ORIGIN

One would like, in situations like these, to say that they are recovering. Perhaps, he mused, even convalescing. Yet right now, all Dragon could think of himself as doing, was seething.

He lay lurking in the river of Polaris where the shore was not too steep, the run of cold water over his deep, untreated wounds a long-numbed roar of pain. He could ignore it, now; it blurred together with the agony in his right hind leg, which drifted into the current and seized up with sharp stabbing if he wasn't careful. He had to keep lower to the ground, his thick, heavy tail brushing over the riverbed, and he had to keep his head just clear of the surface--at least, his eyes and nostrils. Mostly, he was invisible, just another black ripple in the dark river, unobtrusive and silent.

He had listened, since the departure of the others, for the buzzing. For Nemean. The traitor. The betrayer. She hadn't come back, despite her words.

Perhaps, he thought wryly, Raheerah had eaten her, in the end.

But Nemean wasn't why he was seething--he'd sent Ghanyarah and Eve back to speak to Aquarian on that topic, and he was relatively certain that if it came to a fight, he'd succeed where the too-large dragon had failed.

The reason he was seething was Raheerah himself.

Dragon had always held within him a bright and fiery rage, an endless and optimistic exhilaration for combat even against beings a thousand times larger than himself. Aquarian? Raheerah? He would outgrow them all, some day. He hadn't minded getting into a fire-breathing match with the much larger dragon: forcing it to take notice of him, to respond to his flame with his own, glorious torrent. He hadn't minded being thrown about, either, with angry sweeps of the dragon's tail. All of that meant he'd had a chance; he'd gotten the beast's attention, at least.

What he minded was the monster dropping that tail onto Dragon with no more notice of him than if he'd been a pebble, a stone, and Dragon realized right then and there that he was meaningless. Nothing he could do could kill the giant drake, and this realization--the pain and fury of that moment, the impotent rage--had left a smoldering fire of another sort.

He hadn't had the strength to crawl back to Cetus--not yet. He'd been lying here, lurking, waiting, watching; he'd been healing, and biding his time. And in the meanwhile, he'd had plenty of free, lonely hours in the dark in which to think.

It was clear that something so crude as physical power would mean nothing, to such a beast. He turned his mind to assassination, then; but would a mere blade do it? How could one kill a monster such as Raheerah?

I want his damned wings.

The thought ran like embers through his mind, searing and furious. He wanted to tear the other dragon from the air, to pin him and rip him to shreds, to steal those wings and take flight, himself. To ascend. But now he was merely a wounded, tiny cripple, lurking in pathetic, fearful weakness in the river.

Damn it all.

So strength... that was out. Even Aquarian had shown fear at the mention of the dragon's name.

We succeeded, though. We chased him out. He must praise us for that, at least.

He thought, again, grumbling. If they didn't have strength, then what did they have...?

Dragon's mind ran abruptly back to the fight, running through it for the thousandth time since he'd wound up stranded here. He remembered joy, glory, fury, frustration, and pride. Pride. He remembered Czernobog, fearlessly charging at Raheerah's side to gore him; remembered the dragon's roar of pain. Even now, his heart swelled with pride at his "son's" actions. And his brother, Ghanyarah--his magical acumen, honed through training, focused on the massive beast.

We have the Children of Rot. We have not died; perhaps we will yet live forever. But it is clear that what we have now isn't enough to ensure our survival. We must have... something more.

Lying there, hiss-growling to himself softly, Dragon pondered what exactly he could do.

What they could do.

Dragon saw the flash of... of something as it passed a beam of crystalline light, as it lit lightly on the Spire. The same small, delicate pale thing then did--... something, he couldn't quite see from here. Was it looking around? Was it Nemean? He squinted, bobbing just a smidgen higher in the water, but it didn't seem to be. Perhaps it was that blind owl that had been--...

Now it was landing before him. He blinked, recognizing it, and lifted further in the river, raising up a bit so that his forequarters rested on dry land.

"Willow," he rumbled, by way of greeting. He was eyeing her over, noticing her apparent exhaustion, and at the same time, wondering what he could mold her into. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure she could be molded. Pushing the thought away, for now, he addressed instead her state. It was neither healthy nor safe to fly about so worn.

"You appear on the verge of exhaustion. This is a dangerous place to be, in such a state," he said, keeping his voice low.

"Do you bring news?"

The alligator listened, his curiosity piqued. He kept an eye on the rest of the cave, but his focus remained on Willow--and on her words. He was tempted to ask about this lamb, but he knew nothing of any lambs, and perhaps it meant nothing. In any case, Willow herself seemed troubled--unable to sleep, she said.

He grunted, a soft snort of laughter.

"Kept awake. Yes, I know the feeling," he rumbled with amusement. "I take it you don't know of the battle, here, then? You haven't spoken to, or seen the others? I think Bog was wounded--and my brother, as well."

The alligator turned, slightly, rising up so that he bobbed at the water's surface. Now the deep gashes through his armored skin would be visible, mending but slowly.

"A bear from another group in the caves came asking for aid; he told us that a dragon, Raheerah, was here and had to be fought back. Aquarian explained to us that he was dangerous, and would incinerate the caves and everyone in them, and so we went to battle. I tried to call upon all of you, but you were absent," he added, eyeing Willow.

"The dragon has been chased off--for now--but my wounds keep me here. I must recover, before I can travel. So tell me, little one: what kept you from us in Cetus? What kept you from the battle, here--what is it that keeps you from sleep?"

Naturally, he held no tone of reproach nor malice; his voice was empty, his tone even. He didn't expect that everyone would have been within hearing range of the call to arms; but he did wonder just what was keeping one of his sisters so tired that she seemed deathly ill.

Dragon listened, and gave a little rumble of dark, dry laughter.

"I know how that feels, too. I am lost in my own. We are inadequate against threats such as these, and I struggle to think of how to fix that," he replied quietly. He wasn't sure why he'd entrust this to the owl; he hardly knew her, even if she was one of them. But he'd been stuck with these thoughts, with them roiling and bouncing around in his head, and he supposed they just needed out.

"As for yours--try to explain? Perhaps we can help one another. I am certainly going nowhere any time soon."

The alligator grunted.

"Yes," he admitted, eyeing Willow. Truth be told he was a little irritable about her hiding her thoughts, but he supposed it was her choice--and he simply didn't have the energy to argue. "There's not as many fish here as in Cetus, but don't wear yourself out hunting. It'll take more than you could catch in a day to feed me, I imagine," he added, a little sourly. For a moment, he simply bobbed in the dark water before he continued.

"How well do you know the other groups in the caves?" he asked, abruptly. "Do you know anything of them at all?"

And then, even more abruptly, "Maybe whatever is bothering you could be solved for both our benefits." Oh, no, it seemed he did have the energy to argue, after all--or at least to apparently refuse to drop the topic, just yet.