ORIGIN

There was absolutely no way that Dread was crawling his scaly ass the entire way back down the mile-length craggy mountainous death-zone that was Tunnel M.

Not a chance.

He knew Fornax; hell, he even had a stash of shinies here, back from when he was just a hatchling. Granted, he'd been absolutely tiny, and his stash--his den--had been equally small; he wasn't sure he could even fit a single limb back in the wall-crack any longer.

Then there was the added difficulty: he had to find it, first. He'd not been here in many cycles.

Quietly he soared, keen ember eyes picking one rock from another, examining that ledge, scrutinizing this clump of reeds. He didn't recognize much of it, but he remembered that the rising and falling of the tides tended to deposit sand and gravel in new and different ways. That is to say, the landscape of Fornax was never identical from one day to the next.

For a time he puzzled over it--then, eventually, he got his bearings.

There was the beach where he'd met Moth, the hyena. And there--that was the bank upon which he'd spoken first to Asimona. This was where he'd hunted rats, which meant... Yes!

With a short, triumphant bark of a roar he swept down, wings folding and then flapping heavily so that he lit gently down with a scattering of pebbles. The crack in the wall was still there--a few feet up, narrow and dark. It had been the perfect place for a young dragon hatchling to hide while growing, but eventually he'd grown too large.

...It looked so tiny, now.

With a huff, Dread reached the wrist-bend of his right wing into the crack as best he could. It was a tight fit, and narrow, awkward; he had to twist his wing at an unnatural angle and scrape his foreclaw into the dark.

With a quiet clatter his first shiny fell from the hole: an orange gemstone, nearly as large as a fist, which he'd treasured as one of his "fire" gems. He'd been too small when he left to take it with him. He was reluctant even now to simply give it up; he'd have to see what the Blacksmith had to offer, in turn.

Carefully, Dread folded this into his left foot's claws, tucking it beneath his massive bulk and safely against the stones below. He then reached his wing-claw back into the den-crack, hissing a little; eyes narrowed in concentration as he scraped into the dark.

A few small rocks tumbled out, scattering over the ground below. He grunted, inspecting them, then shook himself until his neck-spines clattered.

Why did I ever keep those? he wondered. They had only the faintest polish to them, and were otherwise dull and uninteresting.

Perhaps they held small imperfections that had been more visible, and more fascinating, to a juvenile's eye.

With another shake of his head and a grumble, the dragon adjusted his position and reached back in. Now he tried with his left wing, his right becoming a little weary from all the twisting and the pushing.

In he pushed, the long central claw scraping at the quietly-rattling pile of stones, bones and other "shinies" that the dragon had collected.

A few rocks and bones fell from the hole, again none particularly interesting--ahh! But there was that dirty, crusted, cloudy yellow gemstone he'd found so long ago. It resembled a misshapen, sea-worn disc of amber, perhaps, or old beach glass--nothing spectacular, but it had, in its own way, reminded him of light and fire.

He took this and tucked it, too, into his claw--and started his task again, scraping into the den-hole to see what he might find.

Dread wasn't sure what else was in there. He remembered a large number of small pebbles flecked with mica or the like, so that they had glittered when he'd turned them this way and that. He remembered small bones from his prey, and he remembered a few tattered other objects--particularly shiny fish scales, for example, or the feathers he'd kept within.

He managed to scrape out a couple of the bones and rocks, not at all certain what might be useful to the Blacksmith and what might not be. At last he felt the light, soft brush of the feather, something barely noticeable to his thick scaled skin. He clutched this in his claw and pulled back, rocking back onto his wings and hind legs.

Well, this would have to do; he had rocks, bones, a couple fiery gemstones, and a green feather. Hopefully he could trade at least some of this in for something cool.

He turned, his feet fumbling a bit beneath him considering how much he was trying to clutch into his talons, and he began the long, slow process of waddling all the way back.