Dragon nodded to Wilder, though he was slightly taken aback; had she not said she wished to speak with him further? Ahh, well; the cat was flighty at the best of times, and if she wanted him, she would find him later.
He turned back to Zyros.
"Orion. Ahh, that--sparkling cave. I do not know--I would assume yes. We did not build the things that stand within. There are magics, you know--magics that allow you to see what came before. Some can touch a thing, and see or hear into its past. Those with Wilder's magic--or the magic of stones, or sometimes, fungus." Dragon paused, thinking, then added--"They were certainly larger than we were." The Throne had been build, he thought, for something very large indeed.
"One does not BECOME part of a family, just like that!" he bellowed, answering the little one's second question. And indeed, his suspicion rose, a little--flickering within him--but it lay mostly lower in his mind.
"Come," he told her, after a moment. "I have something to tell you."
Dragon turned, waddling to the pile of dead things some yards behind him. Up close, the stench would be horrific--putrescent, the rotten, rank stink of bad eggs and rotting corpses, full of bugs. Dragon didn't seem to mind. "I spoke to you of the living rising on the shoulders of the dead. Let us say you have a hundred cave deer," he went on. "They are different colors, some are faster than others, some are stronger, or larger, or smaller."
The alligator turned his head to watch the joey. "The world is not kind. Perhaps there is a draught, and little food. The weak cannot compete, or last long without food, and they die. Then, predators: the slow are easily caught. The fast can flee, and the small can hide, and they survive. The deer that are left--to continue the next generation of Gems--they are swift, or strong, or small. And so all cave deer, from then on, are stronger--as a whole--for those weak and slow who have died. This is what I mean when I say that the living are shaped by those who die! This is what I mean when I call us the Children of Rot. Those who stay together, too--those who aid one another in getting that food, or in fighting off those predators! They survive. This is what we do, Zyros: we survive. We live, we hide, we keep our mouths shut and we DO NOT SHARE our secrets, bar with those we trust. Do you understand?"
He shuffled, staring down the joey. "You are young, and you are not wise. You speak too freely, and you have no idea of the dangers that rage within these caves. I am hesitant to bring you in among us, where your mouth and your words might put our people in danger. Tell me--what does 'family' mean to you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing just a little.