FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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Chapter Thirty Five

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A strange sort of loneliness settled over the hatchling as he made his last patrol around the only home he'd ever known. Mother was leaving soon, and this time she was taking him with her. They would not come back. In the stories Mother told, the heroes always said their farewells when they left their homes. But for all the times he'd kept this place safe while Mother was away, there was no one for the little dragon to say goodbye too.

A hero had to have someone to say goodbye too.

The hatchling roamed the hillside beyond the slanted stones that sheltered their cavern home. Sting-bugs buzzed over his head. He looked up, and watched the angry insects chasing after wing-frogs shooting the air. Without his protection, the sting-bugs would claim his home. The hatchling gave a little sigh. He supposed when momma and him were gone, it wouldn't be their home anymore. He wished he knew why that thought made him feel empty inside.

At the end of his final patrol, the hatchling stood near the water's edge. The black water lapped at the stones around the bottom of his hill, sloshing against green and brown slime. Despite the swamp's vile, poisonous smell, the hatchling always liked the sound of the burbling mire. He wondered if their new home would sound that way, too. Mother said the water there was clean, that he could swim in it. That would be nice. He flicked his ears back, wondering how mother knew if she'd never been there herself?

Father. Father told her. The hatchling wished he remembered Father and his many tales better. Mother always smiled when she spoke of him, and the places in Father's stories sounded so nice. But the young dragon knew his mother had not seen them herself. Some cold, frightened part of him wondered where they would go if Father's stories were wrong.

Wherever they ended up, they were leaving their home. It wouldn't be right to leave without wishing someone goodbye. The hatchling gazed into the distant swamp, between the ancient, towering trees and the green, thorny vines that twisted and slithered between them. Movement on a familiar pile of rocks on the far horizon caught his attention. The spider-snakes he'd once spared were nearly grown now. After his mother, they were the only other creatures he really knew.

Now and then a pang of guilt still tugged at his heart when remembered how proud he was to have slain their mother. He knew well enough that all creatures had to eat, and sometimes one life was cut short to continue another. But he also knew how sad and lonely he'd feel if something bigger from the swamp ate his mother. So over the months, he'd watched the spider-snakes grow, glad to see them able to care for themselves. If there was anyone to say goodbye to, it was them.

"Momma!" The little dragon called up the hill to their cavern home where mother was making preparations to leave. "I'mma say goodbye to the spider-snakes!"

"What?" Mother's voice drifted back to him.

The hatchling licked his muzzle. She probably wouldn't want him making the trip. The dark water was higher than ever lately. Some of the swamp's more dangerous inhabitants were roaming further than usual in search of new hunting grounds. The trip to the spider-snake's rock pile was more treacherous now than it used to be, but he was not afraid. Well, he was a little afraid. But Mother told stories of brave heroes, of dragons unafraid to face danger, to do what was right. The hatchling wanted to be a brave hero too.

If Mother didn't tell him not to go to the spider-snake rocks, then she couldn't get angry at him for going. He took a few steps back up the muddy hill, sizing up his first jump. He waggled his haunches, ran down the mud onto the slimy-slick rocks, and leapt for the fallen log. He jumped even further than he'd intended, beat his little wings in the air in an instinctive struggle for flight, and landed halfway down the log. Black claws dug into the rotting wood, affixing him to it.

Arching his neck in pride, the little dragon trotted across the log. Even with the water higher these days, the log took him much of the way. It was longer than mother's tail, spanning the dark water, wedged against boulders just below the brackish surface. At the far end, he measured his jumps carefully. The boulders he leapt across looked smaller now that the water had risen. Or maybe he was getting bigger. He flattened his ears, waggled his rump, and jumped from the log to the rounded stone. Then he did the same thing a few more times. He took each jump extra carefully now that the rounded, lichen-crusted boulders were more submerged than he was used too.

At last he leapt onto the pile of moss-shrouded stones that made up the spider-snake's rock mound. With his paws splayed against the rocks, his own green scales blended in against the stone's mossy blanket. A few spider-snakes, nearly full grown, clambered out of their holes to see who had intruded upon their territory. Black, segmented limbs carried the creatures across the slippery terrain. They clacked their mandibles at him, little eyes gleaming atop their emerald-scaled heads. A few of them chittered at each other.

"Hi spider-snakes!"

The spider-snakes reacted with the same general indifference they always did. They never seemed bothered by his presence. He was too big for them to try and eat, and somehow they almost seemed to know he wasn't going to harm them. Ever since he started wondering if the last one he slew was their mother, he had little appetite to eat any more of their kind.

"Sorry about your momma." The hatchling hung his head.

In truth, he had no way of knowing if that last adult he'd hunted and shared with his own mother was even related to them. But the idea bothered him, like a tiny thorn stuck under his scales he couldn't quite pull free. As this was his last chance to see the little creatures, it only seemed right to apologize to them, just in case.

The hatchling doubted they understood him, but that was alright. He offered his apology on principal alone. In one of Mother's tales, the hero apologized to those he'd wronged before he left. Granted, in that story, the hero was off to face certain death, and wanted to make things right first. The little dragon just hoped he could be so brave, some day.

He settled on his haunches and watched the spider-snakes for a little while. Once they'd determined he was not a threat, they spread out across their mossy territory to hunt. When a gray armor-toad crawled up out of the water, they clattered over each other trying to snare it first. The hatchling watched, wondering how spider snakes said goodbye. He clicked his teeth at them, trying to copy their noises. They seemed more interested in tearing off the armor-toad's chitin and eating what lay beneath than in saying goodbye. Not that he could blame them, food was good.

Nearby, another spider-snake slunk across some of the larger rocks, diligently clearing away patches of fur-like moss. The hatchling watched at first, confused until he saw several tiny swamp crabs and other creatures skitter from the thick moss. The spider-snake snatched them up, devouring them one by one.

Oooh, tiny swamp crab.

Hardly a meal, but definitely a treat. He glanced around until he spotted a particularly large and mossy boulder. He crept across the rocks to the larger stone near the center of the mound. The little dragon settled on his haunches, and cleared away some of the soft green growth with his claws. A miniature crab scuttled away when its hiding place was exposed. The hatchling snatched at it and popped the whole thing into his muzzle. The shell was still a little soft, and the swamp crab crunched up between his teeth, filling his mouth with the taste of its succulent sweetness.

The hatchling gave a happy sigh, hoping wherever their new home was, they'd have swamp crab there. With his claws and teeth, he tore away more of the fuzzy green stuff from the boulder. A few more little morsels scrabbled away when uncovered, only to end up in his belly. The young dragon tossed some of the moss into the black water, and soon something was picking at it from below. The dark surface rippled around the floating emerald patches until they vanished with a splash.

When enough moss was uncovered, the hatching realized this boulder was different from the stones back home. The surface was smoother in places, the edges sharper than the rocks he was used to. He put his claws back to work to expose more of the boulder's surface. One side of it was entirely flat, with odd images cut into it. They were not pictures like he saw in the book mother brought him. Instead they looked more like the strange, squiggly things that covered the pages between the images. Mother said the squiggly things made words. He traced a few symbols with his claw, wondering if someone tried to make a rock into a book. Did the spider-snakes tell stories?

In the distance, mother called his name. The hatchling perked his ears, his little frills raised. Anger heated her voice. The little dragon hoped she wouldn't be too mad. He called back to her, told her he'd be home soon. She must be ready to go, he thought. He'd better say his last goodbyes to his...were the spider snakes his friends? He'd say farewell to them either way, because that was what a hero would do.

The hatchling gave a little roar for the spider-snakes' attention. When they turned and looked at him, clicking mandibles, he waved his paw. People in the stories always waved. "Bye spider snakes! Byyyyee!"

With his farewells given, the hatchling scrambled back towards his home. He jumped across the slimy rocks, and headed for the long, fallen log. He kept his claws unsheathed the whole way to help keep his footing. Momma would be angry if he fell in the black water now and got sick just when they were ready to go find their new home.

As he trotted along the log, he spotted a red and orange salamander staring at him. It hung from a spindly tree limb, clutching at its perch with four sticky-toed feet whilst waving the other two in the air, waiting to snatch passing insects. The dragon paused and stared at the salamander. He could have sworn it was the same toxic creature he'd tossed out of their home while Mother was away. It looked as if it was waving at him, a farewell truce.

The hatchling waved back. It would be impolite not to. "Bye poison 'mander!"

When the young dragon neared his home, he found his path obstructed. Long, green vines laden with curved black thorns slithered across the end of the log. They extended from a nearby tree that had leaves with edges like sharp green teeth, and orange flowers as big as his head. The vines wriggled and twisted as they crept over water and wood. Their many black thorns twitched, seeking something to snare. More of them crept across the lichen-crusted stones at the water's edge he needed to leap to.

The vines were not unfamiliar to the hatchling. Now and then he saw them snare spinefish from the water, and screech birds from the boughs before retracting and dragging their wiggling captives away. The little dragon canted his head. He'd never seen so many thorn vines in one place before, and he didn't want to be dragged away next.

He took a few slow steps, his tail twitching. The nearest vine curled towards him as if sensing his presence. The vine's black thorns dug into the rotten wood like tiny, sharp legs, carrying the vine towards him. Whining, the hatchling backed away. Other than backwards he had nowhere else to go. He lifted a hind paw, glancing back at the webbing between his toes. If only it was safe to him to swim in the sludgy, burbling water the way the other creatures did.

How was he going to get home? If he jumped over the vines on the log, he might end up in the water. If he tried to climb out after that, the vines on the rocks might get him. He didn't want to find out if he was strong enough to fight off a hoard of grasping thorn-vines. He peered up the hill. Fresh footprints in the mud told him mother had returned to their cavern while she waited for him to come home.

Maybe he should yell for his mother. She could help him. She might angry that he'd run off, but she'd also know what to do about the thorn vines. The hatchling took a deep breath, tipped his head back, and called out. "Momma! Moooommaaaa!"

As soon as he cried out, all the vines tensed and twitched. The nearest ones curled against the log, dragging themselves towards him. Others stretched and slithered over the mire, moving towards the sound of his voice. Another coiled around the log, black thorns tensing and waving, pulling it closer. He backed away, whining. Mother's yell earlier must have drawn them.

Mother appeared from inside the cave beneath the slanted stones. She gazed down the earthen hill, and when she saw him stranded upon the log, she called his name again. This time she sounded far more fearful than angry. She hurried down the hillside, skidding to a stop near the stones that lined the water's edge. One of the vines there rose from the ground and whipped out at her, faster than he knew they could move. It twisted around her foreleg, thorns scratching against scale. Mother wrenched her leg up, pulling the vine away from the ground. With a snarl, her snapped her teeth through it and bit it half. The rest of the vine thrashed and twitched, spraying her scales with dark fluid. The damaged vine retracted into the water, and mother tossed the rest of it aside.

"Move back!" Mother yelled at him, wiping the sticky vine blood from her muzzle with her paw. "Back away! Far away!"

The hatchling wasn't about to argue. He scrambled backwards as quick as he dared without losing his footing. A few vines moved to follow him while others slithered towards his mother. Mother backed away and took a deep breath, her green-plated chest expanding. Then she roared a great gout of fire, of roiling red-orange flame that was somehow both terrible and beautiful all at once. Even at a distance, the heat of it washed over him, made him pin his ears and flatten back his sensitive frills. His membranes clicked shut over his eyes to protect them. He stared, wide-eyed and open-muzzled, as his mother incinerated the thorn vines. He'd only seen her use her fire a few times before, and never because of danger.

Mother turned her head, scorching as many vines as she could. She took another breath, and then spat a sound burst of fire across the burning vines. Some of them twitched and tried to withdraw, only to coil and wither, blackened and crackling. Vines further from the flames slithered back the way they'd come, into the water and towards the sharp-leafed tree. Fire charred the rotten wood as well. Too wet to truly burn, it smoldered above the murk.

"That was great, momma!" The hatchling bounced in place atop the log. It bobbled a little under his weight. "Do it again!"

"Come here!" The sharpness in mother's voice squashed his excitement. She hurried back to the water's edge, and waved her paw at him. "Run and jump, now! Before more come!"

More were coming? The hatchling glanced around, scanning the burbling water. More vines uncoiled from the trees, stretched up from the water, and extended across the mire. Something larger shifted beneath the water's surface, sending waves and ripples across the swamp. Whatever that was, the hatchling didn't want to wait around to find out. He bound forward, claws dug into rotten wood as he ran. As soon as the wood beneath his paw pads grew hot and charred, he leapt.

The youngling propelled himself off his hind legs as far as he could. He beat his little copped spotted wings against the air. They were not big or strong enough to carry him, but they let him glide until his mother could reach him. Even before he jumped, Mother's front paws were in the water and her long neck stretched towards him. Mother snatched his neck in her teeth mid-jump.

"YEEEEP!" The little dragon squeaked and went limp almost immediately.

Despite the hurried nature of her movements, she was as gentle as ever. She hadn't carried him that way in quite some time, and he idly paddled his hind legs against the air while she backed up the hill, pulling her paws back out of the water. She lowered him down to the muddy earth, then jerked her head towards the cavern.

"Go!"

The little dragon ran up the muddy hill as fast as his short legs would carry him. The slanted stones loomed above him, framing their home. Only it wasn't their home anymore. They were leaving behind the cavern that had sheltered him for as long as he'd known life. Thinking about it left him a little empty inside. What if they didn't like their new home? He padded inside, muttering a goodbye to the cavern under his breath.

Inside the cave, Mother had already made their preparations to leave. The hollow pack she'd brought back after one of her journeys sat near the exit, stuffed and bulging. The little dragon pulled back the flap to peer inside. Their scraps of furs used for bedding were packed inside, along with the pots mother had used to collect fresh water lately. A few dead screech birds rested inside the pack. Also inside was the book she'd brought him, filled with beautiful pictures of lands from the stories. Something black and shiny glinted inside, too, along with a few other unfamiliar items. Mother had brought back new things after her every trip, lately.

"We have to go. Right now." Mother slipped into the cave, her vast green wings brushing stone. She settled onto her haunches, grimacing. She pinned her spines back. A few lines of red blood ran down one of her forelegs. The healing scar on her belly looked angry, as if she'd hurt it again fending off the vines. She picked up the pack, and worked to buckle its straps around her foreleg. "Are you ready?"

"Momma, are you hurt?" The hatchling padded up to nuzzle at her scales, and offer her a soothing lick.

"Just a little sore." She held her foreleg out to him. "Here. Can you press these clasps together for me? These weren't made for dragon paws."

The hatchling scrunched his muzzle. "What were they made for?" He draped himself over his mother's foreleg and took the straps in his paws. She'd shown him how the buckles worked already. He pressed them together till they snapped shut.

"Humans." Mother lowered her head to give him a lick of thanks. She glanced over her wings at the exit, hissing to herself. "Time to go."

"Humans?" The little dragon bounced on his paws. How exciting. He'd never met humans before. He'd only heard about them in stories. "Where's the humans?"

"Gone." Mother adjusted the pack on her foreleg, then pushed herself back to her feet.

"Oh..." That was disappointing. He wanted to meet humans. And heroes. And maidens. He gazed around as if expecting to see humans hiding in the shadows. Halfway up the wall, something new caught his attention. Lines and symbols marked the stone where before only rough rock had been. He lifted his paw and pointed. "What's that?"

Mother scooped him up with a single foreleg, cradling him against her chest plates. "Our names. This place was ours, once, and our names are all we can leave it. Maybe they'll be found, some day."

The hatchling wriggled against his mother's scales, getting comfortable. "Found? By who?"

"Maybe no one." Mother hobbled to the cavern exit on three legs. "Maybe whoever comes next."

Outside the cave, a tangled mass of green vines with black thorns wriggled across the ground and the dark water beyond. There were more of them than he'd ever seen before, choking off the earth. He pressed himself against his mother's chest plates. She tensed against him, growling as she spread her wings. The vines twitched and slithered towards them. Something shifted beneath the water, ripples rolled over the surface.

"It doesn't want us to leave." Mother's words were a half-whispered murmur he didn't think he was meant to hear. "But I won't let it have you."

"The monster?" The hatchling turned his head, trying to see what churned beneath the mire.

"The swamp. The world." Mother swallowed, glancing down at her small passenger. "Your father would have said the story. But your father knew there was something better out there, something more than the swamp and wasteland that's all that's left of our world. And I'm going to take you there. Hold tight."

Mother jumped into the air and beat her wings. The world lurched away beneath the little dragon and his belly sunk into his hind paws. He squeaked and pressed himself to his mother's chest plates. As she ascended she tucked her other foreleg up, cradling him against her with both front limbs. The straps of her pack brushed his tiny wings. For a few moments, the swamp fell away in harsh, jerking movements but he never felt anything but safe and secure in his mother's arms.

It had been a long time since she'd last taken him flying. Mother ascended in a tight spiral above their rock-capped hill, aiming for an open space in the trees. Soon the swamp stretched out beneath him. He could see the slabs of stone they lived beneath in the same glimpse as he could see spider-snake rock. What seemed like an epic journey when he undertook it suddenly looked like nothing more than a leap and a bound.

For the first time in memory, he saw down into the water. The light filtering through the churning gray clouds struck the mire just right, penetrating into its murky heart. Looming shapes lurked beneath the burbling surface. The stones that lined the edges of his hill continued beneath the water, falling away further and further. The spider-snake's mound of rocks sloped away into the murk, more stones than he'd ever realized, gradually fading into the darkness. More submerged stone made barely visible but evenly spaced lines beneath the water, all around spider-snake mound. Some of the trees were anchored upon submerged hills. It looked as if the whole world rose and fell beneath the water, and only the very summits of the sunken peaks poked above the water. He'd always known the water was deep, but he'd never realized just how deep it ran until that moment.

"Momma!" The hatchling pointed with a paw, peering over her foreleg. "There's hills under the water!"

"Yes, love, there are." Mother glanced down at him, a strange, wistful glow in her copper-bronze eyes. "Mountains, maybe. No one really knows what the world was like before it changed, before half of it died, and the other half flooded with poison. Everyone who lived back then is gone. My parents told me there were mountains, once, before the waters went bad, and rose to drown the world. And they told me of the burnt and broken wastes, but I've never seen them myself. When I was your age, there was a little more left of the world, but the waters keep rising. And we...we can't just adapt fast enough. Life changes, and new stories begin. But us...our stories here have ended. Now...hold your breath and close your eyes."

The hatchling blinked, and tore his gaze away from the hidden world beneath the waters. He glanced up, and saw the swirling gray clouds that always churned above the trees looming just overhead. He sucked in a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. A moment later, and a strange, frigid wetness enclosed him. Dampness coated his scales. The cold made his wings tingle. He pressed himself tighter to his mother's chest. She hugged him against her, her body shifting and rolling with every beat of her powerful wings.

Just when the little dragon's lungs began to burn, his mother's grip relaxed. "Alright, love, you can breathe again. But open your eyes slowly."

The hatchling sucked in a ragged breath, filling his lungs with fresh, clean air. It smelt and tasted different than the air at home. A bitterness clung to his muzzle from the poisonous clouds that often dropped black rain. He wiped his muzzle with his paw, cracking his eyes open. Blinding light made him shut them just as fast.

"It's too bright!"

For some reason, that made his mother laugh. "I told you to open them slowly. We're above the clouds, now, and you can see the sky, and the sun. You can look at the sky, but don't look at the sun, or it will burn your eyes. Careful, now."

The sky? The sun? He'd only ever glimpsed them a few times in his life, on rare flights with his mother, or the even rarer times when the clouds gave way to the sky beyond for a short time. His little heart pounded, his belly tightened in gleeful excitement, and yet he forced himself to open his eyes slowly. If he did it too fast and blinded himself he wouldn't get to see the sky.

With his flight membranes closed, the hatchling gradually opened his bronze eyes. At first the brightness stung, even while he squinted. But his eyes adjusted, and he opened them a little more. It had been so long since he'd truly seen the sky that now it seemed like a brand new wonder. He sucked in a breath, awestruck by its beauty. It stretched on endlessly, a pale blue stone polished smooth. His jaw hung open and he lay limp in his mother's arms, gazing at the infinite azure horizon above him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mother's voice was soft, reverent and yet with a strange sadness hiding behind her words. "It was brighter, once. Not such a sickly shade."

For the tiny dragon who spent so much of his young life beneath swirling clouds, he could scarcely imagine anything more vivid and blue. To him it seemed if the sky were any brighter it would have seared itself into his vision, and he'd never see anything but blue again. He hoped that wherever they were going, the sky there was blue, too.

For a while, the hatchling just rested in his mother's grasp, as safe and at peace as he could ever remember being. While he was sad to leave their home behind, he was happy to be with his mother, traveling with her for the first time, seeing the sky itself. A few thin, wispy clouds drifted by above them. They were a far cry from the usual gray, churning maelstrom that made up the ceiling above the swamp.

The little dragon craned his neck, staring down past his mother's forelegs. The ashen shroud that usually swirled above the trees now lay beneath them, stretching in all directions like the murky waters far below. The cloud layer looked different from above, laden with rounded bumps and shapes cut by the wind. It looked like the rough-scaled hide of some great monster, ever pulsating as it moved.

"Where are we going?"

"To our new home, eventually. It is a long journey, love. You'll have to be good for me while we travel."

"I'll be good, momma." The hatchling nuzzled his mother's chest plates, watching the bumpy clouds glide away beneath her wings. "How do you know where you're going without seeing the ground?"

"The sun." His mother chuckled, a pleasant rumbling sound from her body. "And instinct. I flew the route beneath the clouds, before. Now it's easier for me to fly in the cleaner air while I can. I'll descend later when I need my bearings to find us shelter for the night."

"Is it a cave?" The hatchling twisted around, his tail draped over his mother's foreleg.

"If I can find one. Otherwise I'll just find some dry land and let you shelter under my wing." Mother beat her wings a few times, then stretched them and glided a while. "When I travel, I shelter in whatever I can find. At least I was able to find those pots for water. We won't go thirsty tonight."

The hatchling licked his muzzle. Come to think of it..."I'm thirsty, momma."

Mother rumbled again. "I am too, love. But you have to wait for now. We may have to ration our water for a little while."

"What's ration?"

"It means...be careful how much we drink, so we don't run out."

"But I'm thiiiirsty!" He swatted her foreleg with a paw.

Mother curled her neck, her ears drooping as she gave him a soft look. "I know. But I can't promise we'll find a place with water tonight. So we have to be careful with what we have. The place that will lead us to our new home has clean water, but not all the shelters do."

Time passed, and the hatchling could not keep track. He'd never been so far from home, or spent so long above the clouds. As they flew, the sun moved across the pale blue sky. Mother's breathing grew harsher throughout the day, her wing strokes a little less powerful. But she never wavered, never faltered, and her protective grasp around him never eased.

As the sun sunk towards the horizon, the color of the sky deepened. Swirls of pink fire edged the wispy clouds high above them. The swirling, leaden cloud-hills beneath them were bathed in burnt gold. Mother stretched her wings, descending down towards the clouds. As they neared them, she warned him once more to close his eyes and hold his breath. The hatchling did so. Cold dampness soon enclosed him. The feel of it made his wing membranes and frills tingle, and he pressed himself against his mother's chest.

By the time the little dragon's lungs burned, the tingly dampness had eased and mother allowed him to breathe again. He opened his eyes, and found the world darker than he remembered. After a day above the clouds, his eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light that filtered through them. At first all he saw were shadowy forms stretching from the water towards the swirling clouds like the skeleton of the swamp itself. When his eyes had adjusted, the hatchling twisted in his mother's grasp to survey this new part of the swamp. Though lacking in familiar landmarks, it was otherwise just like home.

Black water burbled beneath them. Towering trees rose from the mire, some with tangled canopies of green and red leaves, others scratching at the dull, silvery ceiling with bare, claw-like boughs. Here and there stones jutted from the water. Some were flat, others circular, and still more broken and jagged. Mother swept through a hole in the sprawling canopy of vines, leaves and thorns, then flew between the immense trunks of two ancient trees with rotted bark.

Up ahead, a flat stone nearly as wide as mother's wings jutted from the water at a sharp angle, leaning against the trunk of another tree. A few crimson screech-birds sheltered in the tree's lower reaches, but as the dragon approached, they leapt from their perches with shrieking calls. Mother descended towards the stone, and dropped down onto her hind paws in the black water. It splashed and sloshed as she landed and stumbled a few paces forward, jostling him in her grasp. She shifted him to one foreleg, and dropped the other down into the water. Once she had her footing, she eased him forward until he set his paws down upon dry land, beneath the sheltering stone.

As soon as the youngling felt the earth beneath his feet, he trotted forward. Or at least he tried. After a day in the air, his paws tingled and his legs felt all squishy. He stumbled and flopped onto his belly, then rolled onto his side to shake the tingles out of his limbs. Mother flattened herself down and crawled in under the stone, shaking her paws off.

"My legs is all funny!" The hatchling rolled onto his back, kicking his hind limbs in the air till they stopped tingling.

Mother laughed and stretched her neck to give him a lick. "Only when you paddle them in the air like that."

"What?" The hatchling blinked, tilting his head in confusion. Mother's gentle affection coaxed a purr from him, and he licked her own muzzle in return.

"Nothing, little one." Mother rumbled and nosed at him, then worked to unbuckle the straps of her pouch from around her foreleg. "Do you want some water now?"

"Yes!" He rolled over onto his feet, pushing himself up. His legs wobbled but the worst of the tingling had faded. "Is this home now?"

"Only for the night." Mother grunted, trying to get a stiff buckle open. Her fingers looked too big to work it right. "Tomorrow we fly again."

The hatchling moved to Mother's foreleg, and settled on his haunches alongside it. Mother pulled her other limb out of the way. He grasped the buckle in his paws, and after a few hard tugs managed to pop it open. Then he opened the other clasps for her as well. Better for him to do it than for her to tear the straps by mistake.

Mother gave him a few gentle licks of gratitude and opened up the pack. She pulled free one of the pots tilled with water, and removed the top. The hatchling wasn't sure where she'd gotten jars of stone from, but he was happy she'd found them. Made it much easier to store their water in than the shells they used to use. She set the pot in front of him, and the smell of fresh, clean water made his parched throat ache.

The little dragon dropped his muzzle into the pot, lapping and slurping at the water and waggling his haunches. Mother laughed at him, but he wasn't sure why. What else was he supposed to do when he was thirsty aside from drink the water? He was happy to finally get to drink his fill again. He pulled his head back, panting, and saw that mother hadn't yet opened a jar of water for herself.

The hatchling licked droplets from his muzzle, tilting his head as he glanced up at her. "Where's yours?"

"I don't need any right now. We have to ration it. Do you want some food?" Mother pulled out one of the dead screech-birds she'd hunted earlier, and set it on the damp ground.

So that was what ration meant.

The hatchling lowered his head, and pressed the top of his skull against the jar. He pushed it, careful not to knock it over. With a little effort, he eased it across the ground back towards his mother. He lifted his head and gave his mother his sternest look.

"Drink your water, Momma!"

Mother gave him an increasingly familiar look, the one where she couldn't seem to decide between sorrow and happiness. She lowered her head, and ran her tongue across him in a long, slow, and loving gesture. Then she plucked up the jar in one paw, lapping at the water inside. The hatchling smiled up at her before turning his attention to dinner.

Until he fixed his attention on the dead screech bird he'd almost forgotten just how hungry he was. Hunger was common enough for him, after all. Mother always kept him fed, but sometimes one meal didn't last enough to keep him from getting hungry again long before she was able to hunt more food. Usually he'd go play to distract himself from the gnawing in his belly. It seemed strange to the little dragon that he always felt the hungriest right when mother set food down before him.

While mother drank, the hatchling dug into the screech-bird. The birds weren't quite as delicious as his favorite shell-covered treats, but they were better tasting than the various mud-flavored creatures mother often brought home from the swamp. With a few quick yanks and tugs, he pulled most of the red feathers away from the carcass, exposing the mottled gray skin beneath. Sometimes mother would sear the feathers away with her flames, and leave the skin nice and crispy. But she'd already spent her fire for the day, and the young dragon had no trouble removing the plumage himself.

He bit into the creature's breast, tearing away a hunk of meat and chewing it. It wasn't as juicy and enjoyable as it would have been freshly killed, but as hungry as he was he didn't mind eating old meat. Sometimes when mother was feeling too weak and sick to hunt, she brought back whatever she could find for them. As long as it filled the belly it was good enough. He ate a few more bites of meat, enough to quell his hunger. Then he nudged the screech-bird towards his mother.

"Eat your bird!"

"I'm not that hungry." Mother shook her head. The thinness of her body and pallor of her green scales lately said otherwise. "You eat it." She set the jar back in front of him. "You can finish the water, too."

The hatchling glanced back and forth from the water pot to the bird and his mother, then back again. He grit his teeth, and flopped onto his haunches, curling his little tail around himself. "No!"

"Eat your food." Mother sharpened her tone, flaring his gold-tinged frills.

"Eat your food!" The hatchling shot right back at her, not budging.

"You have to eat so you-"

"You're skinny, momma!" He slapped a forepaw against the ground, his tail twisting. "You should get stronger, not skinnier! Eat more food!"

"I..." Mother's voice trembled and broke before she'd even gotten started.

She glanced back at herself, staring at her own body. The outline of her ribs was faintly visible against her green scales. She stretched a hind leg, looking it over, then sighed. Without another word, she plucked up the remains of the screech bird and downed it in a single gulp. Then she took the jar, and drank the last of the water from it.

When she was finished, she set her pack aside, and then curled up upon the muddy ground. She grasped the young dragon in her foreleg and pulled him up against her chest. The hatchling squeaked and giggled, wriggling in her grasp. He was glad she wasn't angry at him for not doing what he was told. As she clutched him against her chest, she curled her neck and pressed her muzzle against his, staring into his eyes.

Tears glistened in his mother's eyes as she gazed at him. "I love you."

He licked her nose, purring, happy just to be with her. "I love you too, Momma!"

"I know." Mother's voice was hoarse. She heaved a long sigh, her warm breath washing over him. "When we reach our new home, you'll need to learn to hunt. And I'll teach you to fly. Find you someone to teach you about the world."

"I already know how to hunt!" He put his forepaw atop her muzzle, little claws unsheathed. He gave a ferocious growl. "Gggrrrrrrhh! I'm a scary hunter!"

Mother only gave him a little smile. "Yes, my terrifying little hunter. You'll need to be so brave...but I know you will be."

"Uh huh! I'mma be brave, and conquer stuff, and hunt things, and be a hero."

Mother rumbled a soft laugh, closing her eyes. "Yes, you will. But your mother needs to sleep now. You should sleep, too. We have to fly again at first light."

"Tell a story first?"

"Not tonight. I'm so tired." Mother's breathing was already slowing.

"Okay..." The hatchling yawned, and settled against his mother's scales.

As mother's breathing dropped into a slow, even pace, the hatchling stared at their temporary home. He'd been so busy filling his belly and helping mother fill hers he hadn't even noticed where they'd stopped. It wasn't so much a cave as it was a shelter made from a single wall of stone that leaned against a tree trunk. The ground beneath it was little more than a spot of muddy earth that barely rose above the black water.

He gazed around the place. It was open at both ends, and twilight's last glimmer shone in beneath the slanted rock above them. It was less than half the size of the cave back home, the space so small that mother barely fit. Even curled around him, her wings brushed the stone, and her tail nearly rested in the mire. And with two exits instead of one, he hoped nothing slunk up out of the water and bit them in their sleep.

The little hatchling sighed. He missed his home already. He stared at the stone ceiling a while, so close he could almost lift his paw and touch it. Crusty yellow lichen and patches of tufted green moss covered much of it. But where the rock was bare, it had a strange texture, unlike cave walls and boulders back home. Lines were cut into it at even spaces, intersecting other lines. It almost made it look like square scales, as though the wall were made from the hide of some great stone beast.

He laid his head against his mother, and stared out into the swamp. Darkness had only just settled over the infinite expanse of dark water. Night creatures howled in the distance. Now was the time for stories, to play in the cave and climb mother's tail. It was too early to sleep, and yet mother's gentle, even breathing proved a powerful lullaby after such a long day. His eyelids drooped, and a powerful yawn overcame the tiny dragon. He licked his muzzle, snuggled against his mother's warmth, and wondered what their new home would be like.

Whenever mother spoke of it, it reminded him of Father. All she knew of their new home were the tales his father told her, long before he'd ever hatched. He wished he had heard those stories, too. He loved stories. He loved his father too. In that moment the hatchling so desperately wished he could remember more of his father than a glimpse of a smile and the echo of a laugh. His father seemed but a dream of love and laughter and then he was gone. Where, he did not know, and mother did not say.

Maybe he'd gone back to the marsh, and the clean water. Maybe they'd find him there.

Or maybe...maybe he'd come back for them, and lead them home.

The hatchling whimpered. It felt strange to so suddenly miss someone he barely knew. But his mother knew his father so much better. Her eyes shone when she spoke of him, and her voice trembled. And when she didn't think he was looking, sometimes she wiped away tears. She missed his father terribly, and he missed father even more for her.

The little dragon closed his eyes, whining. While he waited for slumber to take him, he told himself a story in his head. He tried to tell it right, to tell it the way mother would tell it, with the right words.

Once there was a dragon. Great, green and resplendent, from a beautiful world of clean water. A storm came, and took him away, to a terrible swamp, a place of black water and poison. He took shelter there, with a beautiful, kind female. He told her of his world, he made her laugh and wonder and hope. They hugged and cuddled and as the storm ebbed, they had a son. But another storm came, from a great fracture, and the swamp rose and everything changed, and the poison spread. When the storm passed, mother and son were alone. The dragon from the marsh was gone. They searched and searched and could not find him, and mother cried. But mother was strong, even in sadness, and she took her to son to find the dragon from the marsh. If father could not lead them to their new home, then mother would do it. One day...one day they would reach the marsh...and father...and be a family...

And mother would be healthy again...and happy.

One day...

*****

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