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*****

Chapter Seventy Six

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The pup woke up sore, and cold. He shivered, rubbing his arms as he sat up. Sharp pain shot through his stiff neck. Vakaal groaned, and as he rubbed his neck, the pain faded. The fire he'd made with his shaping lingered only as glowing embers in a bed of ash. He wasn't sure how long he had slept. Outside the cave, the snowfall was now just a gentle dusting, and the world looked brighter. Vakaal wondered if this world even ran at the same time as his home.

Another world. The concept chilled him far deeper than the snow ever could. How was it even possible? What had happened to him? Vakaal couldn't help feeling as though whatever happened to bring him here should have killed him. He almost wished it had.

"Stupid body." Vakaal forced himself to his feet. "Stupid healing. Stupid...god-whatever! I can't even die right."

Aww, don't be like that pup.

"Shut up, Father." Vakaal snarled at the sound of his father's voice, echoing in his head. "You're not even here." He gnashed his teeth, flattening his ears. "You're not even my father!"

Sure I am.

"You're only a memory! Or something. I dunno..." Vakaal paced around the cave. He couldn't stay here the rest of his life. He needed food, needed water, needed more lasting shelter than a small cave could provide. Could he just shape those things into existence? Maybe, but it seemed wrong, somehow. "Just be quiet! I...I have to figure this out. Unless you're gonna let me die now-"

Please don't say that.

Vakaal's ears drooped. "I...sorry. I don't..." He tugged his tail around in front of himself, wringing it in his hands. "I don't wanna die but-"

Then live!

"Why should I?" Vakaal took a shuddering breath, staring out into the snow. "I've lost my home...Father might be dead...I think I ruined everything..."

No. No, pup, you can't blame yourself. All you ever wanted to do was help. It's not your fault they came to your world, to your home. You just wanted to save your father. It's not your fault they tortured him. You just wanted to heal him. It's not even your fault you're here...

"All I ever wanted to do was help..." Vakaal's voice was a broken murmur.

All you ever wanted to do was help.

Vakaal sniffled, kneading at the bushy fur of his tail. "Uh huh."

If you die you can't help anyone...

He lifted a hand to wipe his nose, shaking his head. "Nuh uh."

Then you need to live, so you can help more people, right?

"Okay..." Vakaal released his tail, swallowing hard. "What do I do?"

You live, pup. You live.

Vakaal grimaced, baring little fangs. If he was going to live, then he had to find somewhere to live. Which meant going back out into the snow. Which meant more frozen pads, more stinging nose, more burning ears, more numb extremities. Still, what choice did he have? Vakaal considered shaping himself some warm clothes and shoes, but he didn't feel like he deserved them. No matter how the cold hurt, his body would heal any harm it did. If this place was punishment, then it was punishment he accepted.

The pup trudged back out into the snow.

At least the wind wasn't blowing now, and the snow fell in light flurries rather than driving waves. Evidence of the dying blizzard clung to everything, to the rocks, and the strange, cone-shaped trees. Vakaal trudged over to the nearest copse and examined them. Beneath their snowy blanket, they had no leaves, only dark green needles. What horrible place was this where even the trees looked dangerous?

The pup turned away to survey his surroundings. Now that the snow had lessened and the sky was a brighter white, he had a better look at the area. A line of jagged stone shapes ran in one direction. Mountains. Though he saw them after he arrived, he paid them little attention in his panic. Now, he stared at them, wishing he could appreciate their majesty. He'd never seen such things before, never knew stones got so big. Layers of white covered them, but dark rock peeked out here and there. In another direction, there were sheer rock cliffs. He didn't think it would do him any good to try and scale them. There were more mountains, further away, but there was also a valley between them. Maybe it was warmer, there. May as well make that his destination.

Descending the mountain proved slow-going. The snow was deep, and made walking difficult. It was not long before his legs ached in relentless throb just from the exertion of plunging them through thick snow, over and over. The cold hurt his pads. They were made for sand, not snow. The pup thought it strange that even though the snow was so cold, it still made his skin burn. A few times, Vakaal lifted his feet and brushed them off, but wondered what good it was doing when he just had to shove them right back into the frozen powder once more.

"Don't go that way." Father stood ahead of him, pointing to a place where the snow sloped off. "There's loose rock under that snow. If you slip on it and fall, you're going over the cliff."

Vakaal stared at his father. The breezed rustled his thick gray fur. Snow peppered it. It melted where the fur was thinner, and father's warmth escaped more easily. Where the fur was thicker, the snow stuck to him. He smiled at Vakaal and gave his tail a single wag, then pointed away from the slope, near where a few gnarled needle-trees stood in a broken line.

"If you insist on punishing yourself this way, at least follow the trees. There's more soil there, beneath them, less chance of slipping and tumbling down the slope."

Vakaal sighed, muttering his thanks. He wrapped his arms around himself, and adjusted his course to walk alongside the strange, dangerous looking trees, instead. The pup couldn't decide if he liked it when his father appeared that way or not. The sight was somehow both a scorching fire across his heart, and a balm to soothe the burn. It did him good to see his father, but it hurt too, because he knew he wasn't really there. But if the alternative was just a voice in his head, was that much better?

The pup could just imagine posing the question to the wise elders of his tribe. "Which is less crazy?" He tilted his head and gave his ears a quizzical perk. "Hearing voices in your head, or seeing things that aren't really there?"

"You've always seen things, Vakaal." Vakaal unfolded his arms long enough to shake a finger at the air, the way a tribal elder might. "So if the voices are new, then that's what means you're crazy."

He's right about that part, pup.

"Oh, shut up, Father." Vakaal ducked under a low hanging bough. He bumped it, and snow fell from it in clumps. "You're not helping."

It did make Vakaal wonder, though. He had always seen things, hadn't he? All his life he'd glimpsed things that weren't really there, like dreams playing out in the waking world. Father often based important decisions on some of the things Vakaal saw. Like the storms. Whenever Vakaal saw one coming, Father always had plenty of time to prepare the tribe.

Now the pup wondered if he'd truly seen those storms coming, or if he'd simply imagined them and then unknowingly shaped them into being. Were the storytellers always destined to return to his world, to chase down his father again? Or had he changed his peoples' story, that night in the shelter, when he spoke that tale out loud? Or what if his shaping was a beacon, something they followed to his tribe?

You can't let yourself think like that.

Vakaal ignored his father's voice. And what about their tribe? If he was putting things together right, in his head, then the tribe had not existed until he shaped them into being, to ease his father's loneliness. But...how could he have such power? Vakaal stared at his own hands, opening and closing them. And why didn't he remember? He glimpsed such things in his dreams, now and then, but could not recall them when he woke. He must have been...a tiny pup, then, a babe and nothing more. Unshackled by beliefs about the limits of his own power, wanting only to make his father happy, with shaping bound only by instinct. But there were elders in their tribe. Pups and adults and families and...had he...spun them into existence that way, or...had he just...grown slower than others?

The ideas made his head ache. He held his horns in his hands, whimpering. Father made it sound as if he wasn't supposed to know these things, that such an understanding made it difficult to properly care for their growing tribe. And that coming to terms with such knowledge was...difficult. Vakaal grit his sharp teeth, suspecting Father was more worried about Vakaal's mental well-being in those last moments of revelation than he was the tribe.

The tribe's gone, pup.

"I know..." Vakaal sniffled, arms hanging limp at his sides. "I wish...I wish I knew, earlier...I...I could have...made them stronger...So they could survive without us."

If only he knew what he could do back then, when they were first caught. How long ago had that been, anyway? Vakaal was a pup when he was caught, and he wasn't quite a full adult, now, but he'd long since lost count of the years. And if he grew slower than his tribe, he couldn't even trust his age to give him an idea. He balled up his fists, snarling. If he knew the truth from the beginning, could he have freed them earlier? Could he have taken that collar off at any time, if he but believed himself capable? That belief seemed key to unlocking, or suppressing, his power. He had to understand what he truly was to keep his own doubts from imposing limits upon his abilities. And Father never wanted him to know what he was because...

"This." Vakaal gazed out across the snow, his breath drifting away in clouds.

The pup wondered if his father had done all this before. Father said he was born to a different tribe himself, one he fled from with Vakaal when he was but a mewling pup. Though Vakaal did not think his father had ever told him the complete truth, he was starting to piece things together. But he didn't know what happened to Father's old tribe. Father once defeated the storytellers, then fled from his tribe, because they...what had he said? Wanted too much? Maybe the tribe knew the truth, and Father did not want them relying upon his power. So...he went to a new desert, and when Vakaal made him a new tribe, he kept everything a secret.

But how had father discovered that same truth, himself? Was he once held captive? Was...he the first chief, and...It was like their lives just kept repeating. Each time it was a little different, each time it led to a new attempt to bring a world back to life, to shelter their people until they could thrive. But it kept ending the same way, like a loop that was never meant to have been closed. Vakaal whimpered, feeling like he was struggling to untangle a rope that just kept knotting itself anew.

Whatever happened, at least he was free from that cycle, now...

Vakaal froze. Was that what Father wanted? For all the versions of their lives Vakaal saw when he shaped everything, they were always in the desert. A father, a son, a tribe, a desert. Everyone died, and then everyone lived again. Try as they might to escape, it was as though it just kept repeating, as though...As though the first chief set something in motion he could not foresee, without understanding the nature of what he was. Was it the loop that was endless, or was it them? They...didn't understand what they were, and so...when they were reborn, they started the story over, and the spiral kept turning. Until at last, Father saw the truth, and saw a way to set his son free.

I tried to break the story's shackles before, when I fled with you.

It hadn't worked. In the end, the only way to break the story's shackles was to...cast him out of the story entirely. Was that why, in all the other versions, none of them knew the truth? Had they lived it all, time and again, until at last Father finally realized only the truth would set his son free? Only knowing what he was would free the entirety of shaping, and whatever it did to the world, at least it would liberate him from the endless cycle.

"Is...is that it?" Vakaal lifted his voice, but this time there was no response from his father. He turned around, looking for him. All he saw was snow. He lifted a hand, shaped the snow into his father's form. "Is that it, Father? Is that why?"

The snow did not reply, and when he released it from his shaping it crumpled into a white pile. Vakaal sighed, feeling as if he'd grasped the answer, and like the cold snow, it melted away to nothingness no sooner than he touched it. As he trudged on, he thought about his father. Maybe Father was still alive, back there in the desert. Ready to start things over on his own, happy with the knowledge that at least his pup was free.

"You can fix that world now, right Father?" Vakaal still did not get a reply. "I'm...I'm sorry you have to clean up my mess, again. It's...it's just like when I tried to fix the old tunnel and get stuck in the clay." He set his jaw. "If I can leave the story, then I can return. I'll get back, someday. I'll help you fix what I broke, I promise. Okay?"

No one answered. No soothing voice in his head.

Vakaal scowled. He didn't like that question going unanswered. It reminded him how alone he was. So he deepened his voice, and answered for his father. "Okay, pup!"

His own impression made him giggle.

As the day wore on, and the cold settled into the young urd'thins bones, the snow ended, if only for a little while. The white ceiling brushing the mountaintops threatened more icy precipitation. A least Vakaal could see further now. A gray haze clung to the distance. Curious, Vakaal climbed up a snow-crowned boulder, and peered further into the valley.

The smoke rose from a cluster of buildings built in lines along terraced areas of the mountains. Vakaal's heart leapt. There were people here. If there were people here, that meant he could survive here without relying on his shaping. There was shelter, and food. The simple idea of eating made his stomach rumble with a hungry ache so intense it nearly doubled him over. He did not think he'd ever gone this long in his life without food. Even the storytellers had given him regular meals. He hopped off the boulder, and with renewed energy, hurried through the snow.

It took Vakaal the rest of the day to near the village. Several times he had to pick his way across steep rises with slippery, broken stones beneath the snow. Other times, he traversed deep gullies where the coldest water he'd ever felt assaulted his half-numb feet. Ice lined the banks of the little streams, and he suspected only the water's swift movement kept the rest of it from freezing. Unlike the snow, he'd seen ice before. Once or twice every cold season, the desert nights grew chilly enough for white frost to coat the reeds around the oasis, and a thin layer of ice to edge the waters. But it always melted as soon as the morning sun touched it. Vakaal could only hope that if this was the world he was stuck in now, that he'd arrived in the middle of its cold season. If this was their hot season, he might start rethinking his decision not to throw himself off a cliff.

By the time he was close enough for a better look at the village, the sky was darkening. Sunset cast a dark golden hue to the white clouds still drifting across the mountaintops. From a distance, Vakaal stopped to observe the village. As hungry as he was, he didn't want to wander into a hostile environment and have to defend himself. He scaled one of the needle-trees and settled on a sturdy bow. It bobbled under his weight and sent snow toppling to the ground.

The village was arranged in a series of terraced lines along both sides of the valley. Vakaal couldn't tell if the villagers had shaped the stone that way, or cut it with tools. But it kept them safely raised above the river while still offering them access to its bounty. Stairs cut into the stone lead from the lower levels to the upper. The buildings were all made of big wooden logs, probably the same kind of tree he crouched within. He brushed his finger over the coarse bark.

Pine.

That was what they called the needle trees. He wasn't sure how he knew that. Though the snow's icy scent covered everything, the tree had a fresh, slightly bitter astringency clinging to it. The pup found a blotch of sticky sap, smeared it over his fingers. He sniffed it. The tree's scent was greatly amplified there. It was almost too bitter then, but when subdued it was not an unpleasant smell.

Vakaal returned his attention to the village. Lazy curls of smoke rose from many of the buildings. Most of them were roughly the same size, bigger than the yurts and tents his people lived in, but not near as large as the places of stone the storytellers built for themselves. Towards the far end of the villages, were three much larger buildings, constructed of equally large logs. Perhaps that was where their elders lived. Fences penned in large, horned animals covered in thick, bushy fur. They didn't seem to mind the snow. Several bridges of wood and rope spanned the area between the two sides of the village, with the river flowing far beneath them.

They had only one building made from stone, and it looked of simpler construction than the storyteller's buildings. Darker smoke poured from that place's rock chimney. The pup wondered about the place, and he stretched a hand towards it, as if he could shape an answer out of the air. Blacksmith._His ears shot up when the answer came to him. _Had he just shaped an answer? He thought about the place, and realized he knew they made metal there, tools and weapons and things. The pup flicked his tail_. He was probably just remembering things from all stories they'd made him read._

A few people wandered about the village. They were all bundled up in thick clothes made from leather and animal furs to protect against the cold. They were taller than he was, and he didn't see any tails. Glimpses of flat faces within fur-lined hoods told him they were human. Their skin looked darker than some of the storytellers, but not as dark as the friendly traders who roamed the desert. Vakaal grimaced, hoping the storytellers hadn't harmed those people as they'd harmed his own tribe.

An angry, painful rumble shook Vakaal's belly. He had to find something to eat, and the village seemed the most likely place. Smoke rising from the buildings meant fire, and fire meant warmth. Though he wasn't sure if the people would prove friendly or not, he had to take his chances with them. For all he knew, they'd never see an urd'thin before. They might attack him out of fear. Or they might be at war with the urd'thin here. Or, they could be friends with them. Whatever the case, it didn't matter. He needed food, and shelter, even if it meant he had to sneak in and eat whatever was available while everyone slept. He didn't want to have to break his vow not to rely upon his shaping, but if he had to protect himself, he would.

Vakaal clambered out of his tree, and slunk towards the village. By then, the sun had sunk behind the mountains, and darkness settled over the snowy village like a smothering blanket. His ears swiveled back and forth, attuned to every little sound around him. The sound of bleating animals. The crunch of booted feet against the snow. The clang of a hammer on metal. Laughter, and human voices speaking an unfamiliar tongue.

Or was it unfamiliar? Vakaal came to a stop, tilting his head. He listened in, wondering if he had ever heard those words spoken before. The pup licked his muzzle, sure he'd never heard that tongue, even from the storytellers. And yet...after only a few moments of listening, he realized he could understand it. That didn't make any sense to him. He hadn't used his shaping to-

"Oh!"

Vakaal whirled around to the sound of a startled voice. He pinned his ears back in sudden fear, heart thudding. He was so wrapped up in trying to figure out why he understood them that he hadn't even realized a door in the nearest building had opened. Light spilled across the snowy path, silhouetting a human woman standing in the doorway. She gazed down at him with wide eyes, and an open jaw.

"H-hello!" Vakaal gulped, backing away. He wrung his hands, whimpering. "I...I just...wanted..."

The woman's eyes bugged out, as if she couldn't believe he was speaking her language. Or maybe she was just that startled to see a naked urd'thin pup out in the snow. "Where did you...no, it doesn't matter! You speak Athellian? Come here! Come here, it's alright, I won't hurt you!" She gestured at him, beckoning him forward. "It's alright, little thing! By the thirteenth god, let's get you out of this cold!"

That was an offer Vakaal wasn't about to pass up. Though it occurred to him it could be a trap, he was so desperate to get somewhere warm he just didn't care. Besides, even if it was a trap, who could ever stop him now?

"Oh...okay..." Vakaal took a few steps forward, and then woman backed out of the doorway to let him in.

"Come on, come on! Gods, you must be freezing, even with your fur!" The woman gestured again, waving him inward. "What happened to your clothes? Are you lost? How did you get here? I mean, you must be lost, but, where are you from?"

Vakaal blinked as he padded into her home. Even before he looked around, his nostrils twitched. The scent of something delicious made his belly hurt. He pressed a hand to his stomach, whining. "I'm hungry..."

"Oh! Oh, of course!" The woman held up a hand. "You...you wait here. I'll get you a blanket, then some food, then a hot bath to help warm you up! Beva! Beva, heat some water for a bath! We've a guest!"

Wringing his hands, the pup gazed around. Wreaths of dried flowers hung on walls constructed of wooden logs, notched and locked together. Chairs hewn from stout pine boughs surrounded an uneven table. A hearth made from baked clay bricks sat in one corner of the room. I's chimney funneled gray wood smoke out of the home. A black iron pot hung from a tripod over the flames. Something simmered inside, and the scent was divine. Bundles of dry herbs hanging from the ceiling tinted the air with lavender and rosemary. They were not scents the pup was familiar with, and yet, like the pine boughs, he suddenly knew them. The warmth the fire brought to the room was almost too intense after so much time in the cold. Vakaal's ears tingled and burned. His foot pads ached and stung with every step.

The woman returned from a doorway with a heavy gray blanket in her hands, edged in little squares of red. She hurried back to Vakaal and draped it around him, clucking her tongue. Then she pulled one of her chairs over towards the fire, and ushered him into it. As he settled down near the flames, wrapped in the blanket, she patted him between his ears.

"You sit here, you poor thing. Give me one moment."

A man peeked in the doorway. His bronze skin bore plenty of creases, and his long hair was more gray than black. His eyes widened, and he vanished again. Soon Vakaal heard splashing water somewhere nearby. The woman returned and hung a smaller pot over the fire alongside her cauldron. She turned and lifted up the edge of the blanket to glance at Vakaal's feet.

"You've still got your toes. Show me the bottom of your feet, if you don't mind."

Vakaal wondered what she was looking for, but complied. He lifted each foot in turn, and she examined his pads, then laughed, sounding as if she couldn't believe what she saw. "I'm amazed you don't have any signs of frostbite. You've either not been out there long, or your people have feet made for the snow."

Frostbite? Was that what made his pads look black and blistered, before? So frozen they burned. Vakaal didn't know what to tell her. What would he say, that his feet were made for sand, not snow, but somehow all his injuries healed themselves? She'd either think he was lying, crazy, or believe him and then...then that might makes things even worse.

He shook his head. "I...have been out there a while. Found a cave, though. Made a little fire."

The woman made a clucking noise with her tongue, nodding. "You're lucky you're...well, you're an urd'thin, right?"

Vakaal licked his nose, nodding. The word she spoke for his people wasn't the right one. It sounded foreign, but so did all the words she spoke. But what was he going to tell her, that understood her language just by being in her presence? "That's right."

"I thought as much." The woman fetched a mug from a long counter along one side of the room. "I've only seen your kind a few times before, and never here. Didn't know you were snow-dwellers. Anyway, you're lucky you're not human. A human would probably freeze to death out there. At best you'd lose all your toes from trudging around barefoot in the snow."

The pup gulped, grimacing and flattening his ears. He tucked his toes in. "I'm glad I don't have to worry about that." It was close enough to the truth. "Thank you for...letting me in. It's very cold out there."

"Always is, this time of year." She filled the mug with liquid from the smaller pot, and then handed it to Vakaal. "Sip it slowly. Get this in your belly first, and then I'll get you some stew."

Vakaal took the cup in both hands, peering into it. It looked like discolored water with bits of leaves floating around in it. It smelt sort of herbal, almost like medicine. He tipped it to his muzzle and took a sip, careful not to get too much and burn his tongue. To his pleasant surprise, it tasted better than some of the medicinal brews the tribe used to make, enjoyably bittersweet. He took another sip, swished his tail under the blanket draped across his shoulders, and offered the woman a thankful grin.

"Water's heatin'." The man walked into the room, brushing his hand over the small of the woman's back. Vakaal guessed they were mates. Both humans wore similarly colored clothes, muted browns and grays. The woman had a few blue ribbons hanging from the sleeves of her blouse. The man stared down at the pup. "Ain't even full grown, are ya?"

The pup shook his head, sipping his tea. "Not Almost. I think. Maybe. I dunno."

The man shrugged. "Not old enough to be out in the snow on your own, anyway. Where'd you come from? Ain't seen one'a you 'round here since..." He scratched his nose. "Actually, never." He glanced at his mate. "Where was that last one we saw?"

"When we traveled to Tisburrow. Remember?" The woman retrieved a long-handled wooden spoon, stirring the big cauldron. "A lot warmer there, especially in the summer. There was a group of them in that inn we stayed at."

"Oh, right. That one big male kept telling jokes in their language or something. Whole group wouldn't stop laughing. Dunno why the bartender there had such a problem with them. Not their fault they..." The man trailed off, glancing away. "Well, anyway, we haven't seen one of you around here, before. Where did you come from?"

Vakaal finished off the mug of tea and set it aside, then tugged the blanket tighter around himself. Though he was sure the human was just curious, the question left him chilled in a way the fire would never ease. He decided to tell as much of the truth as he could, and just leave out a few of the details. "My father and I were captured, outside our home. Dragged...a long ways away. I don't know where I am, now. It's colder here than...than I knew the world got. I was separated from him. I dunno where he is, now."

"Sounds like a slave raid." The man rubbed the graying stubble on his chin.

"Beva!" The woman shot him a smoldering glare.

"Well, it does!" He shrugged, and folded his arms. "Something needs to be done about it, it's not fair to those creatures. People. Whatever."

So urd'thin were captured and made into slaves here? Or was he interpreting that wrong? Vakaal wasn't sure, but at least these people didn't seem to agree with it. He tugged the blanket tighter around himself, glaring into the fire. From the way they talked, it sounded as if it was a problem in another part of this world, not their own village. It was almost a shame. If there were slaves kept here, Vakaal could have freed them.

"That doesn't mean you need to bring it up around the poor thing." The woman ladled big scoops of stew into a bowl. "He's been through enough."

"I know, I know. But if he's escaped and found his way here, then his captors can't be that far away. He couldn't have survived out there that long. Hell, maybe they're crossing these mountains with their captives, thinking to avoid detection. Or worse..."

Vakaal glanced up at the man. Under the blanket, he reached a hand towards him, imagining himself brushing fingers across his skin, like dragging his pads along the page of a book. What was his story? Flashes of the man's life came to him. Raised on a lonely homestead, a hard life but a loving family. Learning to hunt, farm, to chop trees for timber, to build homes. Lost his parents to an illness. Fled the house to avoid catching it. Moved from village to village, selling his trade as a craftsman, served as a village guard. Met the woman. Fell in love, settled down. A simple life, with both hardship and happiness. A good man, at heart, knew what was right and wrong. Right now...right he was...

"Yer givin' me a really weird look, little guy." The man gave a nervous laugh.

Right now, he was afraid the slave traders he believed Vakaal escaped from might follow him here.

The pup glanced away, shaking his head. "Sorry. You were talking about slavers. I made sure no one could follow me...traveled when it snowed, so my tracks would be hidden. Sheltered in caves at night, put some pines over the entrances to help hide the firelight. Haven't seen anyone for days."

The man nodded, and gave Vakaal smile. "Brave little pup, and wise, too. I'm sorry about what happened to you and your father. It's not right, never is. Still...if they've been in the area, I oughta raise word in the village, maybe put some men together, just in case."

"You say that as if you're not twenty years too old to be swinging an axe around." The woman laughed and handed Vakaal the wooden bowl, a spoon sticking out of it. "Here you are, your poor thing. Eat up, and then it's into the bath with you, make sure your nice and warm before you crawl into bed."

Vakaal took a bite of the stew, and gave a happy moan. It was delicious, thick and hearty. Chunks of tender meat and some kind of root vegetable mingled with unfamiliar spices. His hunger grew so desperate it was all he could do not to just tip the bowl back to his muzzle and gulp it all down. As long as it had been since he'd eaten, he feared he'd just vomit it all right back up if he did. He forced himself to take his time.

"For your information, my lady..." The man drew himself up as tall as he could. "I am not twenty years too old to swing an axe." A smile brightened his face. "I'm only ten years too old, at worst. But point taken. I'll let the younger folk take care of things. But I'll probably make a trip up to the Three Towers, let the Lord and his men know there might be slavers in the region. If they're going to keep taxing us for their patrols, the least they could actually do is make themselves useful."

"They're probably gone, now." Vakaal finished off the bowl, and brought it up to his muzzle, licking it clean. The last thing he wanted was for some poor, well-intentioned guards to go out and freeze to death searching for slavers that weren't there. He burped and set the bowl down, only to see he'd gotten stew on his muzzle. He spent a few moments trying to lick it off, which had both the humans laughing. He glanced up at them, sheepish. "Erm...thanks for the food. You said there was a bath? I think I need it now."

"Oh! Right!" The man clapped his hands once. "The bath! Water's gotta be warm now."

Beva hurried off through the door, and the woman took the bowl and mug to set them on the counter. Then she beckoned for the pup to follow her. He got up, blanket still wrapped around him, and walked into a small hallway. There were doors at both ends, with another across from the kitchen and main room of the house.

"That's our bedroom at that end. Then we've a small spare room here, for when our son visits. There's a bed in there you can use. And down there, that's the bathroom. Just a tub mind you, and a little stove to heat water. The latrine's outside, I'm afraid." She opened the door to the spare room. "There's a little hearth in there to build a fire...actually, let me do that while you bath. It'll take the chill off. Plenty of fur blankets, too. I'll dig out some of my son's things from when he was about your size. Maybe there's some pants that will fit you."

"Thank you." Vakaal padded to the bathroom to see how things were coming along.

The room was small, barely big enough for the little washbasin and stove inside it. Beva poured the last bucket of water into the basin. Steam rose from it in lazy coils. In the light from the stove's glowing embers, the water glittered orange. Beva stepped out to make room for the pup, and patted him on the head.

"All yours, little guy. When you're done, you can just tip the basin into the drain channel."

Vakaal entered the small chamber and closed the door behind him. He dropped the blanket in the corner, not wanting to get it wet. He went to the basin, and eased into the water. The pup was glad his body had time to adjust to the warmth before he took a bath, or the hot water would have bordered on agonizing. Instead, the sudden influx of heat across him was blissful, if almost too intense.

He sunk down as far as he could, and then used a cup sitting nearby to scoop hot water over his head and ears. Once he was clean, he settled back into the tub, relaxing. Though his mind raced and his heart ached, his body was more than ready for rest. He leaned his head back against the basin, staring at the wooden beams across the small ceiling.

When Vakaal's eyelids started drooping, the pup grunted. He forced himself to sit up straighter. If he fell asleep in the tub, he'd wake up in a pool of cold water. It was bad enough when he did that as a storyteller captive. Here in this frozen world, he might wake up stuck in ice. The pup sighed, deciding to get out of the tub and go to bed.

Even warmed by the stove, the air was chilly against his soaked body. He glanced down at himself. All his fur was slicked down against his skin. He was tempted to stand next to the stove and dry that way, but...he was tired. A few coarse looking towels hung from a little bar set into the wall. Vakaal took one, rubbed it over his body to work the dampness out of his fur, and then tossed it aside.

What was he doing? He decided he'd punished himself enough. He had found shelter, food, and kindness without his shaping. He may as well use it now.

Vakaal stared down at his body. "The pup was dry."

His skin tingled as heat washed over him. His damp fur stood up, fluffing out as it dried. With a wave of his hand, the blanket rose from the floor. It draped itself across his shoulders. He glanced at the tub, and the basin tilted itself into air. Water poured into the drain. When it was empty, the tub set back down, and Vakaal turned towards the door. The door opened for him. He tightened the blanket around his body to keep himself covered while he was naked, then peeked into the main room.

The man and woman were both sitting around the table, chatting. The man gave him a smile, and the woman turned around to do the same. "Feeling better?"

"Uh huh!" Vakaal smiled and wagged his tail. He was thankful he'd encountered kind people here. "Thank you, again. You said I could use your spare bed?"

"Certainly!" The woman rose and fetched a pitcher and a mug. "Let me get you some water for the night."

Vakaal went into the guest room. It wasn't much bigger than the bathroom, but right now all he cared about was the soft looking bed layered with animal hide blankets. It looked heavenly. Elsewhere in the room, a tiny hearth contained an equally small fire, with more wood nearby. Though it was hardly enough to truly heat the room, it had taken the chill off. Along one wall were bookshelves, which Vakaal made a point to ignore. He'd seen enough books, lately.

"Here you go, dear." The woman set the pitcher of water down on a little table alongside the bed. "Try and drink as much as you can through the night, I'm sure you need it." She pointed to a pair of brown pants laid over the edge of the bed. "I found those. They were my sons when he was...probably younger than you. I think they'll fit you, though with your legs..."

"They'll be fine. Thank you."

"The least we could do. I hope you sleep well, then. We'll have breakfast for you in the morning. Then we can..."

When she trailed off, Vakaal reached for her story with his shaping, looking for her thoughts. She was worried about him. With a son of her own, she understood his pain. Part of her wanted to tell him they'd help find his father, but she knew it wasn't going to happen. If slavers had him, it was likely he'd never see him again. But she was already wondering if the village could make a place for him, or if they could hire someone to help get him back to his own people.

"You're very kind." Vakaal settled on the bed, smiling at her. "It's...nice to be reminded that there's kindness out there." A yawn took hold, his muzzle spread wide, tongue curled. "I think I wanna sleep now."

His words left the woman smiling, and she bowed her head to him. "Of course, dear. Sleep well."

As soon as the door was closed, Vakaal dropped his blanket and climbed into bed. Though the blankets were chilly, his furry body soon warmed them. He laid his head back, trying to relax as he warmed up. The heavy hides made for a pleasant sort of pressure against him.

For a little while, his mind and heart waged a war against his weariness. He wondered if his father was still alive, somewhere in the desert. Vakaal hoped he'd succeeded in starting his father's story over. He'd cast himself into another world, but at least his father might get to live happily with a new pup. Maybe that was what it took. If the story started over with a new Vakaal, then the old Vakaal had to go to a different world.

Or maybe Father was dead.

Vakaal grimaced, whimpering in the darkness. Surely, Father had survived. If Vakaal could survive, could be healed by his own shaping, then he was sure his father's shaping could save him, too. The pup sniffed, his throat burning a little. He heaved a shuddering sigh. Part of him wanted to cry himself to sleep, just to let it all out. But he'd cried so much lately, he didn't think he had any tears left to shed.

Soon enough, his thoughts faded into dreams. Slumber over took his ravaged, fatigued body, and his anguished mind.

For at least one night, Vakaal slept peacefully.

*****

With his son cradled against his chest plates, Revaramek soared above the trees. He kept careful grip on Korakos, not letting him wriggle enough to risk slipping free. By his own standards, the dragon was still flying quite low. As much as he wanted to let Korakos see the sun, there was no way he was taking the hatchling through the toxic clouds. At least the sprawl of the swamp below left the little dragon mesmerized. Korakos tilted his head back and forth, trying to take everything in. Revaramek smiled at the sight of so much dark water reflected in his son's beautiful bronze eyes. The swamp might be a terrible place, but to a hatchling everything was new and wondrous and joyful. Revaramek hoped Korakos would always be able to find that joy, just as his parents had.

"Flying is wonderful, isn't it?" Revaramek pumped his wings a few times, scanning the horizon for familiar landmarks.

"Abblledabbraburb!"

"Yes, apple dapple bird." Revaramek chuckled to himself, banking. "One day, you'll be able to fly on your own wings, and then you can claim your own lands." He licked his muzzle, ears splayed. "Have to teach you how to find water."

"Urrbb bup!" The hatchling craned his neck the other way.

"Or maybe when you're old enough, your mother and I will leave you _our_water." He rumbled in thought, a cold uncertainty coiling in his belly. "Truth be told, I don't know if there's enough water for three grown dragons there. But your mother is very good at finding more. Better than I am, anyway."

Korakos swatted at Revaramek's paw. "Arraggaaarrck!"

"You're right, I shouldn't be too hard on myself." With his hands occupied, Revaramek stretched a hind leg, gesturing with a splayed back paw. "And maybe my spark could...I've used it to try and keep the clean water flowing, and I think it's worked. Maybe that'll be enough for all three of us. But if it's not...well, you'll need to know how to find your own water, anyway. You'll want to go find yourself another dragon to be with some day, right? Just like I found your momma."

"Amma!" The hatchling gave a happy chirp. "Amma, Amma!"

"Oh no, we're not going back to wake her up now." Revaramek laughed, shifting the hatchling's weight in his arms. "You kept her up all night with your antics already. She gets to sleep as long as she wants now."

"Amma?"

"You can climb all over her when she's awake again. Going to have to figure out a way to get you to sleep all night."

"Ahber!" Korakos turned his head to gnaw on Revaramek's scutes.

"Yes, that's me!" Revaramek worked his foreleg back and forth as much as he could without compromising the safety of his grasp. Korakos chased it with his head, biting and chewing on his scales. "But we can't wrestle till we land. We're almost there, though, I can see our destination."

Up ahead stretched one of the largest swaths of dry land in the swamp Revaramek could navigate to without Nyramyn's help. Though he'd learned plenty more landmarks in his years beneath the ever-present clouds, he still had more trouble finding his way home here than he ever did in the marsh. At least now he knew everything within a day's flight. As far as Revaramek was concerned, that was all he really needed to know.

If he flew any further he had to take water with him, and options for that were limited. They had a few little pots and jars they found in some ruins, but Korakos had knocked over and broken a few of them not long ago. Someday, they could go and find more. For now, it hardly mattered, they'd not be flying that far beyond their own water source anyway.

Today Revaramek was taking Korakos somewhere with plenty of room to run and play in hopes of burning off the extra energy that kept Nyramyn up the night before. Lately the hatchling alternated between boundless energy and a sudden, overwhelming need for a nap. Inevitably he woke from his naps with even more energy than before. Revaramek hoped that given enough room to wear himself out, the little dragon to sleep most of the night.

The island before them was not quite as large as the one covered in ruins where Revaramek found the blanket, but it had a lot more open spaces. There were still some old walls and things capping the island, high enough for Korakos to have fun climbing them without putting himself at risk. Revaramek had already scrutinized the island to make sure there weren't any places Korakos could get into that his father could not follow.

Revaramek stretched his hind legs out, touching down on the mossy ground. He cradled Korakos in one forepaw, hobbled to a stop, and eased his son to the moss. "Now, don't you go running off."

As soon as Korakos' paws were back on solid earth, he took off running across the island.

Revaramek heaved a sigh. "I asked for that, didn't I."

The green dragon trotted after his son, keeping an eye on him. As long as Korakos wasn't going to try and dash to the edge of the island and jump into the water, he was willing to let him run himself into the ground. There weren't any holes or pits the little dragon could crawl into, and Revaramek hadn't seen any sign of dangerous creatures or thorn vines in the immediate area.

Most of the island was featureless, just a gentle slope rising up from the black water, blanketed in dark green moss. Patches of red feather-leaf moss and a few slimy stretches of blue growth Nyramyn called slick-hide marked the green carpeting. As far as Revaramek knew, none of those things were toxic. Near the center of the place, a collection of stone walls draped in more moss and odd vines created angular, intersecting lines. Revaramek couldn't quite tell if they'd once been part of rooms or if they were more artistic. At the very center of the island stood a triangular monolith with flat sides. Much of it was covered in the same plant growth that obscured the other walls.

A few white and purple stalker flowers hung down from the tops of the walls, and another from the monolith. The flowers were immense carnivorous blossoms, the white petals along their top half almost as long as his spread paw. Along their bottom half, the purple petals were sticky, and flexible. Dozens of lengthy yellow tendrils hung from the center of the flower, each lined with a thousand minute, stinging claws. The tendrils waved and twisted, crawled across the walls on which the flowers were anchored. Day and night, they searched, stalking any insects lured by the color and scent. Then they'd curl about their prey and drag it to the flower where the lilac petals would close around it and bring it to the flower's mouth.

Revaramek tilted his head, thinking about that. Did flowers have mouths? Or was it called something else when it was a plant? The prey-opening? Victim depository? No, mouth just worked better. Whatever it might be called, the flowers were fascinating. Sometimes they even grew large enough to snare some birds and those strange, flying frog creatures. He didn't think they were any danger to Korakos, but he'd tried to teach the hatchling to stay away just in case.

For a while, Revaramek just followed his son around the island. He let Korakos romp and play all he wanted, making sure he didn't get involved with anything too dangerous. The hatchling scaled one of the old stone walls, displacing shreds of moss and bits of vine with his tiny claws. From the top of the wall, he chittered and chirped at his father, then chased something resembling a four-winged butterfly around. He leapt off the edge of the wall, trying to snare it in his jaws, then tumbled across the ground after landing. The hatchling jumped right back up and scaled the wall again, this time seemingly just to leap off it.

"You know, if you hurt yourself doing that, your mother's going to have my..." He trailed off when Korakos stared up at him, paying far too much attention. "Never mind. Just don't hurt yourself."

The walls weren't that high, and Revaramek didn't think his youngling was in any danger of injury. But he kept a close eye on him, nonetheless. Each little bound he made off the end of the wall left Korakos flapping his wings on instinct alone. They were too small to carry him, and didn't always obey him yet. From time to time they caught enough air to slow his descent. After his fourth jump, Korakos popped back up and turned his head to glare at his own wings.

"Brraadabrababah!" He snapped his teeth.

"You can't blame them just because they can't do what my wings do." Revaramek flared out his own wings, showing them off for his son. "You're just not old enough!"

Korakos hopped around, pawing in the air at Revaramek's wings. "Mreggeeabebba!"

"Yes, mega baby indeed." Revaramek smiled and patted the hatchling's head, before folding his wings again.

With his father's wings no longer on display, Korakos returned his attention to his own. He twisted his head around to glare at them. One of them flopped open and lay limp along his side. He snapped his teeth at it, then turned to try and bite it. He couldn't quite reach at first, and soon was spinning in a circle, chasing after his limp wing.

"You know, if you bite that, it's going to hurt."

Before Korakos could learn that lesson, his paws and hanging wing got tangled up. He tripped himself and tumbled head over tail over head. Soon he came to a stop, and lay on his back, panting and staring up at the sky. Revaramek hurried over to make sure he hadn't hurt himself, but by the time he arrived the young dragon was already yelling at his own paws.

"Arragurrgraaak! Burrburrvrrrilll!" He snapped his little teeth at his forelegs.

"It's not their fault." Revaramek tickled at the hatchling's exposed belly with a few finger pads.

Korakos giggled and squirmed till his father relented. He immediately rolled over and pounced on the offending paw. He gnawed at it, clinging with his forelegs and kicking it with his hind paws, little claws scrabbling. Revaramek lifted him up off the ground, cocking his head. The hatchling didn't even seem to notice at first, so intent on his battle.

"Yes, that's it little one, conquer that paw."

Only when Revaramek spoke did the little hatchling's attention shift. He looked up at his father, then looked down at the ground. His bronze eyes popped out, and he paddled his hind feet against open air in a panic. Korakos clung to his father's wrist, beating his wings, tail lashing.

"Aaaaarrrbaddaaaah!"

"Are bad dad?" Revaramek huffed, adding a tone of mock hurt to his voice. "I am not." He rumbled to himself, watching the hatchling flail. "You're only six inches off the ground, you know." He lowered his paw till Korakos' feet found purchase once more. "There you are. You may now conquer me in peace."

Korakos must have taken it seriously, because as soon as he could he scrabbled atop Revaramek's paw, and then tried to scale his foreleg. Tiny claws found purchase where they could as Revaramek's son scaled him like a mountain. Revaramek lowered his head, watching Korakos' tiny claws struggle for grip on forelegs scutes and pebbly scales.

"You know, that's pretty impress-AAARGGH!"

Revaramek yowled when Korakos leapt from his leg onto his muzzle. There, the hatchling's claws dug into the soft spot around his nostrils, drawing little beads of blood. With a snarl of hatchling fury, he batted at Revaramek's head with his front paws. He smacked his father between the eyes and horns back and forth with each forepaw in quick succession.

"Ow, ow, ow!" Revaramek dropped his head down, cringing. "Alright, alright, you win!"

Korakos kept smacking him, giggling as he battered his father in submission.

"I said you win!" Revaramek plucked him from his head, and set him down on the moss. "Your mother's right, you do take after my bratty side."

"Abby bide!"

"Yes, but let's not tell her I said that. You know how she gets when she knows she's right."

"Amma ight!"

Revaramek narrowed his eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like you're starting to take her side. I should lower my head and give you a ferocious, retaliatory nuzzling, but I think you've beaten my skull enough for one day."

Korakos giggled and bound off again. Revaramek followed after him. He stretched a wing out to scratch at his neck with a wingtip talon. "How you can be so much smaller than me, and yet have so much more energy, I shall never understand." The dragon rumbled to himself, pausing to work a crick out of a hind paw. "Then again, if I could just flop down and fall asleep any time I wanted, I might have more energy too."

The dragon followed his son towards the triangular obelisk at the center of the island. Korakos made scaling it his next challenge, and was soon working his way up one of the sloped walls, leaving bits of moss and broken vine falling to the ground in his wake. Revaramek eased up behind him, ready to catch the little dragon if he fell. Despite its top being broken, the monolith stone stood taller than the surrounding walls, so he wanted to be extra careful with his son.

Where the hatchling's claws scarred the mossy carpeting, bits of bare stone with odd markings showed through. Revaramek scraped away more of the moss while his son clambered. Sigils and odd runic lettering covered the whole surface. It wasn't a language he was familiar with, though some hidden part of him felt as if he should be. Could they be dragon runes? Though he thought his people had a written language, he'd never learned it.

"Should bring your mother out here. If it's dragon, she might be able to read it. Or at least recognize it." He glanced up at the climbing hatchling, who was busy staring at a blue and red beetle scuttling away through the moss. "You're fascinated, I can tell."

Revaramek exposed more of the monolith's face. He licked his nose, thinking it could be some kind of memorial for the dragons who died in the Storyteller's service. Then again, he doubted they'd have had a chance to memorialize themselves. Would the Storytellers have done so? Maybe it was their language. Or even the language of Asterbury's people. Oooh, there was a thought. Whatever it was, he wished he could read it. Probably had quite a story to tell. Maybe it would have even told him about the long dead urd'thin he'd found in the other ruin. Or perhaps it would have provided a clue to his own ancestry.

The dragon snorted. "Probably just says, we tell the stories now, signed, the Storytellers. PS, go fu-" He snapped his jaws shut when he remembered his youngling was picking up words now. Wouldn't be long now and he'd start forming lasting memories. "Go...find your joy. Yes, that's it."

"Wheeeeeeeeeh!" With a delighted shriek, Korakos leapt off the monolith and right onto his father's muzzle again. Tiny claws sunk in and kept hold.

"OW!" Revaramek jerked his head back, stumbling away from the monolith. "You've got to quit doing that!" This time Korakos clung stubbornly to him, and he resisted the urge to shake his head, afraid he might send his son flying if he did. He lowered his muzzle towards the ground, then extracted the little dragon with a paw. As soon as he set Korakos down, the youngling ran off giggling again. Revaramek rubbed his muzzle. "Should have expected that, I suppose."

Still thinking about the monolith, Revaramek followed his son once more. When Korakos stopped to attack some flowers, Revaramek stared at the strange triangular stone. He wondered if the writing on one side was the same on every side, or if each of its faces bore a different inscription. Perhaps he really would bring Nyramyn out here. Even if she couldn't read it, she'd probably enjoy puzzling over the thing with him. As Revaramek looked it over, his gaze followed its sharp lines up towards the sky.

Far above him, the clouds continued their ever-present churn. Something looked different about them today. The dragon tilted his head, gazing at the sky through the claw-like boughs of twisted trees. All the clouds flowed towards the same area. Gray tendrils of gauze twisted together, spiraling in the sky. They all turned upon a single fixed point, as if nature's anger was spinning the ashen ceiling into a cyclone. Revaramek flattened back his ears. He'd never seen them do that, before. If it heralded some kind of swamp storm, he needed to get Korakos home and into shelter as quickly as he could.

"Korakos!" Revaramek called out, his voice sharp. Usually that was enough to get his son running to him, but this time the hatchling didn't even seem to notice. Instead he just stood a little way off, near one of the walls. His tilted his head back, staring intently at something. "Korakos, come here!"

Korakos glanced at his father, but did not come over to him. Instead, he went right back to staring at something behind the wall. Revaramek growled under his breath. Once in a while the hatchling felt like being disobedient. Normally Revaramek didn't mind, but he wanted to get the little dragon home right away. He trotted over to his son.

"You've got to learn to listen to your mother and I at all times." Revaramek lowered his head to nose his son. "Not just when it suits. Now what's so damn interesting behind this wall, hmm?" Revaramek glanced past the wall, and in an instant every drop of blood inside him turned to ice. He snatched Korakos up in a paw, snarling and backing away, claws unsheathed.

Asterbury leaned against the other side of the wall, his arms folded over his royal purple waistcoat. He smiled and perked his ears. "Cute kid."

"You stay the hell away from him!"

"Or what?" Asterbury eased away from the wall, spreading his arms. No runes or bracelets marked him. He waggled his gray-furred hands. "You'll strand me in another world?"

"You just stay away!" Revaramek sucked in a deep breath, and then roared, blasting as much fire across the urd'thin as he could. Korakos squirmed in his arms, yowling and trying to bury his head against his father's chest plates.

Asterbury walked right through the flames, completely untouched. "You've a bad memory, don't you?" He looked his clothing over, shrugging. Gold seams and black straps with silver buckles marked the long, royal purple waistcoat billowing around him. All of it was as untouched by the fire as the rest of him.

While the urd'thin was distracted, Revaramek leapt into the air, beating his wings as hard as he could. He ascended in a tight spiral. He didn't see Aylaryl anywhere, so maybe Asterbury couldn't easily follow him. Then again, he was sure Asterbury hadn't been on that island at all up until a few moments ago. The dragon's heart thudded. Why now, after years had passed, did the urd'thin decide to show up again? Gods, what if he'd been waiting for-

In an instant, Asterbury leapt from the island and alighted upon Revaramek's back. He plopped himself down into a seated position at the base of the dragon's neck. Revaramek tensed, clutching Korakos to chest plates with both forepaws. He went into an immediate, steep dive, trying to throw the urd'thin right back off of him. When that didn't work, he ascended as sharply as he could, flicking a wing to spin in the air in an effort to toss his terrifying passenger into the sky. Asterbury may as well have been glued to his back for all the difference it made.

"Like I said." Asterbury patted Revaramek's neck, laughing. "Bad memory. Looks like you're stuck with me, till I say otherwise. I'm disappointed! It's been a long time, old buddy. I was sure you'd want to sit and chew the fat with your old pal Asterbury!"

"We were never friends, you cackling lunatic!"

"No." Asterbury's voice darkened. "I guess we weren't. That was why you stranded me here, cause I wasn't good enough for your word, was I? You'd keep it to the town, but not to me?"

Revaramek's heartbeat grew so frantic it threatened to rattle the scales right off his body. "Asterbury..." He leveled off his flight when he heard Korakos crying. The little hatchling must have been almost as afraid as he was. He was glad, at least, that his son was far too young to understand the true nature of what was happening. "Please." He'd never beg Asterbury for anything pertaining to his own life. But for his son, Revaramek would do damn well anything the urd'thin wanted. Part of him was terrified that was exactly why he was here. "I have my son in my arms. Whatever...whatever you mean to do to me-"

"Relax, old pal." Asterbury patted his neck again, his voice softening. "I don't wanna hurt yer kid. In fact, why don't we take him to see mommy, where it's nice and safe?"

"I'm not showing you where-"

"Do you honestly think I don't know about your little hilltop cave, over there? You think I don't know your story now, or his story?" The urd'thin chuckled to himself, folding his arms. "And here I thought you had me all figured out." Asterbury walked up the back of Revaramek's neck and stood with a foot planted between his missing horns. "You might have the spark, but here, more than anywhere else, you're just another part of the tale for me to twist. I know all about you, and your life, Revaramek."

Revaramek shuddered, the ice in his blood somehow grew even colder. He hugged his son against his breast. In all the years he'd been here, he'd almost been able to forget about Asterbury. In the process, he'd also forgotten what it might mean if he ever returned, now that Revaramek was back in his own story.

"What do you want, Asterbury?"

"Now that is a good question." Asterbury threw his legs out and slid down the back of Revaramek's neck like a long green slide. "Wheeeeee!" He settled just before the dragon's wings again. "And we'll get there, soon enough. But we'll talk about that when we're alone. Don't worry about yer kid. Play your part right, and this'll be the only time he ever sees me. Few years from now, he won't even remember the crazy urd'thin who came to reminisce about all the good, funny times he used to have with his father."

Revaramek grit his teeth, struggling to keep calm. He stroked Korakos' head and wings as the tiny dragon pressed himself to his father's warmth. His son had stopped crying, and if anything, seemed to be dozing off already. Maybe that was Asterbury's doing. Whatever the case, the gods knew Revaramek was glad he wasn't old enough to remember this moment, let alone to knew why it so terrified his father.

Soon their home came into view. The slabs of stone atop their hill made for an easy landmark to navigate too, once he was used to the area. He touched down on shaky limbs, hobbling a few steps before he eased Korakos to the ground. Korakos padded a little ways off, then stopped to turn around and stare up at his father with sleepy eyes.

Asterbury hopped down off Revaramek's back. He waved at the little hatchling, then put a finger to his muzzle. "Sssshhh! Don't wake mommy!"

Revaramek glared at him, then nudged Korakos towards the entrance. "Give me a moment..."

Asterbury waved his hand. "Of course. But if I was you, I wouldn't involve her." He lowered his voice. "Besides, she needs her rest, doesn't she?"

"Gods, I wanna bite your head off so badly right now."

"Now, now." Asterbury waggled a single finger at the dragon, his tail twitching. "You don't want little Korakos here to have to witness me beating his father to a scaly pulp again, do you? Granted, he wouldn't consciously remember it, but it might give the poor little whelp nightmares." He gave a cackling laugh, then trailed off. "Trust me. No child should see that happen to their father. Don't make me defend myself in front of him."

Revaramek growled low in his throat, then picked up Korakos. The hatchling seemed more interested in staring at Asterbury than going to have a nap with his mother, so Revaramek carried him inside. Nyramyn was fast asleep near the back of the cave. Her wings were half-stretched, draped across her body and the stone floor. Her emerald-scaled sides slowly rose and fell. She'd been in a different position earlier, and a half-eaten swamp crab sat nearby. She must have gone out and hunted, then left some food for them before napping again. Either that or Asterbury...he shuddered, not wanting to even finish that thought.

Gentle as he could, he set Korakos down alongside Nyramyn. He gave the hatchling a loving lick, and whispered to him. "Here...have a nap with your mother."

Korakos whispered back. "Amma."

"Yes. Momma."

Revaramek licked him once more, and Korakos slunk under his mother's outstretched wing. He turned around and soon just his head was peeking out from under it. Revaramek gave Nyramyn a few slow licks across her neck, his heart and throat both tightening. He took a step back, staring at his mate and his son. He wanted to burn that image of them in his mind, forever. Just in case the worst happened. They both looked so peaceful, so beautiful. If Asterbury was here for revenge, he wanted his beloved family to be his last thought.

When he had the strength, he turned around and made his way out of the cave. His legs shook with every step. As soon as he was outside, he fixed his gaze upon Asterbury, and asked the question he needed answered.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Asterbury only smiled at him. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have killed you the day you brought me here. I mean...I did want you dead. Kinda still do. But I healed you for a reason."

"Is that reason named Vakaal?"

Asterbury's ears twitched. A smile tugged at the corners of his muzzle. "Maybe it is. But the main reason-"

"What do you want? Just tell me why you're here."

"Oh, you're gonna love this." The urd'thin's smile grew, and that hideous cheerfulness returned to his voice. "I'm here to help you save your family's lives."