ORIGIN

The call woke him from a drowse, and for a moment he lay there half-asleep wondering if he'd imagined it. At length, Dread hauled himself up--dragging himself to the edge of the rocky ledge and peering suspiciously downward.

He vaguely remembered the cat--though he thought it'd looked somehow different, before, Smaller? It was still tawny and pale, though, and it was still bringing him shinies, and that was fine by him.

Broad, leathery wings spread, and the dragon leapt off the ledge, catching the warm air and circling down. With bass thumps and a sweep of wind he landed, kicking up dust as his claws set down. Then he shook himself, blinking the dust away, a little, the spines along his neck clattering.

"I REMEMBER YOU," he bellowed, and then immediately set to looking over the gemstones.

The dragon used his hind claws, carefully extended forward with wings spread back, to drag the gemstones back to himself. At Orlaith's explanation of growth, he nodded wisely.

"THAT IS HOW GROWTH WORKS," he agreed. Loudly. At Orlaith's question, he considered.

First, he tried to nod upward at his own head. That did not work, since his head was the bit that nodded, and so after a pause to think, the dragon spoke further. "I have rings, now. Glory made them. Do you know him?" This was more calmly-said, and Dread then tilted his head downward so that the tiger could better see.

Firmly-fit around one of his long and twisting bone-like horns were two gold bands: the first, somewhat rounded, polished to a smooth shine; the second, elegantly-engraved with markings not unlike the patterned glow that flashed over Dread's scales.

It wasn't quite an answer, perhaps, as to how Dread had been, but it was apparently his most important news, nonetheless.

Dread listened, quietly. He puzzled, for a moment, over something Orlaith had said--golden eagle? Dread had no way of knowing of the true name of Glory's species. To him, Glory was an eagle, yes, and a bird, but golden? The dragon was (in his own mind) something of an expert on gold, it being his favorite topic and favorite thing in all the world, and Glory most definitely was not golden.

"GLORY IS BROWN," he huffed, and then shook himself. "He is good at making things!"

He eyed the gems over, but Orlaith's flattery had briefly struck him, too, and he lifted his head, tilting and arching his neck, as if showing the golden bands off even more.

"GOOD," he said, at last, as if this had anything to do with anything--and then stared at Orlaith, not knowing what further there was to say.

Dread had just about made up his mind to ask Orlaith if she was hungry--perhaps they could hunt together?--when the tigress spoke of going off to gather him more shinies.

That sounded like a far better idea, to him--shinies trumped everything, except gold--and he at once responded. "There are armors--in the tunnel. THANK YOU." With his thanks sufficiently bellowed, he leaned down to scoop all of the gems into his hind talons. Some escaped, repeatedly, and he had to use his jaws instead to gather them up--but eventually, he managed. By the time he did, though, Orlaith was long gone.

Dread took flight, bringing the gems back toward his collection. It occurred to him then that he should've suggested Glory. Orlaith could bring him things, too, since she knew him--armor and stones to bring back, and work on. But the tiger wasn't here anymore, and Dread's mouth was full of shiny rocks, so he mentally shrugged and then winged his way back up to his den. There would always be a next time.