelled his mortal heart. His people were learning all on their own.

Smiling left his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. The First worked it free, only to find his throat sore and sticky. He looked around until he spotted a pitcher full of water upon a nearby table, along with several cups. Wooden bowls with dried herbs and medicinal compounds occupied the rest of the table. Their bitter aromas tinted the air with an acrid edge.

The First rose to his feet on wobbly legs. He poured a cupful of water, and downed the whole thing. His stomach churned, threatening to retch it back up. The First willed himself not to vomit, yet willpower alone proved insufficient. He used his powers to ease his belly’s anger. Though The First recalled Mica asking him not to heal himself, he needed to absorb the water, not spray it across the floor.

A tunic and breeches were laid out alongside the table. Both were dyed with bright silver and blue patterns. High Priestess Mica had worn the same striking shades the day before, but The First could not recall anyone else in the tribe wearing such colors. The First hoped Mica was not planning on granting him a rank equal to hers just because he was a god.

He picked up the shirt. It was made from hide, and its softness and flexibility told him they’d gotten better with tanning. Perhaps, The First thought, it would not be long before they discovered how to weave reed and bark into fibers, and fibers into clothing and blankets. He tilted his head, wondering if they already had.

“I shall take the fact you’re on your feet and examining your clothes to mean you’re feeling better.” Mica peered around the hanging thatched reed mat serving as door. “Now, are you going to put your shirt on, or just gaze at it like some grand, unsolvable puzzle?”

The First turned towards her, his ears perked. “Have you discovered how to make fibers yet?”

“You can’t talk like that.” Mica sighed, shaking her head. “But yes, I’ve just started teaching them.” She entered the room, settling the mat behind her. “It’s strange. Sometimes I just…” She twisted up her muzzle. “Know how to do things that I shouldn’t. As though you once showed them to me in a dream.”

The First smiled, his tail wagging. “I did! But only to make sure you’d survive while I was away.” He pointed at the ceiling, excitement lifting his voice. “But I didn’t teach you this! You’re starting to discover things, all by yourself. Just like I hoped you would!”

Mica chuckled. “You sound like a pup with a new toy.” She folded her hands, smiling at him. “Yes, we’ve done quite well for ourselves while you’ve been away.” She glanced down at The First’s nude body, smirking. “Now put your clothes on, unless you want the whole tribe to see your bits.”

The First looked down at himself, then back up at Mica. He lifted his shirt, staring at it.

“It goes over your head.” Mica splayed a single ear. “Do you need me to do it, for you?”

“I cannot tell if you are joking or insulting me.”

“That’s the way I like it.” Mica snatched the shirt out of his hands, then tugged it down over his head. She worked it past his horns, to his shoulders. “Arms through the holes.”

“I know how to put on a shirt.” The First wriggled into it, eventually settling the garment against his body.

“You also know how to create life from nothingness, and yet…” Mica picked his breeches up off the floor. “You can’t remember that when you make yourself mortal, thirst can kill you. So, forgive me if I don’t believe you.” She crouched down, holding his pants open. “Now step in. Left foot there, right foot there.” The First did as instructed, and Mica tugged the breeches up over his legs. “Forgive me if I pinch anything I shouldn’t.”

“You shouldn’t pinch anything.”

Mica pulled his pants up to his hips. “And you should learn to dress yourself.” She pointed to the ties. “I’ll let you do those. There’s also a loop that goes over your tail.”

The First tied his breeches shut. “Have I done them up right?” He turned around to show Mica his tail, then faced her again.

“Aside from one of your baubles peeking out, yes,” Mica said, laughing.

The First repositioned his pants. “Better?”

“Better, yes.” Mica refilled the water cup, and handed it to him. “Now drink this.” As The First did so, Mica flattened her ears. Her voice softened. “I always wondered, when you’d be back. I’m assuming you’re here because…” She trailed off, as if suddenly afraid to put words in his mouth.

The First sipped his water, savoring the cool, clean taste. “Because I wanted to live among you.” A faint breeze blew in around the curtains, ruffling his fur. “I missed life.”

“I thought as much.” Mica gently squeezed his shoulder, her ears raised and her muzzle parted in a broad smile. “I know what experiencing life meant to you, before. But I also know why you left us, and what you meant to do.” She swallowed, then went silent. Something strange whirled in her eyes, some new melding of hope, and nervousness. It shone around her in a faintly golden aura. “So, is it done? Are there…” Mica wrung her hands, licking her nose. “Others, now?”

“There are.” The First smiled with her, relishing the happy excitement his answer brought to her. “Yours is no longer the only tribe in the desert, Mica. You are now but one of many.”

Mica ran her hands back over her muzzle, smoothing her fur. Her golden aura brightened, shimmering. “How I have longed for this moment, for you to return and tell me your work was done.” She took a slow, shaking breath. “And now that you’re here, I find myself…” Mica shivered, her fur bristling. “Somehow both overjoyed, and terrified at the same time. Because now our lives will change forever.”

The First tilted his head. “They will?” He took another sip of water.

Mica brushed a hand across one of his ears. “Have you already forgotten so much of what we once discussed?” She laughed, a happy, incredulous sound. “It matters not. All that matters now is that you’re back. But I must ask you.” She squared her shoulders, standing tall before him, her voice hardening. “Are you truly committed to living as one of us?”

“I am.” The First flicked the ear she’d touched. “Why else would I-”

“Then it’s time to introduce you.” Mica snatched up his hand, squeezing it. “Finish your water.”

The First did so, and set the cup down. “I have already decided upon a story to tell your people about myself.”

Mica only smiled, pulling him towards the door. “Oh, my dearest God. It’s too late for that. When you passed out in the middle of my village?” She turned and poked his nose. “You left your story to me. I’ve already told my people who you are, and now you must live with it.”

The First flattened his gray-furred ears, wondering what Mica was up to. He followed her outside. The brilliance of the desert sun warmed his fur, even as it assaulted his eyes. The First squinted, shading his face with his hand. Swirling winds carried the mingling scents of sand and oasis water, hand-fruit blossoms and other urd’thin. Dozens of them milled about outside the little building. Adults and youths alike stood shoulder to shoulder, as if the entre tribe had turned out to see their visitor. Their murmuring voices nearly smothered the sounds of birdsong and calling insects. Ripples of uncertainty and excitement washed over the group in waves of rolling color.

Clusters of buildings stretched on beyond the crowd. While some were shaped from the stone of ancient ruins, many more were built of sand, clay and reed. The First suspected Mica had been teaching her people to build with their hands, rather than their shaping. Nearby, sunlight glittered off an oasis pond, one of several in the area.

Mica clambered up onto a hunk of stone, cut from the nearby ruin and shaped into a pedestal. She beckoned for him to join her. The First climbed up next to her, gazing out across the crowd. Delighted as he was to see his people prospering, he had no idea what Mica was up to. At least seeing others confirmed his earlier suspicion. Only Mica and The First were clothed in vibrant silver and blue.

“I bear great tidings!” Mica her hands up, and her people greeted her with happy yowls and yapping noises. “As you can see, our visitor is recovering.” She set a hand upon his shoulder, raising her voice. “And as I thought, he is no simple traveler. No, the gods have spoken to me of our guest, and his many trials!”

The First’s fur stood on end. “What are you doing?”

Mica ignored The First’s question as she swept her hand towards him. “Just like me, he hears the voices of the Gods! But where I spread their words amongst you, the gods sent our visitor into the desert, to begin a great pilgrimage. For you see…” She called out, her voice a primal howl. “He is The First Chief!”

The First Chief? He splayed his ears, wondering where she was going with this. He contemplated peering into her mind, but just as quickly decided against it. Long ago, by choosing to know the truth of her own existence, she also chose free will. Whatever she intended, it was not his place to interfere.

Mica lifted her hands, and flashes of beautiful colors flickered overhead. The colors merged, painting ethereal urd’thin upon the air. Fiery comets and shining stars adorned them like celestial regalia as they danced amidst the infinite cosmos. People howled and cheered, mesmerized by the images. The First stared, wide-eyed as an awed pup. He had not given Mica that power. Her shaping had grown immensely, and she had learned to manipulate it in ways he never expected.

The pictures in the sky evolved. A vast ocean of sand stretched out above them, glimmering like golden dust. A lone urd’thin wandered it. His tall, gray-furred frame was bent low by the sun. Far above him, glimpses of the cosmos lingered. Gods still draped in comets and stars watched the urd’thin cross the desert. They whispered, and their voices came as winds that swirled the sands, guiding him to an oasis. There, he collapsed.

“The gods have guided him here!” Mica threw her arms wide. “To us! But why, you may wonder…” She lowered her hands, and the images disintegrated into tiny, glittering particles. They cascaded like golden rain, littering the ground with shining droplets before dissolving into nothingness. “Would the gods send him here? For we already know the gods’ words!” She pointed to a random urd’thin, calling to him. “Don’t we?”

The urd’thin howled, a long, jubilant noise. Mica pointed to another, and he did the same. Then Mica pointed to a female, and she howled the same way. “That’s right! We know their words!” Mica pointed to a pup, who offered her best impression of an adult’s howling noise. “Yes! We howl, as the gods howled! For before us, the gods were alone, abandoned by Those Who Came Before!” She stomped upon the stone pedestal. “And so, in their great loneliness, they sculpted our ancestors from the sands. Then, with their lonely, grieving howls, they breathed life back into the world!” Mica balled up her fist, thumping it against her chest. Her tail fluffed out. “Into us! So, unto the gods we howl in return!”

As one, the whole crowd howled with her. Some beat fists against their chests, others stamped their feet. Parents held pups aloft to howl with the group. The First was once more stunned by Mica. While he was away, she had taken her foundational stories, and built an entire culture for her people to believe in.

“Yes!” Mica pivoted in place, her voice ringing out even above the raucous clamor. “We howl, to thank them for our lives! We howl, to call to them for guidance! And we howl, to ask them for our purpose!” Mica held her hands up, and the crowd gradually fell silent. “My people, at long last, the gods have answered. Our purpose is revealed.” She turned towards the First, and eased herself down onto one knee. “Tell us, oh First Chief. For what purpose have the gods led you here?”

The First stared down at her. He glanced at the crowd, then back at Mica.

She subtly gestured towards her head, and The First slipped into her mind. Tell them you’re here to guide us. And speak loudly.

At her urging, he called out in a great, booming voice. “I am here to guide you!”

Mica surged back to her feet, crying out at the same volume. “He is here to guide us!” She thrust a finger towards the crowd. “Into the desert! For at last, the gods have spoken, and our purpose is clear!” Mica turned towards The First again. “Tell them, my Chief. What is our purpose?”

The First swallowed. He waited to hear Mica’s voice in his head again, but this time she gave him no coaxing. He realized then, that he already knew what answer was expected. For the urd’thin had only ever had one purpose in this world, and he had given it to them. He took a slow, deep breath, then raised his hands, following Mica’s lead.

“To spread life!” New images sprang into being above the crowd. The First moved his hands in theatrical gestures, as if painting upon reality itself. A vast, lifeless desert spread out above them. Then, a single urd’thin trudged through the sand. Soon there was another at his side, and another, until there were hundreds of them. Settlements appeared in their wake. “To unite your tribes! To grow, and prosper! To renew this broken world until all the desert is alive with urd’thin.”

“Until all the desert is alive with urd’thin!” Mica repeated his words, her voice commanding. “That is our purpose! For you see, the journeys we have undertaken so far, the other urd’thin groups we’ve met? These are but the tiniest steps, little more than waves lapping at the shore of a great oasis. For the world is vast, and dangerous, and we have ventured as far as we can! Without guidance, we can safely go no further. But that is why the First Chief is here! To guide us deep into the desert! To lead us to our far-flung kin, that together we might undo the ruination of Those Who Came Before!” She turned back towards The First. “Thus, the gods have named him the First Chief! For it is his duty to guide us on this journey.”

The First slowly lowered his hands, his own imagery dissolving into spiraling whirls of gold. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “It is?”

Mica smiled at him, her voice barely audible. “It’s about to be.” Then she called out to the tribe once more. “You see, my people, The First Chief and I are each blessed with different gifts. I can teach you how to build shelters, how to hunt, and survive off the land. But only the First Chief knows how to find safe passage across the deeper desert. And so the gods have brought us together! The First Chief, and the High Priestess, his guidance and my wisdom. I will prepare you for the journey, and he will lead us through the desert! Until at last, we have united every scattered tribe of shapers, and filled this dead world with life!”

Mica howled, long and loud. The First tipped his head back to howl with her. Soon, the entire village joined in. The sound echoed over the oasis, and out into the desert. Only when everyone was utterly out of breath and gasping did the joyful cacophony fade. Mica panted for several long moments, beaming.

When Mica finally caught her breath, she gently squeezed The First’s hand. She spoke just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Tell me, my Chief. Are the gods pleased?”

The First smiled. “The gods are pleased.” Then he lowered his voice. “You sneaky little-”

“The gods are pleased!” Mica threw their joined hands to the sky, howling anew. Again the tribe joined her, their exultant yowling drowning out his retort. When at least the sound faded, Mica whispered into his ear. “Now you’re stuck with us.”

Mica leapt off the rock before he could reply. She waded into the crowd, and made her way towards her family. Nemil hugged her tight, then they pressed their muzzles together. After their kiss, Mica hefted her daughter up, and plopped the little pup on her shoulders. She waved at the pedestal upon which The First still stood.

“Well, First Chief? Come and meet your new people!”

The First stared at her, wondering how long she’d been planning for his return. Thanks to Mica, his reason for living among them was now woven into their tribe’s very beliefs. No longer could he vanish without shaking their beliefs. If he truly wished them to thrive, he had to play the role Mica created for him. The thought made him smile. Mica, his flash of light in the desert, was as clever and insightful as any creature he’d ever encountered. Somehow, she always seemed to be one step ahead of her own creator. Of that, he could not be prouder.

As The First climbed down from the pedestal to meet with his tribe, he wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

He could not wait to find out.

*****

The First spent several months helping Mica’s people ready themselves for their great journey. There were supplies to be gathered, clothing and tools to be made, and skills to be taught. Mica insisted that they rely not on their shaping, but on their hands, and their intellect. She preached to the tribe that it was overuse of their shaping that had doomed Those Who Came Before. And as the gods’ new children, it was their duty to undo those mistakes, not repeat them.

The tribe debated who would remain behind. After all, the urd’thin would not truly be spreading life across the desert if life did not remain in their wake. It was soon determined that the families with the youngest pups should continue their lives in the village, for the safety of their children.

When the first day of the pilgrimage finally arrived, the morning was unseasonably gloomy. Low-hanging clouds threatened rains as tearful farewells and long hugs were exchanged. Just as the urd’thin prepared to depart, the churning skies erupted. Heavy rains turned golden sand into sloshing muck. Mica refused all calls for postponement. Instead, she claimed the gods sent the rains as a test of devotion. In return for marching under such arduous conditions, the gods would send more rain, whenever they needed it most. In that way, Mica made it easy for The First to ensure they’d never run out of water.

The First led his people out into the vastness of the great desert. Lashing winds pelted him with curtains of stinging rain. His clothing and fur were plastered to his body. Mud squelched beneath his feet. He slipped and fell, coating himself in sludge. The rain weighed down his already heavy pack until the straps dug into his shoulders. By nightfall, The First’s body ached everywhere.

And he relished it. Being alive was incredible.

At night, the group worked to set up camp. Some of them carried pieces of modular homes with them, slabs of hide stretched across wooden frames and latticework. Others hauled support poles, and ropes, or bundles of additional of hide and cloth, or lattice. Together, they were able to assemble simple yurts and other shelters. Though the process was a struggle in the wind and rain, the experience proved invaluable.

The next morning, the sun finally pierced the clouds with spears of brilliant light. By the time the camp was disassembled again, the sand was already beginning to dry. The second day’s travel proved easier, and spirits rose. That night’s camp was put up quicker, and without the rain, they were able to make fires. After a meal, fermented fruit juices were passed around, stories were told, and the urd’thin pilgrims went to bed far happier than the night before.

The First stretched his understanding out across the desert, seeking his distant tribes. It was soon clear to him they were spread further across the continent than he realized. What seemed a tiny distance to a god made for months of travel for a mortal. He had not built near enough oases. While the others slumbered, The First built additional sheltered springs along their way. If they still needed more water, he’d simply summon rain.

Day by day and week by week, The First led his people across the world he’d created for them. He delighted in playing his role as The First Chief. At times, he paused, staring at the sky, ears swiveling towards unseen voices. As supplies ran low, and morale began to dip, he promised his people they were only days away from a great oasis, hidden beyond mountainous dunes. And sure enough, two days later, they climbed to the summit of a great, golden hill. Beyond it lay a glittering lake, surrounded by groves of hand-fruit trees and more. The pilgrims rejoiced with thankful howls offered to the gods. The First smiled, and howled with them, never telling even Mica he’d only built that oasis recently.

The shapers set up camp in the shade beneath the trees. They spent a week there, replenishing their stocks of food and other supplies. Trees were felled, reeds were harvested, stones and shells gathered, and a few rakatch hunted for their hides. With the fresh materials they were able to make repairs to their homes, craft new tools, and so on. At night they sang and danced and drank. Eventually, when they were prepared, their makeshift village was once more dissembled, and they returned to their journey.

For months they lived as nomads. They marched for weeks on end, pausing only when they discovered each new oasis. Every small lake was its own celebration, a reward earned by countless days of heat fatigue and grueling travel, of bruises and blistered pads. The First kept a close watch on his people, ensuring that no one was pushed too hard. His own near-death experience remained a vivid reminder of mortal limitations.

At last, they reached the first of the other tribes. Their appearance frightened the previously isolated village. Warriors swarmed them, ready to defend themselves against potential conquest. Mica instructed her people to meet them not with weapons, but with gifts. Where the warriors hefted spears, the pilgrims offered dried meat and fish. When axes and fangs were bared, Mica offered beautiful adornments carved from bones and colorful shells.

The gifts calmed the nervous warriors long enough for Mica to speak with their leaders. She explained they were pilgrims, following their sacred duty to spread life through the desert. Then, she introduced The First Chief as their guide, chosen by the gods. The First played along but made it clear that High Priestess Mica was their leader. His title was one of guidance only.

Eventually the local elders invited the pilgrims to stay as their guests. Mica accepted, in the hopes of fostering friendships. Tension hung over the village at first, but soon enough both tribes relaxed, and peace settled in. Before long they were sharing knowledge, swapping stories, and teaching one another new skills. Day by day, each tribe enriched the other.

Mica’s people stayed for months. During the day, they hunted, farmed, and worked together with their hosts. At night, they played games in the evening gloam, then gathered around fires to talk, or play music and dance. The other tribe had drums, and reed flutes. Mica’s people took to them quickly, wanting to learn to play. Some nights they regaled one another with grand tales of their histories and legends. Lasting friendships were soon forged, and even love was found.

All the while, The First Chief smiled to himself to see his children’s great story unfold.

When the next rainy season arrived, Mica decreed it was time for the First Chief to lead the pilgrims back into the desert. Some of Mica’s tribe chose to stay with their new friends and families, while others from village decided to join the pilgrimage. As before, those with the youngest children or pups on the way also remained behind. The First Chief led the new mix of pilgrims onwards, and their journey continued.

The next tribe they reached required more than simple gifts to earn their trust. The First was fascinated to discover they had developed a culture based on prowess in battle. Their warriors barred Mica’s people from entering their domain, let alone their village. Mica challenged them to a sparring match to earn their favor.

Soon, their largest warrior emerged from their ranks to accept her challenge. The winner was the first to put an opponent to the sand three times. Though the warrior was much larger than Mica, she was lightning quick, and had sparred among her own tribe for many years. The battle was evenly matched, with each of them falling twice. Finally, surrounded by howling urd’thin, Mica managed to use the larger male’s momentum against him, and throw him onto his back, sealing her narrow victory. Only then were Mica and The First allowed to lead their people into the foreign village, to present their gifts.

Over time differences were smoothed out with shared drinks and frequent sparring matches. The tribes taught each other their unique fighting styles. Warriors from both sides tested their skills, learning from one another with every bout. Injuries occasionally resulted when fights grew less friendly. Mica used her shaping to fix a shattered knee, and a punctured lung. However, anything that could safely heal on its own was left to do so. Mica explained that injuries were meant to teach. If she restored everything with her shaping, they would never learn.

Eventually it was once more time to continue their trek. Years passed as The First led them across the desert. Every tribe they met offered its own new challenges, and fresh perspectives. As each tribe mingled anew with the others, both their cultures and their populations thrived. New families settled in villages even as more pilgrims took up the sacred duty Mica preached.

Every moment of The First’s life among his creations was a joy onto itself. He savored each bite of food and every sip of drink. The hot sand beneath his pads, the lashing rains against his fur, they were but potent reminders of life. He might not truly be mortal, but he was damn sure alive.

He cherished his time with Mica and her family. The First drank and laughed with Nemil. He carried Mica’s daughter on his shoulders, and watched her grow. At night, he talked with Mica beside the fire, or painted her family’s dreams with the cosmos. The First dreaded imagining life without them. Part of him even wished he was truly mortal, for he knew in his heart that as his friends someday aged and died, he would remain eternal.

One night, beneath the stars, Mica sat with The First atop a dune. Mica stared up at the night sky, wonderment shining in her eyes. “I still remember it, you know.”

The First tilted his head. “Remember what, Mica?”

“The night you showed me the cosmos, and let me dance amongst the stars.” She smiled, starlight glittering in her gaze. “And I heard their beautiful song.” Her ears drooped, and her smile faded. “And then you told me the truth. That we were your very first creations, and we were alone in an empty world.”

“I was worried the knowledge would break you.” The First splayed an ear. “I was ever so pleased when it didn’t.”

Mica laughed, a soft, bittersweet sound. “I’m sure you were.”

“It wouldn’t have been the first time.” The First gestured in the air. “When I first tried to wake you all, your minds broke. Poor Nemil fell in the fire!”

Mica gasped, then punched The First on the shoulder. “Don’t say that!” She glared at him, muzzle agape in a look of horror.

The First yelped, his ears flat. “What was that for?”

“To teach you not to make jokes about the deaths of loved ones.” Mica smacked him again, harder still.

“Ow!” The First rubbed his arm, grimacing. “You know, it’s very unwise to strike your creator.”

“Smite me, then.” Mica leaned back onto her hands, snorting.

“Very well.” The First reached out and flicked Mica’s nose. “Thou art smote.”

Mica gave a sharp yip, grabbing her muzzle. “That hurt!”

The First crossed his arms. “It was meant to. Now we’re even.”

Mica rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you’re as bad as my daughter.”

The First stared out across the sands. “I’m sorry if I was hurtful. It wasn’t really Nemil, anyway.”

“I know.” Mica patted his hand. “But thank you.”

Silence settled over them as a cascade of bitter memories rolled through The First’s mind. Cries of terror and screams of pain rang anew in his head. Flames consumed fur. Teeth tore through flesh. A sudden rush of guilty sorrow tightened his throat. He looked away from Mica.

She scooted closer, rubbing his arm. “What’s wrong?”

The First worked his jaws, but words refused to come. When finally he found his voice, it was weak, and battered. “The one in the fire never had a name. None of them did. They were alive only moments, and I…” He swallowed against the growing lump in his throat, his eyes burning. “I let them down, Mica. I gave them life, but all they ever knew was fear, and pain.” He blinked back a few tears. “They were gone in but a few, terrible moments. I grieved for them, awash in anguish. Then I put them to a funeral pyre. As they burned, I sang the star-hymn to them, in hopes they’d be remembered, even if only by the sand, and the stars.”

Mica squeezed The First’s hand. “And by their creator.”

“Yes.” The First wiped his eyes, sniffling. “Thank you, Mica. I tried to learn from my mistakes, at least.” He let out a little whine, ears drooping. “My poor nameless ones.” The First took a shuddering breath, then turned his eyes to Mica. “You were the first one I gave a name.” He sniffed again, but a smile slowly brightened his expression. His ears lifted. “I never expected my first named creation to kill me.”

Mica gave an incredulous bark of laughter. “No, I’d wager you didn’t.”

The First’s smile widened. “Nor did I expect you to choose to remember that night.”

“You seemed so surprised, when I didn’t want to forget. And almost…” She trailed her fingers through the sands. “Proud.”

“I was proud, Mica.” The First wagged his tail, stirring golden grit. “I’ve always been proud of you. Everything our people are becoming is because you were brave enough to demand the truth, from a god.”

Mica tilted her head. “Our people.” She stared into the darkness, the golden dunes lit only by the stars, and a sliver of moonlight. “We’re finally becoming what you wanted for us, right? Not just a handful of tribes, but a growing civilization.” The stars glimmered in her eyes. “Every year we travel, there are more of us spreading across the desert. And yet…” Her ears fell. “You remain so unfairly alone.”

The First blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Mica turned towards him, kneeling in the sand. “You’ve been with us for years, now, my dearest friend. Yet still I often see you, standing alone. Simply observing us. And I cannot help but wonder…” Mica clasped his hand in hers. “Don’t you ever feel lonely?”

“I…” The First struggled to find an answer. “I don’t know.”

Urgency strengthened Mica’s voice. “I think you do. You might not realize it, but I see you. Watching us fall in love, watching us raise our children. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like, to have a family of your own?” She moved closer, staring into his eyes. “A mate to hold, a pup to raise, and someone to love you, as I love my family.”

The First’s throat constricted, hot and aching. “Yes, Mica. I have wondered that.” He slowly shook his head, suddenly awash in roiling mortal emotions. “But that is impossible. For as much as I may find myself yearning to be one of you, I am not. And I never will be.” Tears brimmed anew in his eyes. His voice trembled. “I am your creator, Mica. It is not my place to have a family of my own, among you. This story began with you, Mica.” He gazed back towards the tribe’s encampment. “But it belongs to all of them, now. To everyone.”

Mica gently grasped The First’s muzzle, turning it back towards her. “Everyone includes you.”

“No.” The First managed a wistful smile. “It doesn’t. Not in this. I cannot have a family as you do, Mica. No mortal could ever live a normal life with a god. I could not put anyone through that.” He stroked one of her ears. “Thank you for caring about me. But this is a story for urd’thin, not for gods.”

Mica threw herself against him, wrapping him in a hug as tight and loving as he had ever known. He returned it, rubbing her back. Mica pressed her muzzle to his shoulder, quietly crying into his fur. “Then why must our story be so unfair to you?”

The First smoothed her ears as she sobbed. “Fairness has nothing to do with it, Mica.”

“But it should!” Mica pulled back, only to fervently clutch his muzzle. Her tears left dark streaks in her beige fur. An aura of anguished purple clung to her. “You watch from afar as love blossoms between our people. You witness the joy our families bring us. You perceive our emotions in ways we cannot fathom. You understand our love, through and through. Yet never do you experience it.”

The First whimpered, putting a hand over hers. “But I do, Mica. I love you all! So much so that I’d almost give up my godhood, just to be one of you.”

For reasons The First did not understand, that made Mica cry all the harder. “That’s not what I’m talking about it! I need you to promise me something.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek. “What is it?”

“Someday, far from now…” Mica clasped his hands, squeezing them. “A moment will arrive in which you’ll realize we don’t need you to help us survive, anymore.”

The First tilted his head. “You’ll always need me.”

“No.” Mica stared at him, unblinking. “We won’t. Not if you truly want this story to be ours. I’ll never know what it’s like to create a whole world, but I do know what it’s like to have a child. And I know they’ll never learn to walk, if you don’t let them try. Sooner or later, you must let us go, even if it means you have to watch us fall.”

The First looked down at the sand. “Is that what you want me to promise?”

Mica shook her head. “No. I want you to promise me that when you’re done being our god? You’ll let yourself be loved. Find a way to have a family of your own.”

He sucked in a breath, eyes widening. “Mica, I-”

“Whatever it takes!” She splayed her ears, growling. “As a god or a mortal, it matters not. Just promise me that someday, you’ll know love, as we know it. Promise me!”

The First took a deep breath, swallowing hard against his clenched throat. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Mica hugged him again, whispering into his ear. “And when you’ve found your family, you cherish them. Once you’ve found your love, don’t ever let it go.”

“I won’t, Mica.” The First returned her hug, smiling again. Somehow, she always left him feeling better. “I won’t.”

*****

Chapter One Hundred Eight

*****

“You can come back in now, Dragon.” Binir stood at the Cathedral’s rear entrance, her hands folded before her. “Everything went quite well, so-”

“Oh, thank the gods.” Revaramek jumped to his paws. “How is she? When will she wake? What do I need to do for her? What should-”

“If you’ll allow me a moment, I’ll tell you.” Binir scowled at him, then glanced at Mirelle. “Is he always like this?”

Mirelle shook her head. “No, he’s usually worse. This is him being anxious and restrained.” She snatched at the dragon’s webbed tail, tugging it for his attention. “Revaramek, take a breath. Take three breaths, actually. Let her talk before you question her.”

Revaramek pinned his frills. He forced himself to take a deep breath and hold it, struggling to quell the nervous pounding of his heart. The dragon exhaled slowly and took another breath. He held it till his lungs ached. Then he took a third, wishing it would untangle the knots in his belly.

While the dragon was quiet, Binir continued. “Despite your mate’s illness, there were no complications. Her body handled everything with aplomb.”

Revaramek tilted his head. “With aplomb, you say?”

Mirelle released his tail webbing, crossing her arms. “Wait for it…”

The dragon glanced at her. “Wait for what, Mirelle?”

“Oh, no.” Mirelle waggled her finger. “I’m not making a joke about handling your plums for you…” Mirelle blinked. “Damn it!”

Revaramek cackled, thumping his tail against the patio. His spines clattered against the wood. “Oh, that’s good, Mirelle! But I wasn’t going to say anything of the sort. This a very serious time, Mirelle.” He glowered at her. “We can’t be making dirty jokes until Nyra’s conscious enough to enjoy them with us. Besides, I was just going to comment on Binir’s use of the world aplomb.” Revaramek shrugged his wings. “You don’t hear that very often, do you?” Mirelle opened her mouth to reply, only for Revaramek cut her off. “So, Binir! You said Nyra handled things with aplomb?”

The hint of a smile cracked Binir’s stony expression. “I did, yes. She had no trouble with her breathing, nor her heart rate. Neither did we have any trouble getting most of the bleeding to stop.”

A tiny tine of ice dug into Revaramek’s heart. “Most?”

Binir held her hands up. “The wound will continue to seep and bleed a little as it heals. That’s normal, Dragon. For now, we’d like her dressings changed twice a day. We can do it for you, or we can show you how.”

“Nyra will be more comfortable with me doing so.” Revaramek peered beyond Binir. Nyra lay in the same position he’d left her, with the healers cleaning up the last of their supplies. A white, gauzy dressing now covered her freshly stitched wound. “How long must she wear it?”

“At least a couple weeks.” Binir turned and walked deeper into the Cathedral, beckoning for Revaramek and Mirelle to follow her. “Depending on how quickly she heals. Even after she’s stopped seeping, a dressing will help protect the stitches.”

Revaramek nodded, his pace measured. “But you do think she will heal? You took quite a bit of…” The dragon winced. Watching them work had been arduous. “Flesh.”

Binir gave a single, solemn nod. “The infection ran quite deep. But we believe we’ve gotten all the necrotic tissue. And we’ve quite thoroughly sterilized her wound, afterwards. So yes, given time, she should heal up just fine.” Binir glanced over her shoulder. “But don’t let her get too exuberant. And no flying until the stitches are gone.”

“She won’t like that.” Revaramek scrunched his muzzle. “But it won’t be a surprise, either. What else?”

“The wound needs to stay clean.” When they reached Nyra, Binir helped lay out a fresh blanket alongside Nyramyn. “You can sit with her now, dragon.” She moved aside. “When we change her dressing later, we’ll teach you how to do it. It’s simple, really. You also need to keep an eye on the wound. If you see any signs of redness, new infection, or anything at all that doesn’t seem right, inform us immediately.”

Revaramek settled down onto the blanket, draping a wing across Nyra’s back. “Of course. What about the pain? What can she take?”

“The same medicines as before.” Binir waved at the empty wooden bowls now stacked up on the counter. “We’ll have a batch mixed up later, but we’ll want to start tapering down the doses. And remember, the more she takes, the greater the effect on her consciousness.”

“In other words,” Mirelle said. “Too much of that shit, and she’ll get loopy.”

“Yes.” Binir chuckled. “That. The pain should start to ease naturally within a week, or so.”

Revaramek stroked Nyra’s neck. “Good. How long until she wakes?”

Binir rubbed her chin as she gauged the sunlight filtering through the stained-glass windows. “Within an hour or so, I’d say. In the meantime, we’ll continue monitoring her. If it takes too long, we may give her a small mount of antidote to help bring her around.” Binir held up a hand to caution the dragon. “However, she will remain drowsy for the rest of the day. And it’s likely she’ll seem quite…” She smirked at Mirelle. “Loopy. Try and get her to bed early tonight. Allow her to slumber until she naturally wakes. She should have a clearer head tomorrow.”

“Understood.” Revaramek smiled, watching Nyra sleep. “Anything else?”

“She’ll be quite wobbly.” Binir gestured at the rear entryway. “If she needs to go outside, you should walk with her, so that she can lean on you for support.”

“Already planning on it.”

“Good.” Binir crouched down near Nyra’s head, and gently rubbed the female dragon’s muzzle. “She did very well. I think she’ll heal up just fine.” She stood, dusting off her hands. “I believe that’s it, for the time being. I’ll leave you with her.”

Revaramek found her tender gesture touching. He lowered his head to offer Binir a respectful bow. “Thank you, Binir. For all you’ve done.”

“My pleasure, Dragon.” She returned the bow, and then joined her companions nearby.

When Binir was gone, Mirelle rubbed Revaramek’s foreleg. “Do you want me to leave you alone with her?”

Revaramek shook his head, his voice soft. “No. I appreciate the thought, but it’s nice to have you here. Besides…” A playful grin parted Revaramek’s jaws. “It’s not like she’s going to wake up wanting to handle my plums.”

Mirelle put her hand over her face, sighing. “You’re not about to let that one go, are you.”

“Not on your life, Mirelle!” Revaramek cackled.

Mirelle chuckled with him. “Under the circumstances, I’ll allow you two, maybe three more of those.” She tapped a booted foot against the floorboards. “And then my boot is going to handle your plums.”

Revaramek pulled his hind legs closer together. “I’m not sure that euphemism works quite as well as you think it does.” He licked his nose. “But I hope you’ll warn me when I’ve expended my allotment.”

“I’ll think about it.” Mirelle turned towards the bar. “Speaking of things that are easily expended-”

“Let me stop you right there, Mirelle!” Revaramek held up a forepaw. “Because I am most certainly not.”

“You’re not what?” Mirelle gave him a confused look, then scrunched her face when it hit her. “Oh, damn it, Rev.” The dragon laughed, and Mirelle soon joined him. “You know, when you boast about it like that, it makes me want to ask Nyra if it’s true.”

Revaramek cleared his throat with an odd little growl. “What a shame you don’t share a common language.”

“Not yet,” Mirelle said, flashing the dragon a wicked smile. “But we will, soon enough.”

Revaramek curled his tail around his paws. “Oh, Mirelle. Nyramyn is a fine, upstanding female. She won’t be interested in gossiping about such things like some booze-emboldened, street-prowling harlot!”

Mirelle laughed again, fetching herself a mug. “Now you sound like the Tea Kettle.” She shook the mug at him. “And don’t you dare tell him that you’ve got me calling him that, either.”

The dragon stroked his mate’s neck, lifting his frills. “He wouldn’t understand me even if I did! I accidentally called him that to his face, the other day. And that magnificently mustachioed madman thought I was asking him to make me tea. Said he’d left his kettle at home.” Revaramek cocked his head. “Can you even imagine him drinking tea? Do you suppose he just uses his mustache to strain it?”

Mirelle made a face as she poured herself some ale. “I’m still coming to terms with ‘magnificently mustachioed madman’. How long have you been waiting to uncork that one?”

“A few weeks.” Revaramek licked his muzzle. “Have you any more drinking buckets? I could use another ale to help my nerves.”

“Certainly, Rev.” Mirelle retrieved the same oversized vessel she gave Revaramek earlier. She washed it, then filled it with strong, golden ale and set it before the dragon. “Let me get mine before you take a drink. I’ve got a toast to make.”

“Very well.” Revaramek sniffed at the drink, savoring its spicy, bittersweet aroma. “Shall I clank my bucket into your-”

“Please don’t,” Mirelle said, collecting her own mug. “Knowing you, you’d smash your drink into mine, and break my arm.”

“Nonsense, Mirelle, I’d do no such thing.” Revaramek tossed his head. “I’d break your hand, at worst.”

Mirelle rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that’s much better. Just hold your drink up, and I’ll do the honors. It’s short, anyway.”

Revaramek carefully lifted his bucket. Golden liquid and pale foam sloshed about inside. “Ready when you are.”

Mirelle held up her mug. “To love…” With her free hand, she waved at Nyramyn, then placed her hand over her heart. “And to friendship…” She bowed her head to Revaramek, then turned back towards Nyramyn. “And to good health, and better days to come.” Mirelle bumped her cup into Revaramek’s, and took a long drink.

A smile crept across Revaramek’s muzzle. His throat tightened, ever so slightly. Mirelle’s brief words warmed him deep inside. “To love, friendship, good health, and better days ahead.” Revaramek drank some ale, and set it back down. He curled a foreleg around Mirelle, and carefully hugged her to his chest. “Thank you, Mirelle. For all of this.”

“Of course, Rev. It’s the least I could do.” She hugged him back with a single arm. “And thank you for being gentle enough to avoid spilling my beer.”

Revaramek released her, still grinning. “You see, Mirelle? You’re not the only one who can grow into a better person.”

Mirelle blinked. “I don’t even know where to begin unpacking that one, so…” She took another drink. “I’m just going to ignore it.” She turned, watching Nyramyn sleep. “She looks awfully peaceful, doesn’t she?”

“That she does.” Revaramek’s ears drooped. “I hope she doesn’t hurt too badly, when she wakes.”

“She’ll be alright, Rev.” Mirelle rubbed his shoulder. “I know she will, because she’ll have you here to take care of her.”

Revaramek managed to smile again, nodding. “That she will.”

The two of them passed the time with drink and idle chatter. When their vessels were empty, Mirelle got each of them a refill. The healers kept a close eye on Nyra, but did not encroach upon the dragons. Between the alcohol and the companionship, the rawness of Revaramek’s nerves slowly eased. By the time Nyramyn stirred, ever so faintly, Revaramek was as close to relaxed as he’d been all day.

Nyramyn murmured, her eyelids twitching. She lifted her head slightly, then lowered it again. Revaramek rubbed her foreleg, keeping his wing across her like a comforting blanket. He licked her ear, whispering soft reassurances. After a few moments, Nyra’s eyes opened to bleary slits. She lifted her head to look at Revaramek, then blinked a few times, struggling to focus.

“Rev…” Her voice was hoarse.

“Yes, love?” Revaramek licked her nose.

“You…” Nyra scrunched her muzzle. “Look funny.” Her words were slightly slurred. She lowered her head back down, staring at his underbelly. “And your balls look funny, too.” A fit of giggles overtook her, her wings shaking. “I should start calling you, Funny Balls.”

Revaramek snorted, glancing between Nyra and Mirelle. “Is she alright?”

Mirelle gave him a blank look. “Rev, I’ve no idea what she said. But if it was something strange, I’m sure it’s just the aftereffects of the medication.”

“She said she should start calling me Funny Balls, because my balls look funny!” Revaramek glanced between them again, then froze. “I really shouldn’t have translated that for you, should I.”

Mirelle only smirked. “She seems fine to me, Funny Balls.” She took a slow drink. “They did say she was going to be out of it.”

“True enough.” Revaramek looked over at the healers. They watched from nearby, and their lack of alarm put him at ease. He stroked Nyra’s neck. “How’re you feeling, love?”

“Strange.” Nyra arched into his touch. “Like my brain is somewhere else, and I can’t find it. Or I drank too much swamp water. Or…my brain drank too much swamp water?” She turned her head, looking at the gauzy bandages affixed to her body. “How did…?”

“It went very well, Nyra.” Revaramek eased his wing back to give her a clearer view of herself. “They said you handled it with…” He trailed off. “Actually, I’m not sure there’s a direct translation for the word…” Revaramek shifted into the common tongue. “Aplomb.”

Mirelle stared at him. “Are you already telling her that stupid joke?”

Revaramek scratched at the base of a horn. “I don’t know how to translate it.” He returned to the swamp dragon language. “The healers told me you did very well. They expect you to heal up cleanly, but we’ll have to change your dressing twice a day. They’re going to show me-”

“Am I peeing?” Nyra shifted herself, slightly lifting a hind leg. She peered along her belly. “I feel like I’m peeing.”

Resisting the urge to scramble away, Revaramek checked for her. “Not at the moment, love, but perhaps we should get you outside.”

“Yes!” Nyra lowered her hind leg. “Outside! Because I think I have to pee…”

“I guessed as much, love.” Revaramek pushed himself up to all fours. He held a forepaw out to her. “Take my paw for support if you-”

“I’m not peeing already, am I?” Nyra looked at herself again. Then she gave a little gasp. “Have I already peed? I can’t tell!” She stretched a hind leg, shaking it. “I feel funny.”

Revaramek patted her foreleg. “No, Nyra, you haven’t. Let’s go outside before you do. Why don’t you try sitting up, first? They said you’re going to be wobbly, so move slowly.”

“Alright.” Nyramyn pulled her forelegs in, then pushed her chest up into the air. “Am I doing it?”

Revaramek chuckled. “You’re halfway there, love.” He gently tapped his webbed tail against her haunches. “Now get your back legs under yourself, and sit up slowly.”

“My back legs…” Nyra stared at her hind limbs as if willing them to move. “Under myself.” Ever so slowly, she pulled her back feet closer, and gradually sat up onto her haunches. Then she turned towards Revaramek, a beaming smile parting her muzzle. “I’ve done it!”

“You certainly have, love.” Revaramek glanced over at Mirelle, who was watching calmly. “I’m trying to get her up and outside. She thinks she needs to pee, but she can’t tell.”

Mirelle arched a brow. “Yes, let’s get her out of the bar, then.”

“I’m trying Mirelle, but she’s not all there just yet.”

Mirelle sipped her beer, watching as Nyramyn swayed back and forth. “Poor thing looks like she’s drunk.”

Revaramek curled a wing around Nyramyn to try and stabilize her. Even that light pressure was almost too much, and she tipped sideways until she was leaning up against Revaramek. Nyramyn gave a soft, musical laugh, and nuzzled at Revaramek’s neck. She rested her head against him, her eyes drifting closed.

“Yes, Nyra, it’s nice to be with you, but it’s not time to go back to sleep.” Revaramek nudged her back towards an upright position on her haunches. “Sit up, love.”

Nyramyn did her best, wobbling. “How’s that?”

“Very good.” Revaramek tightened his wing around her to keep her steady. “When you’re ready, try and stand up. Move slowly, and lean against me if you need to.”

“Alright.” Nyramyn rose on shaking limbs, only to drop back onto her haunches. She glared at her hind legs, snapping her teeth. “No, I said stand, not sit! Stand!” Nyra tried again, and this time, made it to her feet. “There! Look Rev, I’m standing!” Almost immediately, she started tilting over again.

Revaramek braced himself against her, shoring her up. “You’re alright, you’re alright. Just get your balance.”

“I have!” She nipped at his neck. “See? I’m not even falling.”

“Yes, my dear,” Revaramek said, chuckling. “You’re doing very well. When you’re ready, let’s try turning towards the doors.”

With Revaramek’s support, Nyra gradually turned a half-circle until she was facing the rear entrance. “Is that where we’re going? It looks awfully far away.”

“It’s not that far, Nyra, you’ll be just-”

“It must be at least a hundred thousand wingbeats from here.” Nyra lowered her voice to a whisper. “If I fall, you’re going to have to carry me.”

Revaramek laughed again. “You know, I can’t tell how much of this is the medication, and how much is your natural desire to tease me.”

Nyra nipped at his scales again. “A little from the swamp, a little from the cave.”

“I don’t think that’s a saying. Nonetheless…” Revaramek took a slow step forward, watching Nyra closely as she did the same. “I shall carry you upon my back, if that’s what it takes.”

“Me, on your back?” Nyra gave him a funny look. “No, I don’t think it works that way.” She shook her head. “You have to be on my back for it to reach my-”

“Not talking about that Nyra,” Revaramek said, taking another small step. “Just talking about carrying you.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” Nyra managed several paces before her legs grew too wobbly. She paused, gazing at her mate. “But speaking of the other thing…” Nyra scrunched her muzzle. “I don’t think we can do that until my stomach stops hurting.” Then she gasped, her ears and frills shooting up. “Revaramek! Why does my stomach hurt?”

Revaramek nosed at her ear. “Because you’ve just had surgery. Remember?”

“I did?” She peered at her bandages, then looked at each of her four paws in turn. “I probably shouldn’t be on my feet, then.”

“We’re just going outside, love.” Revaramek pointed a wing-tip talon at the Cathedral’s back doors. “See? We’re nearly there.”

“It does look slightly less far away.” Nyra glared at her legs as if issuing silent instructions. She took a wobbly step forward, then another. After that, her stride picked up speed as she gained momentum, forcing Revaramek to do the same. “Look how fast I’m going!”

“Yes, Nyra, you’re a real championship sprinter.” Revaramek kept his wing tightly wrapped around her. “Careful not to trip over anything.”

Nyra ignored his advice in favor of gazing around in wide-eyed wonder. It was as if neither her head nor her legs knew what the other was doing. “We’re moving so swiftly the world is but a blur!”

“I suspect that’s the medication,” Revaramek said, watching the ground on her behalf. “Careful, Nyra, there’s a little stoop here.”

Nyra lurched to a stop. “You took a little poop here?” She scrunched her muzzle. “Mirelle’s not going to like that.”

Revaramek flashed her a grin, trying not to laugh. “Now you sound like the Tea Kettle! And I’m shocked those words sound so alike in our language. Just watch your feet stepping outside.”

Nyramyn tilted her head down, carefully stepping across the doorframe, and out onto the patio. She squinted against the sunlight, pinning back her frills. “It’s too bright out here. Are we getting closer to the sun?”

“I certainly hope not!” Revaramek guided her onward one step at a time. “Although, if our sphere is about to drift into the sun, we’ll have a lot fewer problems to worry about. Careful of the stairs here, Nyra. Take them one at a time.”

The dragons descended the steps onto the grassy expanse, with Mirelle following behind to help keep an eye on Nyra’s movements. Revaramek led Nyra towards a large patch of nearby shade, beneath the towering line of pine trees. Earlier, the healers had arranged a large assortment of blankets and cushions across the ground while Nyra slumbered. Revaramek supported Nyra as she eased herself down onto a blanket. Once she was settled, he sat down next to her.

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Revaramek licked her neck.

Mirelle sipped her beer. “Doesn’t she have to-”

Nyra jerked her head up. “I have to pee!”

“Oh, right.” Revaramek stood right back up, glancing at Mirelle. “Any preference for where she does so?”

Mirelle arched a brow. “Well, I’ve just had The Cathedral’s privies renovated.”

Revaramek lashed his tail. “I rather doubt she’s going to fit in there, Mirelle!”

Mirelle just rolled her eyes. “Just take her somewhere beyond the trees. She’ll be out of view, back there.” She scowled. “I should probably hire someone to dig a temporary latrine.”

Revaramek helped Nyra to a secluded spot to relieve herself. When they returned, they both eased down onto their bellies atop the bedding. Revaramek draped a wing across his mate as Nyra tried to get comfortable.

“Here, Nyra.” Revaramek moved a few pillows in front of her. “Rest your head on these.”

“Very well.” Nyra rested her head on a cushion, only to gasp and lift it again. “Revaramek!”

“Yes, Nyra?”

She splayed her ears, looking at herself. “Why does my stomach hurt?”

“The surgery, Nyra.” Revaramek half-heartedly waved at her bandage. “Why don’t you try and get some more rest?”

Mirelle sat down on a cushion, sipping her ale. “How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected.” Revaramek stroked Nyra’s foreleg as she lay her head down. “She was quite impressed by her own ability to sit up, and move her limbs. And she’s already asked me several times why she’s in pain.” He licked his nose. “I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t even remember walking out here tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Mirelle set her mug on the grass. “Do you think we should have the gryphons watch Korakos another night?”

The dragon shrugged his wings. “I think it’s alright for him to join us.” Revaramek watched Nyra struggle to keep her eyes open. “She may sleep all evening, anyway.”

Mirelle leaned onto her hands. “Gods know she deserves the rest.”

“That she does.” Revaramek caressed Nyra’s scales. “Go to sleep, love. Get some rest.”

Nyramyn murmured, but did not otherwise reply. Her breathing soon evened out as she drifted to sleep. Revaramek examined her bandage while she slumbered. It was affixed to her scales with sticky resin. The dressing showed no sign of coming loose, nor any discoloration. Satisfied, Revaramek eased a little closer to her, wing draped over her back.

“Everything okay?” Mirelle leaned over, peering around Revaramek.

“I think so.” Revaramek scratched his neck with his wing tip. “I was worried she might have dislodged something when she surged ahead earlier, but it looks good.”

Mirelle patted his paw. “She’ll be fine, Revaramek. Those stitches are harder to pull out than you think.” Her face darkened, if only for a moment. “You should have seen the poor birds, after the battle for the town. Kurekka was more stitches than feathers for a month.”

A smile broke through Revaramek’s worried expression. “That sounds like an improvement for that ugly old rooster.”

Mirelle laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll tell him you said that. The point I was going to make is that if he didn’t manage to pull his own stitches, Nyra won’t either.”

Revaramek nodded. He stared at his paws, idly kneading the blankets upon which he lay. “Korakos likes them.” He flicked his tail. “The birds, I mean.”

“Good!” Mirelle picked her mug up and took a drink. “They’re a lovely couple. And they dote on your little bundle of scales as if he was their son.”

“Yes,” Revaramek said, smoothing down the bedding he’d ruffled up. “They absolutely do. I know they’ll take excellent care of him while the three of us are gone.”

Mirelle worked her mug between her hands, scowling. “Does he know, yet?”

Sudden, cold sorrow gripped Revaramek’s heart. Pain filled his belly in an anxious flood. The dragon opened his muzzle to reply, but the words caught in his throat. He worked his jaws without sound, managing only to give his head a single, slow shake. Revaramek swallowed. How, he wondered, could he possibly tell poor Korakos that his family was leaving again?

Mirelle set her drink aside, then scooted closer to set her hand atop Revaramek’s paw. “I know, Rev. I know. It’ll be alright.”

Revaramek sniffled, fighting for every word. “I don’t know how how to tell him, Mirelle. He’s…” The dragon whimpered. “He’s already been through so much! How can I possibly tell him, that I’m leaving him behind again?” He stroked Nyra’s foreleg with a trembling paw. “That we’re leaving him?”

“I don’t know, Rev.” Mirelle gently hooked her fingers under Revaramek’s much larger paw, lifting it. She cradled Rev’s forepaw in both hands, softly squeezing. “But I do know you’ll find a way. And I’ll be there to support you.”

Revaramek managed a smile. “Thank you.” He took a shaking breath, watching Nyra sleep. “It will have to come from both of us. But we can’t tell him while Nyra’s only half here. We’ll have to wait until she’s back to her senses.” He whimpered again, his belly cold and taut. “It’s just, he waited damn near his whole life to see me! Hoping and dreaming, telling himself stories about me. Wishing to see his mother happy, again. And when at last we were reunited? He was so filled with joy! As if his tiny life was finally complete. And…” Tears spilled down Revaramek’s muzzle. “And now I have to take that away from him! He thinks he’ll never be alone anymore, yet here I am, about to leave him behind all over again.”

Mirelle squeezed his paw tighter. “He’ll understand. It’ll hurt, but-”

“It’s going to break his poor little heart!” An anguished sob twisted Revaramek’s voice. He struggled to keep his tears quiet. “How can I put him through that again? I don’t even know how to find the strength to tell him, let alone where to begin. Or how to comfort him, when he realizes he’s losing us.”

“Revaramek.” Mirelle spoke his name like an oath, softly but with great conviction. “You have never in your life shirked from a challenge.” She released his paw, and moved to kneel alongside him, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “And I know you won’t falter in this one, either. Because you’re Revaramek the Gods-damned Resplendent.”

A tiny smile fought its way through his tears. “Mirelle, I-”

“Aren’t you?”

The dragon nodded. “Of course, I am.”

“Exactly.” Mirelle rubbed his scales, her voice like iron. “Of course, you damn well are. And I know Revaramek the Gods-Damned Resplendent will do whatever he has to do.” Her tone softened, slightly. “Even this. But it won’t be like before, Rev. He’s not losing you. You and Nyra aren’t just going to vanish. You’re going to talk to him about it. He’s going to know why you’re leaving, where you’re going, and he’s going to know you’re coming back. Both of you.” Mirelle stared into Revaramek’s eyes. “Yes, Rev. It will break his heart. But I promise you, he has the strength to endure it, and emerge all the stronger.” She gently cupped the dragon’s chin. “I know this, because I know who his father is.”

Revaramek smiled, then gently bumped his muzzle against Mirelle’s head. “Thank you, Mirelle.”

Mirelle patted his jaws. “Of course, Rev.” She stood and hugged his head tight. “It’s true, too. For all your bluster and bravado, you have the kindest, strongest soul I know. And it’s the best thing your son could have inherited from you. I promise you, Rev. He’ll be just fine.”

“I hope you’re right.” Revaramek returned her hug, rubbing Mirelle’s back. “We’ll find a way to tell him, as soon as Nyra’s ready. We’ll let him rage and cry, and suffer together his anger and his tears. Then we’ll have a few weeks for our hearts to heal, in which to prepare for the anguish for parting ways.” He turned his head to stare at the lingering patch of sand in the midst of Mirelle’s garden. The breeze swirled across it, spinning loose sand into little shapes. “And then we’ll go into that gods-damned desert, and find a way to save Nyra.”

Atop the little patch of gold, the whirling sands danced.

******

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