ORIGIN

The young black dragon hauled himself at last from the icy grasp of the far-too-long, far-too-treacherous tunnel, and lurched gasping into Fornax. There was a strange twinned sense of home and not home, all at once: he had hatched here, learned to fly and to hunt here, gloried in Fornax's warm updrafts and easily-fished waters. Yet, at the same time, he had been gone for some time--and it seemed... different, somehow, than it had at his hatching.

Smaller..? No, not smaller; just-... different.

He had taken ill, and been cured, but the illness itself had taken its toll, and he wanted nothing more than to lie on the warm bank, to sun himself and to soak up the heat. Yet something about the heat of the air stirred him, and he reared back, spreading his wings so that the membranes caught the light, their brown instead glowing coal-red with the blood that flowed through the leather.

With a shrieking roar he stumbled over the stones, ridged tail lashing behind him, and then leapt skyward--the wings beating heavily, billowing up and catching his weight, and after a moment--and for the first time in nearly a week--he was airborn.

He felt the ground fall away, reptilian face almost smiling as he half-closed his eyes, letting the hot air send him spiralling skyward, banking easily on Fornax's familiar winds. He circled out over the water, letting out another echoing shriek-roar, tail ruddering along behind him, the spined membranes along spine and belly flattening and fanning constantly as he turned.

The young dragon listened to his call echo out over the water and swept down, letting feet and tail gently course over the surface of the ocean as he went.

A voice called out, ringing forth somewhere below, and Dread banked sharply, jaws snapping shut and ember eyes darting for the source. He saw it--a big, pale, colorful thing at the water's surface--and rose a little higher, soaring back toward and over it. He was not particularly good with hovering, but he circled, letting out a brief and questioning, wordless cry.

He then lowered himself down some, tilting back, doing his best to hover for a moment, though it left him bobbing unsteadily quite a few feet up and down, so that at times his ridged tail lashed violently into the water.

The thing was pretty; the thing had a fish. It was--offering him fish? It did not strike Dread as strange that the stranger would offer food before an introduction--he was hungry, and all he wanted was its gift, and immediately. Questions could come later.

"Yes!" he answered--no, demanded--in a greedy shriek, and turned, circling again. It didn't occur to him that this might be a trap, a fishy lure set to draw in smaller prey--and he was a great deal smaller. But he also couldn't quite reach the thing, not without potentially bashing into this stranger.

He gave a slightly frustrated cry, again bestial and wordless, but hovered lower, blinking hungrily at Iris. After a moment he looked around and turned, and swept toward the shoreline. "I land on land!" he declared, and in a clatter of rolling, smooth pebbles (oh, how he'd missed Fornax's rocky shores!) he landed.

The black dragon then turned, peering back at Iris--hoping that she, and her fish, would follow.

White had carefully taught Dread manners. He hadn't listened to most of it, but at Iris's prompting, he did manage to blurt a semi-correct little "Please thank you--" before snatching the fish up in his jaws. His third eyelid slipped over his eye, his body balanced forward on wings and hind legs, as his neck for a moment flipped up vertically. Bird-like, he gulped down the fish, entirely whole, swallowing it--then looked to Iris.

For a moment he simply looked her over, more closely now, though she was still partially-submerged. She was large--that much was for sure, moreso than she had appeared from the air. She was also a funny variety of inoffensive and pretty colors, and her sounds--though odd--were pleasant enough.

"Not a fish," he repeated dutifully. Asimona had taught him some measure of language--White more--but he still had not become a particularly verbose little dragon, at least not yet. His head tilted at the mention of "gills," the fins along his neck standing up out of sheer curiosity. He stared at Iris attentively, and wondered, too, just what a "mermaid" might be.

At length he shook his head, sharply, as if to clear it, and sneezed, then peered at her. "What are, gills? What is--mermaid? What are you? I am Hot," he declared, having absolutely no concept of himself other than the fact that he enjoyed making fire, and hunting.

His words were not exactly childlike--hardly naive and gentle, or curious. They were almost demanding, fiercely intense, and the little dragon's ember eyes glowed brightly with his interest.

Dread listened, head canting to one side, tail swishing behind him.

So those were... gills. And that's what a mermaid was. He had a tail, but he breathed air. Was he a--no, wait, he didn't swim. His wings floundered him and he tended to just sink and flop until he could struggle out of the waves.

Iris reassured him that she was fine with his not sharing, which was fine by him and flew right over his head. When she spoke of more fish, he decided he was still hungry--and when she spoke of iridescence, he eyed her scales over.

"Pretty," he declared. There seemed to be no emotion attached. For once, he seemed uninterested in collecting the shinies--perhaps because they were her scales, and not glittery gemstones. Though undoubtedly, if one had fallen away, he would have tried to take it.

With a loud shriek-roar he abruptly leapt skyward, wings spreading and beating. He took back off over the sea, sweeping low and twisting his head to and fro, banking with the ridged fins along his back and great sweeps of his tail. Upon spotting a school of fish near the surface he swept lower, jaws opening and heat surging up. What sputtered forth as he made his pass was a faint blither of steam and smoke, and he coughed, banking around for another try. He called out, hovering briefly, as he did so.

"MORE FISH," he explained, shouting it over toward Iris. He had grown up in Fornax--he knew how to hunt the fish; but sometimes, his fire failed him.

But he couldn't find the stranger--had she submerged, or had he lost her? ...He searched, but found nothing, and at last, he left the place silent and empty--alone once again.