Wings of Fury 2

When he first hears the sound of eggshells cracking, Grokzurl is immediately consumed with terror. This had happened much sooner than in a week, which means that any amount of preparation is about to go squarely out the window. 

Then, the hatchlings emerge and start playing together, and all of that fear simply melts away. Grok had never imagined that beings like dragons could begin so small, and so cute! As they are now, these are simply babies. Potentially dangerous ones, but as innocent and adorable as a baby of any species. His eyes are drawn to the blue dragon as it wrestles with its broodmates, a smile beginning to spread across his face. Seeing them just-hatched, pure and confused and content simply to play together, Grok can't help but thinking that maybe this won't be so bad. 

However, Terzi and Zaya have a point. With no time to prepare, time is of the essence. 

"I can hunt," he offers, raising his hand politely. "Much as I hate to leave these little ones, I can round up some meat in a hurry. Anybody else with a spear or a bow is welcome to join! Many hands make for much more meat."

Rozenn made quiet eye contact with the hatchling she'd been assigned. She wanted to smile at it, maybe reach down and administer some affectionate touch to it like Avag had so easily brought himself to do, but she simply can't bring herself to do it. Terzi's words simply continued echoing in her head.

Possessing a spear and a bow and being quite eager to get away from these things, Rozenn raises her hand at Grok's offer. This way she could take some time, maybe figure out why exactly she felt so gods-awful about all this.

Zaya, with her initial assessment complete, began to busy herself cleaning the little purple hatchling with a towel. A good distraction from them trying to eat her books, at least. She was perfectly split, right now, between being completely ready for raising a baby dragon, and being completely and utterly unprepared to do so. Still. One more thing for her to improvise her way through. Maybe it'd even be fine.

["Well. Aren't you cute? Welcome to... the world. I guess. Hope you like it here."]

After some good parental bonding/gross amniotic fluid cleaning, Zaya turned to Avag. "Jerky... Jerky, is that bad for baby dragons? ...Yes. Dried and salted meat. Preserved. ...Okay. As I thought. Thank you. Not bad, but not filling. Raw meat is better. It's what dragons usually eat from birth. Hence the hunting. Speaking of..."

She looked toward Grok and Rozenn. "I can hunt if you need the help. Was planning to stay and help with the dragons. But. If you do need me."

Zaya also took her knife back from Comète once she was done with it. She offered another towel, in case she wanted to not be covered in gross fluid.

Rozenn's hand raises, prompting a smile from Grok. Next thing he knows, Zaya is offering to lend a hand.

"Great! If you'll come along, Zaya, that'll make three of us. Hopefully that'll be enough to keep these little fellas happy until morning."

Terzi sighed, pulling out a beautiful stringed instrument, setting it in her lap. She looked up at the others.

"Very well. I planned to channel my most potent healing. It should numb pain and promote healthy growth of flesh. I'll wait for the full-strength performance until after the hunt, which, yes, Sir Henry, if you try to go on, I will sew you into a full body coccoon. Rozenn, take care with your burns. As our resident smith likely already knows, they get infected easily if not kept clean. I'll redress them for you when you return," Terzi really hoped that Rozenn had dressed them properly while she had been tending to Henri, "If anyone else here wishes to be constructive,  we should probably bathe the poor things. If they're anything like Tsavari, they'll need a good, gentle first bath."

She produced a small metal pick, donning it on a finger.

"I'm going to tune my instrument. I'll have a song ready for your return."

Terzi began to tune and play her instrument by the fire. Those hearing the song felt their aches ease and soothe as the notes washed over them.

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Spoiler

Once the three of them have left the vicinity of the camp, Rozenn sighs heftily. She immediately begins scribbling in her notebook, holding it up for the two of them:

"I think what Terzi said sort of psyched me out. :/ I'm... really wondering if we should even be doing this. I mean, we can't do anything else, either, but. Long term. You know? None of us know what dragon culture is like, or dragon puberty, or dragon games. None of us know what it means to survive as a dragon." Pause.

"I mean, I guess you do, Zaya, but only so long as you're still haunted. It just seems... I don't know. It seems cruel to have them raised by creatures so fundamentally different from them. It seems cruel that we have to sacrifice everything we hoped to be for this. It all just seems." She pauses to think of a word. "Soul-crushingly life-ruiningly bad."

Seeing that the hunting party wasn't getting any larger, Zaya carefully set the baby dragon back down, pulled out the crossbow she hadn't even bothered with while fighting the dragon, and left with Rozenn and Grok.

--

Zaya looked over Rozenn's note for a while, and did the three-eyed equivalent of furrowing one's brow. "It's... Hm. Not going to pretend this is... all a good thing. It's a lot to process. Thought we'd have more time before. You know. The hatching."

She stared off into the woods for a few seconds, as if she'd be lucky enough to spot a deer or something. She wasn't. The woods around a dragon's lair were always pretty barren of large animal life. "Still. Yes. Dragons are... different. Very different. And yet. Mentally? More similar than you'd think. Not so alien that a dragon raised by mortals is doomed. A dragon might do it better - if we can find a benevolent one who. Actively wants to raise children. No guarantees."

Zaya considered more, and sighed. "Either way. Crueler for them to not be raised at all. As for our own lives... You aren't wrong. Things will change if you accept. Dramatically. But life always finds ways to change dramatically. But usually... shit just happens. Usually you don't have this much control over it. You aren't obligated to take on such a. Big responsibility. But you aren't doomed if you do."

"It certainly isn't what any of us signed up for," Grokzurl responds. We thought we were here to stay a dragon, then to watch a knight slay a dragon, and now we've got almost a dozen little hatchlings on our hands...." He sighs, letting his shoulders droop somewhat. "It's all happened so quickly." He idly kicks a stone along their path as he walks, pausing a moment to collect his thoughts. 

"To be honest, Rozenn, nobody would blame you if you didn't  take a dragon with you. None of us would have even known that they existed if we hadn't answered Henri's call to adventure. We all just wound up in the right place at the wrong time." His words echo Zaya's, that no one here is under any obligation. He does worry about Rozenn's knightly sense of responsibility, though. Something like that might lead to her disagreeing with them. He only hopes that she'll do what's right for her, regardless of what that means for the hatchlings.

"As for me, the only for-sure thing in my life is to meet with my family," he goes on, "and that won't be for another 5 years. Outside of that, I've had no real direction since I started traveling alone. Nothing I was traveling towards. The thought of seeing a dragon grow up into something as..." he pauses for a moment, then decides on the word, "majestic, as Naissyri....It's pretty exciting, I have to admit. It's nice for me, having something new to look forward to, even if it's going to be a total disaster."

After each dragon had been booped with a blessing and Terzi had pulled out her instrument, Guillairme took heed of her advice, bringing out a cooking pot and a washcloth, and removing the outermost layer of his clothes. This seemed like a messy task. He poured a small amount of the kettle water into the pot, testing the temperature on the back of his hand.

It was starting to cool down...it should be a safe temperature. He took the pot and sat a short distance from the hatchlings, and held out a hand. "Come here, little ducklings," he cooed. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Seeing Guy getting ready to clean the hatchlings, Avag finally stopped cuddling the bronze dragon hatchling, carefully bringing it over and setting it down. He was still covered in the slime himself, though, so he started taking off his armour to quickly rinse it clean, leaving him in just the padding layer. Though hopefully he wouldn't need his armour right this second.

"Careful with them," he said to Guy, fussing over the wyrmlings as they were washed. "They're all so cute, aren't they? I just can't get over it. I know this is going to be such a big deal, but I can't get over how good it feels to see this little guy wriggling around. He's beautiful, I can just see him flying around one day, scales all shiny. Have you seen his little wings? They've got that coppery green, like bronze gets. I don't actually know if it's a he. Or a she, or a they, or a whatever. I don't know how that works with dragons at all, but Zaya seems busy with hunting and stuff. Maybe they're a she." He shrugged. "Whoever they are, they're going to grow up to be so beautiful. I can just tell. I don't have a clue what to name them. I don't even know if they're old enough to get a name, yet. I know that's a thing with some folks, some cultures, is that a thing with dragons? Not really a thing with my family, we get names on like our first day alive. I guess I should probably name them, since I'm going to be looking after them..."

Guy also had no idea how to interpret the underside of a baby dragon, in terms of gender. But Chunard gender norms (and the languages' grammar) dictated that they surely must be either male or female. "Mm. Even my own family has different traditions, from the mother's side and father's side. But, they have received their first blessings, so there is nothing unlucky about naming them today, if you have thought of one." He gently scritched under the chin of the gold one, and set it down for the next. "Many people name children after saints, or dead loved ones...I do not think we should burden these little ones with a matronym, though."

Rozenn shakes her head. It takes her a moment to respond, to find the exact words to convey all of this.

"I know there are others who can take on the job. Avag would raise all the eggs by himself, if we let him, I think. But I was here, and I cannot shirk my responsibilities. Giving up one responsibility to fulfill another is hardly a reasonable trade-off. I just think Terzi had a point, is all, even if she stated it coarsely."

She turns to a new page. Her penmanship gets a bit messier, a little less elegant, a little more rushed.

"I just fear that if we raise the dragon, they will necessarily lose part of their heritage. Part of who they are. We cannot hope to teach them about dragon religions, and traditions, and holidays, and I don't think there's any way to research such things. You're the only one who can consider teaching them a draconic language, Zaya. Not to mention the fact that we'll be splitting this family up as a matter of course. It's just... I'm not used to making so many compromises with morality. It makes me uncomfortable."

Caulind sat with the silver one. He'd pulled from somewhere a necklace, holding the dragon in his lap and giving them a little jangle with one hand whilst tickling them with another. Letting them wiggle and crawl about and crooning and playing with them happily. It looked like a decade had come off his blue face as he laughed with delight as the others got the prep done.

Still, had to get clean eventually. He stripped off the outer, now mildly slimy outside of his robes to carry the silver one over to Guy and Avag, crouching by them with a big grin. Two weird things revealed. Two cat ears sticking out of dark hair, pierced, and a whole damn tail.

"We'll have to ask the experts for some names in their tongue. Do dragons' have their own language? If they can travel about and aren't that many maybe they have a unified one?" Joining on in casually.

Zaya considers, then quietly asks some questions to, obviously at this point, Keraza.

"Dragon culture... Not sure what there is of it, actually. Draconic language exists... not spoken by modern dragons. Modern ones speak local languages instead. The oldest ones may know the language, but. That may be it. ...Religions? Traditions? That I have no idea of. Keraza doesn't remember. With how scattered and rare dragons are... may not really be a draconic culture anymore. Wish I knew more. Get a sense that... something happened to leave everything around dragons so. Fractured. Maybe tied to the cataclysms before history. Need to find out more."

Zaya paused. She'd gone off on a bit of a tangent there, since her direct field of study had actually come up. "...Anyway. What I'm saying is. Draconic heritage may have been lost long ago. Not saying that's a good thing. Or that we should just. Dismiss that. Your concerns are reasonable. Just thought it might. Alleviate the fear that we're taking that from them."

It's a relief when Zaya pipes up first. Complex questions of morality aren't something Grok is used to. Even so, compromising is the best they can do, isn't it? 

"That does make me feel a bit better," Grok tells Zaya, despite the fact that he hadn't even properly considered the issue until a moment ago. "If anything, I'm just glad me and the little rascal have something in common." He absentmindedly wonders whether his mothers had the same moral hesitations with him that Rozenn is having now.

Rozenn thinks on that a bit before nodding.

"Okay," she writes, form returning to her handwriting. "I think I can handle that. Thank you, Zaya. :) It's good to know we all have each other in the end."

She turns to a new page, tapping her chin before continuing.

"If we're able to set up some sort of place that's safe for all of us to stay, I'd love to ask you heaps of questions about all this stuff. It sounds like you really have all the wisdom we could hope for! :D And I'm sure I'm not the only one. Plus, if you or Grok or any of our new friends ever need my help, I'll be happy to lend it. I fear Terzi might need it more than anyone. :("

Comète approached the rest of the group at camp with her dragon hatchling resting nestled in her arms, supporting its hindquarters as its head and front claws rested on her shoulder. With her free hand, she tossed the cut-up and ruined net at Guy’s feet with an apologetic look, before sitting down. She was still humming low to maintain the heating effect the dragon was huddled against, so she was even less talkative that usual.

Terzi continued to strum her instrument, now fully tuned. She occasionally hummed softy. Now that her instrument was up to the occasion, she merely needed to settle on a melody. Occasionally she glanced to other members of the party who were cleaning the dragons, supervising their work.

Zaya read Rozenn's note and nodded. "Safe place to stay... hoping to get one of those set up. Yeah. Need to go home to Stemspire. Lot of people to talk to. My girlfriend more than anyone. But. Can't stay there. Like I said. Not enough space in an arcology for dragons. Past a young age. Maybe another world. Tereen? Possibly. Lot of work to set up something like this. I'll try to keep in contact. Let you all know where I am. Planning to look for more... draconic lore. Maybe ruins. Maybe I'll find something to jog Keraza's memory. Remember something of draconic culture to share with the children. We'll-"

She suddenly stopped talking, holding up a hand. Without so much as another word, Zaya silently stalked off into the underbrush, holding her crossbow at the ready. After a few minutes, there was a thwip and the cry of an injured animal. Another few minutes passed, before Zaya re-emerged, dragging an entire freshly-dead deer with her.

"...Found food."

At the broken net, Guillairme gave a small smile, and handed Comete a damp, slightly warm rag. It didn't much matter what had happened to the net--Henri was alive, and they hadn't needed to deploy it.

He considered Caulind's query, and the feline appendages that he bore. "A dragon language...I've not read of such, but I am a man of the Gods, not of Dragons. Perhaps Scholar Zaya will be able to enlighten us."

As he gently scrubbed off the next dragonling, he glanced back at Brom, then at Caulind. "If I may ask...by any chance, were you born on Tereen?"

A few more scrawlings before Rozenn set out to hunt:

"I hope your talks go good! You'll have to tell me about her someday :) I should probably get to work, so I'll see you all again soon."

...

Rozenn's hunt doesn't go very well, but she's pleased enough with the results. A couple rabbits would probably sate at least one dragon for a bit.

She strolls back into camp, takes a seat by the fire draws a knife and - after a finding a log to hide the gruesome process behind - begins skinning and butchering her prey. Once she's done, she signs to Henri so he can let everyone know what she's thinking without her getting blood all over her sketchbook:

[Would anyone like to help me pass these out? It might be a good bonding experience.]

He blinked at the question. "As far as I know, I was born in the kingdom of Cestra. Maybe you're a bit more of a general scholar outside of the gods if you're asking that though." Putting hands out to help swap out towels or handle the infants.

Then, the offer of handing out meat. "Oh, yes! I'll- Back in a sec Guillairme." As he got up, flicking his hands briefly to skip/side-step over to the butchering.

Henri signed a polite thank you to Rozenn before taking some rabbit chunks to feed the dragons. The hatchlings eagerly chomped up the chunks, seeming quite ravenous.

"Aw. The cute little dears are quite a hungry bunch," Henri observed. "Oh, almost forgot!"

Henri limped over to his horse, rummaged around in the saddlebags, and pulled out ten equally-sized coinpurses. With a grin, he gave out one to each of the group members, expressing his appreciation for their aid to him during and after the fight. The purses were quite ample, and those who looked through would find a generous payday of fifty Chunard livre. They were golden coins stamped with the Emperor's face on one side and a violet on the other, and were extensively used throughout the west.

He smiled, sensing the comment was meant as a compliment and not as a slight against his devotion. "The Lords' interests' and influences' are as varied and wide-ranging as the branch itself." He said, by way of explanation, perhaps. A pause as Caulind fetched some meat, and a sitting bow as Sir Henri made their payments. "My own experience has not taken me quite so far--so, t'was merely a guess." The next guess, obviously, was flesh-shaping.

With the baby dragons cleaned up, Guillairme scrubbed his own hands off as he watched them attack the rabbit chunks.

"Ah, Madame Zaya! We had been discussing, earlier, if you might know how to discern the hatchlings' genders, or some appropriately Draconic names."

Zaya entered the campsite not far behind Rozenn, dragging a large deer carcass with her. A bit of a feat, since raw strength wasn't exactly Zaya's strong suit. She found a place to sit and started butching the deer, obtaining some good cuts of meat for the hatchlings - they'd probably run out of rabbit soon enough, and hatchlings could eat a lot.

"...Genders?" Zaya asked, incredulously. "Why would they have genders? They're. What, an hour old?"