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The Awakening of Dragons

Epilogue

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by NomexGlove

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After the tension of their brush with humanity, the lands around them were set to be opened up to people again, even if there would still be a military presence (or something like that) at the edges of the park, ensuring that nothing untoward was going on. Meaning no harm, it did not concern the dragons, but it did relieve them a little to know that there would be no easy hunting in the park. They didn’t want to have to show another side of themselves, not even then, not against humans. But they would defend themselves and their children, even if it brought them sorrow.

Pain and violence… They were not for dragons. Not the mothers of dragons as they softened around their nesting mounds as the first of the young bustled inside, pressing and pushing at their eggshells. Tilsa thought it was instinct that had drawn her back to the nesting grounds that day, though Santino and Sebastian, crowding over “their first clutch” together while Seb’s belly swelled with her pregnancy, said that they were sure they could hear the moving of their children within the eggs and mounds. No one would be quite sure, not the first time around.

“Come on, little ones,” Brent whispered, her tail sweeping back and forth behind her. “You can do it. Push. Push!”

They stayed with their egg mounds, their young coming at once, hearts swelling, brimming over with joy. One by one, they gently scraped back the earth from the top of the mounds, too caught up in the moment to concern themselves with wondering at how all had come together, how the magic of the caverns and dragons worked with their children. All they wanted was to meet them, only them, to bring forth the next generation of dragons and teach them all they knew.

The eggs were bared and the eggs cracked, breaking into sections, like an egg that had been tapped on the side of a counter, preparing to crack the contents into a saucepan. The dragons no longer had any need for such things, but how the eggs splintered into small sections reminded them of it, pushing up a small, wonky rectangle of shell, bit by bit.

A light wind blew as the first of the hatchlings blinked into the light, a beautiful, blue dragonet with red horns, though they were tiny, not yet grown. Sandra’s offspring reminded of both her and Alex, the nesting mounds of the two close together, though they had wrapped their bodies around the mounds to cradle them, lost in the moment. It was a moment for each dragoness to enjoy, the new life come, little dragonets wetly poking their way into the light, the world that was to become theirs in every way.

Brent and Arya were the first to rumble, a low bugle rising, half-trumpeting, bobbing their heads, snaking their necks, performing for their young. They were struck by the urge to hurl themselves to the skies, to fly back and forth, to streak the sky with lashes of flame that could not, not even then, burn brighter than the love they held in their hearts for their young.

But, no, for the moment, they stayed. They stayed there, humming softly, a dragon’s purr rising from deep, deep within them, welcoming their young to the world. None of the behaviours were such that they had exhibited before, but they were welcome to new experiences, love and motherly instinct overwhelming them. Yet if they were to be swallowed up whole by it, it would only see them placed right where their hatchlings needed them to be, brought forth into a new world where dragons and humanity put the world to light.

The hatchlings spread spindly little wings, appearing gawky and unnatural, even though they crooned and stumbled, trying to make odd little chirping sounds. Their limbs glistened wetly, coated in the protective fluid from within the eggs, though Tilsa couldn’t help but giggle as one of her hatchlings stumbled out into the waiting cup of her wing, tumbling head over heels down the mound that she had opened up for them to emerge from.

“Careful, little one…”

They would not take care, not before they had the knowledge in their minds and hearts to take steady steps, her little ones with different pearlescent scales, though they did not match her own lightly shaded ones, the light hues blending together. While they were reminiscent of their mother, they were not their mother, Tilsa allowing them to be, simply as they were.

Alex and Sandra sat close, helping to scrape the mounds down to expose the eggs, not wanting their hatchlings to have a hard time as they scrambled up and out.

“Little ones,” she breathed, lowering her head, eyes half-lidded as she murmured. “Come out… We’re waiting for you.”

It was as if the clutches were a mix of her and Alex, resplendent in crimson and blue, though only time would tell what their personalities would bloom into. That would come and Sandra and Alex bustled them together while the dragons who were technically lower in the hierarchy waited in the wings, starry-eyed with admiration of the hatchlings. Their bellies, where they were female, were round with their pregnancies, showing a little, though they had so much to look forward to. And the males would not be left out either when it came to loving and teaching the hatchlings.

They would need to learn, after all, how to walk, how to talk, following the conversations of the adults. Their wings would spread, when they were large enough, for the first time, and they would still need to be taught how to flap. Tenderly, Sandra laid flakes of white fish that they had caught in the river, light and easy on their stomachs, before their hatchlings: their very first meal. The hatchling dragonets gobbled it up as if it was a fine treat, throwing their heads back to wolf it down. Chewing was something that they would have to learn too.

Santino smiled widely, unable to keep the expression from her muzzle, as her daughters and sons bobbed their heads, crowding around her.

“Look! They know I’m their mother, oh! They know it’s me! Hello! Hello!”

Santino could not contain herself, chirping along with them, her throat trembling while she mimicked their little sounds.

One by one, their hatchlings out in the open air, every mother took to the sky while the others nannied, looking after the little ones, ensuring that, in their stumbling, wobbly steps, they did not stray too far. It was a display driven by instinct and not something that could be secluded away, wings flapping, spreading, stretching, unable to hold back from the passion of flight.

Up in the air, they demonstrated an age-old ritual, driven by instinct, muscles aching through patterns of times long gone by. But the dragons themselves would bring that back to the present day as all heads turned up to them, those of their hatchlings, Brent’s son, the little one who had been first out of the nest, watching in awe, his eyes large and round. He knew who his mother was as she shot across the sky, crisscrossing with her sister mother’s, unleashing jets of flame.

The hatchling warbled, head bobbing back and forth, watching their mother fly. Oh! They were wonderful, magnificent, though the minds of all the hatchlings were not quite yet developed enough to speak or form words. Impressions and feelings, yes, those were there. A sensation of warmth when spotting their mothers, a feeling that they were softly cared for as another dragoness’ head loomed after them, checking them over. Even the drakes were protective forces, though one grey dragon with red claws seemed a little startled by them, wide-eyed. But he could have been just as in awe of them and the world as they were.

It was their world, Arya twisting and spinning in a jet of flame, Santino pouring her breath over the land, springing blooms to life in twists of green and sparkling pink. Everything she brought forth for the joy of their hatchlings reminded them of spring, the new life that was coming, what they had been waiting for, for it seemed like an age already since they had laid their eggs. Usu, however, was the first to dart back to the ground, breaking from instinct in her eagerness to see her hatchlings, to croon over them, murmuring and singing in the old tongue of dragons that sounded as if it was nonsense but meant more than any of them yet knew.

The purring hum curled through her throat as she nuzzled her hatchlings adoringly, admiring how they stumbled down the mound, so strong, so proud, all already so much so. They were splotched, like her colouring, but not limited to blue and white. Most, however, were in natural shades of green and blue with one brown and another purple hatched from her clutch. One thing that all had, however, was the splotching through of mottled white markings, breaking up the solidity of their scales.

Softly, Usu lowered her head, letting her hatchlings crowd in close, purring for them, murmuring, sharing breath as her nostrils puckered and flared. She had eight hatchlings in total and her thoughts consumed themselves with ideas of how far they were going to go in life, how much she was going to teach them, showing them the way and the life that would be better than the one she had led. She might have experienced her own heartbreak, but her fluttering, chirping dragonets would be protected from as much as Usu possibly could protect them from.

One day, they would have to be on their own, not held back by her. But she would care for them through and through, guiding them onto the right path.

Together, they would surmount miracles. Together, they would find an accord. Together, they would thrive. But that could only happen with the compromise of humanity, those that sought to use them finding a different way, a better way, working with all that saw the potential in the good of dragons.

It may have been unexpected to find themselves transformed, but all had come right, at least for them, in the end. Sebastian pressed in close to Santino, a second mother to her hatchlings, as they would all share the load of teaching and caring for them, and Darius’ tongue flickered out in wonder at Tilsa’s children, the pearlescent hues of her scales evident already in some of her wriggling, emerging children. The soft sac of the eggs inside clung to their scales as they fatly wriggled free, unable to fend for themselves, limbs not seeming big enough to support their bodies yet. With soft, long laps of his tongue, Darius cleaned them, driven by instinct, the moment soft and wrapped around him in the light sunshine.

When they did not know what their purpose was in the world, their children would show them the way.

There was no more, not even then, that the dragons needed to know.

All was right with their little corner of the world.