ORIGIN

He heard the call through the swamp, as he so often did when summoned, as a distant, mist-muffled call. It took him a moment to recognize the voice; Sniffles was one of the Children of Rot as surely as anyone was, but like many of them, did not often simply socialize. He honestly did not know too much about Septiezal's spawn, other than that he liked it well enough and recognized in it the sign of Nox's spawn (many of whom he considered his own, though only one of them truly was).

Magic and intent shaped wings, drew them forth from him in a flare of chaotic swirls--crimson and onyx, as ominous as could be. But he hadn't designed this shape; this magic had been granted to him. Not that he would ever turn it away. The curling horns that swept back from his head, a temporary draconic feature, were interesting enough--but it was the flight those shadowed wings granted him that he relied upon these days. With one lame hind leg, a slow trudge through the muddy high ground of Cetus was always unpleasant--and water channels weren't always available to more quickly traverse through swimming alone. The wings bypassed that, though he had to be careful to stay away from the trees that seemed to jump out from the fog when he flew quickly.

He lifted off--not gracefully horizontal, but heavily vertical and rather silly-looking--and went toward the voice. A further, sharper cry alarmed him and he swept forward more quickly, the magic wings beating heavily with soft, bass whoomphs.

Ahh, there they were--the curled orange-splotched form of Sniffles, and a strange... stranger, by their side. A wet one, by the looks of things. Quizzically, Dragon glanced about--a sharp look, a check for whatever danger might be threatening the pair--but he saw nothing, and after a moment he landed some dozen yards away from them with a loud squelch of reptilian heft dropping into mud.

The magic wings and horns quickly faded, and the fat alligator began to haul himself toward the two.

"I am here!" he boomed, at last, as he drew closer. "It is good to see you, Sniffles--and who is this? I am Dragon," he added, eyeing the child over. "Are you in some danger? I thought I heard a cry."

A quick once-over by eye alone showed no real signs of harm, but he was sure he could be missing something. He came to a slowly-sinking halt a couple yards away, looking around again (as much as his limited neck-mobility would allow) just in case.

Dragon's brief curiosity about whether Sniffles had gained any linguistic complexity in her absence was quickly answered: their communication, though clear enough, was still done in short bursts of a few words at a time. Which was fine, really; he just made a mental note to be cautious not to speak in too complex a manner, in case they couldn't understand. He wasn't entirely sure how much they comprehended, himself, but it wasn't at all unusual for the denizens of the swamp to be even completely non-verbal.

The ferret, though--ahh. This one was another story. He caught an overly-loud whisper that he was fairly certain had been about his teeth, and he snorted a soft huff, an amused exhale. Sniffles's comment of 'he fell in' was given a quiet chuckle and a murmured, and amused, "I see that." But when the little one addressed him, he gave him his full, and patient, attention.

The alligator was often unforgiving, cold, or calculating; but when it came to children he was invariably fatherly. The same instincts that drove him toward wary and logical survival also reinforced, again and again, the fact that children were to be protected, nurtured; and so he did. His tone, then, was indulgent and polite as he spoke, treating Callahan respectfully--like an equal, well enough, and not particularly patronizing or the like. "Callahan, is it? An interesting name," he observed. "Do you not? I have never counted my teeth." If he could have smiled, or grinned, he would have, but his big shoe-shaped face was rigid leather without malleable lips. "I am Sniffles's friend. I am Dragon, of the Children of Rot. We live in this swamp; it is called Cetus."

He paused, glancing at Sniffles. Often, someone bringing a child here would explain their reasoning--was it a visit? A mere introduction? She had called on him, but why-? Without some sort of cue, he had to guess. Ahh, well. He looked to the ferret, again. "Are you newly-hatched? If you need someplace to stay, you are welcome to stay here. There are not nearly enough visitors!" he boomed, but he was thinking children, really. Adult visitors were a pain in the ass, more often than not--or even dangerous. But having kids around was nice. "If you are a friend of Sniffles, you are under our protection; if you need food, or wish to learn whatever I can teach, you are welcome to it. Sniffles?" he added, again looking to them. Carefully, watching them closely to try and gauge how well they understood, he spoke again: "How have you been?"

Ah, it seemed they understood him perfectly. A creature of few words, then. Well, he could appreciate that. And if he could have grinned, he would have. Alas, he was always grinning. "I have been well!--Thank you. Bar the hunt that came rampaging through, and the creature that attacked the swamp." There was amusement in his tone, but he had heard nothing from Draconua since her attack on Cetus. It hadn't helped that she'd left him in his chrysalis for a few weeks, of course.

His attention shifted to the little one, then. "Hm? Counting? Yes, I can teach you that. I think I can manage it, at least," he added, good-naturedly. "Rot is not a place. It is what happens to things that die," the alligator explained, launching into a rather grim explanation without any apparent concerns that it might disturb a child. No, gross things were interesting, right? "They decompose, into oil, into rotten meat! And the ones that are left alive are shaped by the ones who have died, who have taken their shapes away. Like carving clay." Well, a child probably knew what neither of those things were-... But never mind. "The name means, we are the ones thare are left when others die. We are the survivors. As for what I can teach you? I can teach you anything I know. Everything I know. Of magic, and the Masters, and the history of these caves. Of surviving, hunting, staying alive. For now, what do you say we find you someplace safe to rest? And what of food--are you two hungry?"

Dark eyes flicked between them. He had no doubt that he could find a few fish for them easily enough, if they wanted it--assuming they hadn't already eaten on the way here.