Chapter 2: A New Friend

Thirwyn woke with a start. It was like lightning had hit him and shocked him awake. The spines on his neck stood straight at the shock. Adrenaline surged through him as he frantically surveyed the den only to see the den of dragons sleeping peacefully. The glowing red stone in the middle was dimmed low enough so the dragons could sleep, though it was still bright enough to keep the young hatchlings and nestlings' fears away. Thirwyn had his own nest now. It was smaller than the one he had shared with his father when he was only a nestling. This one was made for a young dragon in a corner with more small nests.

Thirwyn shook his head to ward off the shock. The spikes flattened slightly. The sense of danger had been so real to him to wake him from his sleep. He hadn't even been dreaming. He was thinking of nothing, and then he heard the words: Don't turn around. Don't turn around. There was a sense of dread and fear that filled the words, like a warning of danger that he needed to address.

Thirwyn had grown to be much more than a nestling over the ten years. The shape of his head had become more of a trapezoid than an oval as it was when he was a younger. His green scales took on a new brightness. The ram horns were more prominent on his head, though they were still growing in. The spikes on his back had fully developed and would rise and flatten in accordance with his moods. His claws were sharper, more dangerous, and better adequate to slice. The muscles in his legs, though they were also still developing, were more defined. He had long since learned to breathe fire (a trait dragons learn as nestlings) and could now control it. The most important growth however was his wings. They were now just the size to carry him in flight. He had heard Leah talking it over with Miren and Arithoth. They would soon be taken out to fly.

Tiredon of course was only too eager to take to the skies. Cadmon seemed more fascinated by the idea and often talked to Thirwyn about his thoughts about it. Thirwyn was the only fledgling that didn't seem to care about much about flying. Few things seemed to pique his interest. When he breathed fire, he just listened to his father and tried not to set anyone on fire. When the older dragons commented on how his horns were growing in, he would just nod a thanks and move on.

Thirwyn looked up to see Cadmon staring at him from his nest. His silver eyes looked at Thirwyn curiously. Like Thirwyn, Cadmon had also become more dragon-like in the last ten years. He retained his onyx scales. He grew to be more slender and smaller than Thirwyn. If ever in a fight he would be better off evading the enemy rather than facing them head on, though he was still larger than a horse and had the spikes and horns to scare off any human.

“You all right, brother?” Cadmon asked.

Thirwyn nodded, still a bit shaken. “Yeah. I'm fine.”

“You sure? You looked like something was going to kill you right there. Your spikes stuck up and everything.”

“Just a bit of irrationality. The usual. I'm fine.”

“A nightmare?” Cadmon asked in astonishment.

Thirwyn shot him a look. “You know I don't dream anymore.”

“I know. I was just curious if you started again.”

“No. I didn't dream anything. It was more of a... I don't know. More of a feeling. A thought.”

“But not a dream?”

“No. Stop asking about it.” Thirwyn changed the subject. “You sleep at all?”

Cadmon shook his head. “I can't. My head's too full of ideas about flight.”

“You sound excited.”

“No so much excited as fascinated. The sky will be our new ground.”

“You know what it's like to fly. You rode on Ledah's back on the way here.”

Cadmon nodded. “I know. But still, it'll be so much different doing it yourself. You make the calls. You work your wings, and you determine your altitude. It's scary but still fascinating. I can't help but imagine what it'll be like here.”

Thirwyn nodded. “It should be interesting.”

“Yet, you are not taken at all by the idea.”

“I'm just not that excited about it.”

“Thirwyn, brother, I'm usually the indifferent one around here, and even I show some interest in this subject.”

“Why do you?” Thirwyn asked. What Cadmon said was true. Cadmon rarely took any interest a subject. He only took an interest in Thirwyn because Thirwyn was the first to befriend Cadmon as a hatchling.

“I don't know. I guess the idea of flying off or escaping into an open sky appeals to me. It provokes thought.”

Thirwyn gave a grunt as a show of accepting the comment. “It's something a dragon must learn to do I guess.”

Cadmon looked at Thirwyn curiously. “You really aren't that enthusiastic about it, are you, brother?”

“Not really,” Thirwyn yawned. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What?”

“Brother.”

Cadmon shrugged. “Because.”

“Tiredon is closer to your brother than I am.”

Cadmon grimaced. “No he's not.”

Thirwyn sighed. “You right, but I wish it was different.”

“When I first came to this clan you were the one who treated me like a brother. Tiredon did not. Do you regret doing so?”

“Never. But you should at least try to accept Tiredon as your brother, for Ledah's sake. At least he didn't kill you as a hatchling,” Thirwyn said with a smile.

Cadmon smiled as well, happy to get a bit of humor out of his friend. Thirwyn was usually as uninterested as Cadmon was. Only Cadmon took an interest in something that he thought important. For instance, when he started breathing fire, his mother had to take him to an island on the lake nearby because he wouldn't stop shooting fireballs. Thirwyn however, rarely had a passion for anything. He only ever concerned himself with the well being of others. Over the years, Thirwyn had defended Cadmon furiously when the other nestlings and fledglings would pick on him.

But there was still part of Cadmon that remembered what Thirwyn was like before they came to the den. Even after his mom had died, Thirwyn still had shown enthusiasm in almost everything. Now Cadmon's friend was almost always serious. It was rare to ever see Thirwyn smile or laugh genuinely, but it was always great for Cadmon to see Thirwyn do so.

Cadmon looked over at the small nest next to him and grimaced. It was empty. “Speaking of my beloved brother...” he said the word sarcastically that time.

Thirwyn voiced Cadmon's thoughts. “Tiredon gone again?”

Cadmon nodded.

“Probably out hunting,” Thirwyn suggested.

Cadmon growled softly. “He shouldn't be taking off like this. He's worrying our mother.”

“You know what Leah says. Let fledglings be fledglings.”

“I still don't like it. I always get such an awful feeling when I see that nest empty.”

Thirwyn did a dragon's version of a shrug. “If you want to try talking to him about it, go ahead. Though I doubt he'll listen.”

“I know,” Cadmon growled.

Thirwyn curled up tucking his head under his wing. “I'm still tired. I'm going to sleep. Night.”

“You and I both know you aren't going to sleep.”

“Night, Cadmon.”

“Good night, brother.” And then Cadmon, too, curled up, and, like Thirwyn, waited through a sleepless night.

Chapter 1: A silent Death (cont.)

It had been ten years since Leah had opened the underground den to the Arithoth's clan of dragons. Over those years they had opened the den to a few other nomad dragon families needing a place to settle down. All the while, Leah was beginning to change herself. Her hair had completely grayed. The wrinkles on her face had deepened and increased in number. Her gray eyes, however, remained as alert and bright with knowledge as they had ten years before.

She sat at her desk staring out into Grenvale woods. Her house was not far from the secret den in case any of the dragons required her assistance. In her hand was a feathered quill Ledah's adopted son Cadmon had given Leah when the dragon was a nestling. Leah, Drolin, and Miren had taken the young nestlings outside in the forest. It took months for the dragon parents to finally trust Leah. It's not that they didn't like humans. Humans just didn't like dragons, and killing a nestling was easy. After helping the fledglings learn to fly, overseeing a clutch of eggs hatch, and administer to every dragon wound, the nestling's parents had finally allowed her to take the young ones on a long anticipated trip to the woods while the parents went fishing...

“Cadmon, what do you have there?” Leah had asked the black nestling.

Cadmon's silver eyes had been glued to a single black crow feather. He had looked at it with great intensity, occasionally putting his small foot next to it, comparing the scales to the feather. Cadmon, out of all the dragons in the clan, was the only black dragon there was. He had no parents. Before the clan had moved, Ledah had adopted Cadmon when he was a month old hatchling. Her son Tiredon was around the same age as Cadmon, and she thought it might be good for Tiredon to have a brother his age.

Cadmon had looked up Leah and said, “I don't know. But looks it like me.”

Leah had laughed. “No it doesn't. Well, it's a black feather. But you don't look like a feather.”

“What's a feather?”

“A feather is what birds use to fly.”

“Do dragons use feathers?”

“No!” She had stretched out Cadmon's webbed wing. At first Cadmon had recoiled and acted apprehensive to her touch, but eventually he had given in. “This is what dragons use to fly.”

Cadmon had looked at his wing curiously then at the feather. “How does that make them fly?”

“Well, you see they grow it on their wings.”

Cadmon had looked very hard at the feather, as if trying to imagine on a bird. “Will it make you fly?”

Leah had laughed. “No. I don't think so.”

Cadmon had swept it over her with his tail. “Maybe it will! Keep it.”

Ever since then, Leah had used it to write in her journal:

Dear Student,

 Today, has been ordinary for the most part. The nestlings of ten years ago (when I first sheltered this clan) are just around the age to begin flying. There are eight that seem to be ready to fly. Out of them are the three nestling I have taken an interest in: Thirwyn, Cadmon, and Tiredon.

I've been somewhat worried about Tiredon as of late. I too often see him sneaking out of the den or hear him come up with some excuse to leave. His attitude has become proud and arrogant (though I should not be alarmed; nestlings do have a tendency to develop such qualities and grow into them as fledglings; he should grow out of it). It is however the sneaking off that has piqued my worries. He goes out more often than fledglings should. Though there have not been any problems with it, I still get feelings of unease.

Then there is Cadmon, Tiredon's brother. He has grown to be the opposite of Tiredon. I swear the only thing those two share is the same eye color. While Tiredon enjoys and draws attention to himself, Cadmon has preferred to be more antisocial than dragons usually are. He does, however, keep a close friendship with Thirwyn. I have seen the two together almost all the time since they arrived at the den. I have often heard him call Thirwyn 'brother' though he will only call Tiredon by his name. It is not that he is unkind or particularly malicious. He is simply detached and uninterested in dragons other than Thirwyn. Poor Ledah has had such difficulty coaxing him to participate in the traditional celebrations. Once she just gave up and let him stay in the nest. Thirwyn of course joined him in the den after the primary rites of the festivities had been commenced.

Thirwyn, of course, has always fascinated me. His poor father Arithoth led the clan to the den after having lost his mate. I have so often prayed for him. He continually frets over his only son. Once as a nestling, Thirwyn caught a minor case of the Nest Bug, and (dear me!) I swear Arithoth thought Thirwyn was going to die. It hasn't helped Arithoth that Thirwyn has been sullen and depressed. Of course he has grown out of it over the ten years, but still he seems to be missing some of that dragon spirit. It isn't like Cadmon. Cadmon almost rebels in his lack of compliance. Thirwyn will conform to anything with little enthusiasm and little fight. When he does fight, it is more of a fit of irrationality, where he will have a sudden moment of anger and then it will vanish. His moods will fluctuate at moments, but for the most part he is dispassionate. He refuses to sleep. He will lie down in his nest, but I have often seen him wide awake in the middle of the night. I fear sometimes that his mother's death has scarred him too deeply. However I also think there's more to it than Arithoth or I know. I still consider what Drolin told me about Thirwyn's behavior on the way to the den. He had simply woken up depressed. Maybe it was a dream about his mother, but how would that explain his words: “Why is she mad? I didn't do anything.”? I often entertained the possibility that it was his mother who was mad and that he thinks she blames him for her death. But then Drolin mentioned how Arithoth told him that Thirwyn said he met someone in his dream. Poor thing was embarrassed to silence and refused to tell his father anything more. But I keep getting the notion that that single fact alludes to something else. As much as I try to delve deeper, I cannot find a fitting answer to this phenomenon. Yet, I know it's lingering somewhere as something so obvious that I can't reach it. I know Cadmon knows something relating to Thirwyn's attitude. However he refuses to speak on the matter every time I allude to it.

Despite these blocks in my knowledge, I am confident that between me, Drolin, and Miren, we will find some explanation to this. It's in my bag of knowledge; I just have to pull it out.

Leah rubbed at her temples. She was so sure that there was something dire she was missing with Thirwyn. Miren and Drolin had concurred with her notion. Miren had been observing Thirwyn just after his mother's death on the way to the den. He had seemed depressed, but in the month of travel he had allowed himself to be coaxed out of his depression. He had slept more often then. The sudden switch in moods had happened just before arriving at the den. This increased Leah's suspicions.

She saw Drolin leap in through the window. His brown fur shimmered in the candle light. She smiled. “Out for another nighttime walk?” she asked.

Drolin licked his paw in a very catlike way. “You could say that. I spent more time on a roof however. I must say. Humans think very little of cats. To believe I would think about nothing else than big mice and lady cats. hmph!”

“Cats don't usually have your intellect. You're unique. Also there was that time when you were quite fond of the bakers' cat.”

Drolin rolled his eyes. “I thought she might have some sort of potential knowledge. I have a weakness for white fur. What can I say?”

Leah laughed.

Drolin sighed. “Being such a brilliant intellectual trapped in a cat's body is so depriving. I mean it was only yesterday that I was casually walking past the bakers' shop when the man chucks a rock and tells me to 'Scram! Mutt!' First of all, even if I was a primitive cat, I wouldn't be a mutt because that is a dog! Second I wasn't even stealing any of his goods; I was simply walking by to...”

Leah felt the cold terror numb all her senses. The last thing she heard was Drolin's panicked cry. “Leah!”

Leah's consciousness was pulled into another body. It was a girl's body, around thirteen years old. She was lying comfortably in a cot, looking up at the ceiling with the covers pulled around her. The blanket was merely sack-cloth, but it still provided some warmth from the cold. Everything was silent. There was no wind, no breathing, no creaks...just silence.

Then she felt something being shoved down her throat! It was like a snake crawling into her mouth and down her esophagus. She tried to scream, but the thing had paralyzed her and muffled her throat. She was forced to silence, forced to live this real nightmare alone. It was frightening at first, but then it became painful. She had involuntarily swallowed the thing completely. She had tried to breathe, tried to yell, tried to scream, but she could not.

Then she felt its teeth. She felt sharp pain as its razor sharp knives sliced into her organs. She suffered as the razors ripped open her stomach, burst through her skin, tore out her throat, eat her alive. There was nothing but pain. Pain so consuming she wanted to scream just to relieve it. But she couldn't. She was forced to silence. It was like her voice was trapped in a metal box filled with one thousand bolts of lightning. It hurt so much, she wanted to let her voice out to express her pain, but it was trapped in that painful metal box.

Finally when she felt herself slipping away, she felt the beast’s mouth at her chest, as it plunged down into it and ate her heart. And still everything was silent.

Leah clutched the desk for support as she lurched out of the vision. Drolin was at her side, licking her hand to help her back into reality. She was trembling. Her breathing was irregular and shallow. “I am getting far too old for this,” she said, half to herself.

Drolin climbed on to her shoulders and began licking her face. She stroked Drolin's fur. The softness under her fingers helped her get a grip her surroundings.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Drolin asked.

“I don't think I have much of a choice. I must.”

“You can wait until you have a better grip on things.”

“No. I must do it now, while it is still fresh in my head.”

Drolin sat patiently on the desk as Leah told him what she felt, what she saw, and what she heard in her vision. Drolin looked at her with patient pale green eyes as Leah retold her vision, repeating every detail she could remember. Finally when she was finished, she took out a large book from a drawer in her desk. It was more like a journal then a book. It had a large, thick leather cover. The parchment inside was bound in it by rings of twine. The book was thick with notes stuffed between the pages and aged with the many years gone by. Leah had made the book herself when she was a budding wizard, just freed from a witch's grasp.

Now, she flipped through the pages frantically, searching for a specific page.

Drolin noticed this. “You think you have seen it before?”

“I know I have seen it before, but it was long ago. One of my first visions actually.”

Drolin looked over her shoulder and watched as she flipped to the desired page. “Oh I remember this one,” he said. “You could never really find the murderer for that vision. You think it’s related to this one?”

“Yes. Look. I got the same feeling of something coming down my throat in this vision.” She pointed to the line. “And then I felt like I was being eaten alive.” She pointed to another line.

Drolin looked suspiciously at the page. “Yes that is true, but those murders haven't occurred for over fifty years. Why would the killer resume now?”

Leah shrugged. “I don't know. I think I'll consult Miren on the matter. At the very least, he can warn the dragons.”

Drolin nodded. “Good idea. I suppose you will do your best to try to catch this culprit?”

Leah nodded. “Of course. I have been given this gift for a reason. What a waste it would be if I didn't use it!”

“I still can't believe how you can still call that a gift. I remember how much those visions terrified you as a child.”

Leah smiled kindly at the cat. “We are all given something to contribute to the world. It is a light that we must distribute. Sometimes it is a light that burns, but I will use mine to its fullest extent.”

“Just be careful, please. This sounds dangerous.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it always is.”

*                                                                           *                                                              *

This is definitely not that-time-of-the-month scenario, Amy thought as she swept. The sheets were almost completely red with blood, yet there were no signs of a body. There weren't any stains on the floor to indicate the body had been dragged off. The cot was just bloody with no body. The window had been open however, indicating the killer had gone through that way.

Donna, cruel as she was, made the girls in the orphanage work. Amy was busy sweeping the large bedroom where everyone slept. All hell had broken loose when the girls woke up. All eyes had gone to the cot, and everyone had run out screaming to Donna. Amy had been the calmest of them all, mostly because she had been staring at the scene in shock for an hour before everyone woke up. With all the commotion the girls had made, the whole town knew about the disappearance and had started coming up with possibilities like witches, demons, ghosts, disease, and so on. Donna had been furious with the girls who blabbed and screamed to the town. Amy see. Since that morning, there were dozens of people knocking on the door begging to see the scene of the crime and promising Donna they would find the murderer if she paid them. Good luck with that, Amy thought. Donna was just about as cheap as dirt and would never even consider surrendering a coin for this cause. Amy however already knew what did it: dragons.

Amy practically ground the broom into the floor as she thought the word. Dragons! She see it the evidence. The window was open, so a dragon's head could probably snake through and eat Marcel, leaving the cot bloody and empty.

It seemed so clear in her mind. A dragon had killed her parents. It seems logical that one would not pause to kill Marcel. That fury grew in Amy once more, consuming her and overwhelming her mind and sight. What she wouldn't give to kill a dragon at that moment! Not even a lizard was safe from her that moment! If only she could just...

Snap!

Good God! Amy thought as she looked down at the two halves of the broom in her hands, broken by her fury. Donna will throw a fit. Amy liked that. Amy did hate the world, but there was no human she hated more than Donna. Since day one at the orphanage, Amy and Donna had done everything to make each miserable. Donna had charged Amy with pointless jobs, while Amy did everything she could to make those jobs go wrong. That of course got her into even more trouble, but if Donna got angry, Amy wouldn't stop. This broom in two pieces might just brighten her day.

She strolled out of the room, her fury diffused with the joyful opportunity to make Donna's day worse. Amy knew Donna didn't really care about Marcel. She was only angry that the curious townspeople kept knocking on her door. Throw two pieces of a broom into it, and Donna might just lose it. Perfect, Amy thought.

She walked confidently to Donna's door and knocked.

“If it's one of you Godforsaken rats looking for reward money, I'll give you my boot and shove it down your throat!” she roared.

“It's me, Donna,” Amy said pleasantly. Amy had no need to give her name; Donna always knew when Amy was at the door.

“What do you want?”

“I can't sweep.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Open the door and see.”

Donna opened the door. Donna was a stout woman (or fat as Amy called her). She had blond shoulder-length hair that was neither straight nor curly but somewhere in the middle. Amy loved to make note of the mole on her upper lip and the slight unibrow Donna had growing. Her pale blue eyes were like ice to the soul when she looked at anyone, but Amy got over that when she started secretly calling her “Snow Hag.” She often had a red weasel draped around her neck. The weasel always gave Amy the chills. At first someone would think it was dead, but then suddenly in the middle of a conversation, its head would flick up suddenly and stare straight at you with intent black eyes.

Donna's icy eyes darted to the snapped broom. “Of course,” she said, her voice barely containing her fury, “And what brought this on? Hmmm?”

“I don't know. I was just sweeping and it broke. Must be a cheap broom. How much was it?”

Amy could see Donna's face turning purple and nearly laughed. “Fix it,” she said.

“Why not buy a new one?”

“Because that one is perfectly fine.”

“Looks like it's in two pieces to me.”

“JUST FIX THE DAMN BROOM!”

“Yes, Misses! Whoops! I mean, Miss. You're not married yet.”

Donna exploded. “GET OUT OF MY FACE YOU DAMN RAT!”

“Leaving!” Amy said pleasantly with a wave as she hurried back to the door.

“And clean those Godawful sheets that are causing us so much trouble!” she snapped.

She stiffened. Great, Amy thought, Stuck with the dirty job. Though she knew Donna would give it to her anyway.

“You shouldn't antagonize her. Especially not on a day like this,” Amy heard Bethany say from the kitchen as Amy walked by. Bethany looked at her with reproachful blue eyes. Donna had assigned Bethany to cook with Rebecca.

Amy rolled her eyes at Bethany's comment. “Now is the best time to bug her.”

Bethany groaned. “After there's been a death in the orphanage? For crying out loud, Amy! The woman's probably under a lot of stress right now. Not to mention the grief or horror she's feeling.”

“Hate to tell you this, Beth, but I'm pretty sure that Donna doesn't give a damn about any of us. Is she under a lot of stress? I'm sure she is. Probably worried about how to get all these people off her doorstep begging for reward money. Hell! She’s probably thinking about how to save herself when the next attack comes. She doesn't care. And that's never going to change.”

“I don't believe that.”

“Have you seen her do anything to find out what happened to Marcel?”

“No, I haven't. And maybe she doesn't care, but I don't believe that won't change.”

“Yes, because 'nothing stays the same.' I've heard it before.”

“It's true.”

Amy rolled her eyes in annoyance at Bethany. “I got to go clean some sheets and fix a broom.” And she walked back to the room.

“Amy! Please be careful about what you say about Marcel. Some people actually did care about her.”

Amy stopped. Her fury glowed a bit, but then she silenced it. This was Bethany talking. She wouldn't say anything to purposely hurt Amy. But Amy thought it would be best to correct her anyway. She spun to look at Bethany. “I take it you are under the impression that I don't care that Marcel died. I do care. But death happens. We're in this hell hole because of death. I've learned to accept it and acknowledge it. I wish Marcel didn't die or disappear, but then I wished that my parents didn't die, but that's what happens. You don't get your wish in reality. Fate just does whatever the hell it wants.” She walked away.

Bethany sighed. “Great going, Beth,” she told herself and then resumed working.

Amy walked back into the room. Her fury was still glowing slightly, but she did her best to press it down. Amy knew people thought she was careless, selfish, and didn't give a damn. Sometimes she didn't, but she couldn't help looking at Marcel's cot and feel a sense of emptiness and loss. She didn't really talk to Marcel much, but there was this unacknowledged kinship between them. Both had lived in Grestling forever, and both had strove to survive in the orphanage. Marcel’s death made Amy feel alone. The pain of it nearly ripped Amy to shreds.

And that made her fury burn for dragon blood.

Amy grimaced, snatching the pillow, sack cloth, and a bucket on the way out. She held her breath to keep from breathing in the over excessive scent of blood and marched out the back of the orphanage to the well to wash the blood out. At the well she filled bucket and began cleaning the pathetic bedding. The smell of death was so strong, as she poured water over it. She buckled over at the stench. This is the last bit of Marcel we have, Amy thought, looking at the running red water. This is the closest thing to her on earth that we know of. She groaned and fell to her knees. Marcel was the only one in the orphanage who could come close to understanding Amy. They never even spoke to one another, but that was an understanding in and of itself. There was one rule Amy held above all in survival: Never invest yourself. Marcel had understood that rule too. To invest yourself was to love, to care, to show affection. But investing any part of yourself into anything on this earth was dangerous. People were fragile. Animals were fragile. Death could take them away easily. Amy didn't know until now how much she had invested in Marcel, but she knew it was too much. Shad broken her rule. And now she paid for it with Marcel's death.