By the time Dragon awoke from this, his second nap, the rock was cool again. With a little yawn and a hiss, he stood, and made his way back down to the swamps far below.

He was a little hungry, again--and he again felt the drive for power. He had to add to his Offering Pile!

The little alligator began to scramble through the marsh, filled with energized focus. He'd not gone very far, splashing down into the dark water between the clumps of long grass, when he suddenly smelled something rank. He stopped, lifting his head to sniff intently.

It smelled like carrion. Like rotted, bloody flesh.

The rat only bristled further, baring its broad teeth at him, but otherwise it was motionless and made no sound. He kept crawling closer, then locked small jaws around the closer hind leg of the dead gembound deer (for that's what the half-rotted carcass was).

Dragon narrowed his eyes and then closed them against fiercely scratching claws, and thrashed frantically against the rat's ferocious bite. What could he do? OW! Fighting was just tearing the rat's fangs further through his snout's tender flesh, and he squeaked furiously.

Oh! He knew! He went still only briefly, his magic welling up from within him, heat sparking up and smoldering. He would just burn the rat to death! ...With air, but still! He focused, hissing with angry concentration, feeling the boiling heat that burned within him pour up through his throat and into his little open jaws--and outward in a blast.

The rat was caught entirely by surprise, its body firmly in front of the alligator's tiny maw. It had gauged its distance safe enough--front paws were braced around its eyes to keep the monster blind, and in this way it couldn't possibly bite the rat. But suddenly there was brutally hot air boiling around him, even the water below quickly heating. The rat let go only an instant later, but already its torso was seared, its body feeling as if it were boiling. It squealed in pain, and hissed and chattered and tried to pull away, to scamper back off into the swamp.

Dragon lunged after it, quickly giving chase.

Dragon didn't have to scramble far. Like with the rabbit, the rat was wounded, now, by his fire. It only took a couple of scrambling leaps and he was on it, jaws clamping around fur and meat, his eyes squeezing shut as he dragged it back and under the black water. This was an instinct, and he understood: the rat would hurt him if it could, biting and clawing, and if he let go to get a better grip it might just run away.

Once he had it under the water, he thrashed, rolling about and twisting his grip. There was soon blood in the water, and squealing, and bubbles, and claws raking over his face-scales. It was a good thing he'd closed his eyes, too; it bit around his face, frantically curling over its own wounded body to try and bite him.

Soon it was over, the fighting slowing, and then stopping, so that the triumphant but wounded alligator was submerged with the limp body of the rat drifting to and fro with the marsh's very faint water currents. At length he began to eat, tearing pieces off and consuming them. He ate most of the rat--most of the huge rat.

He didn't know it, but he was already growing. He'd been eating well and resting well, basking in the orbs' light, and he had put on a few inches and a bit of weight since hatching. Now he gripped the rat's remains in his maw, and dragged it off to the offering pile.

Some time later he returned for the rest. He was tired, and still bleeding very slightly from his neck and his snout, but he ignored the pain, all of it eclipsed by the feeling of victory that carried him buoyantly onward.

Dragging the dear, it turned out, was much, much harder. In fact, it took several hours, and he had to dismantle it by seizing limbs and rolling with them in his jaw until they twisted off. Then he brought the pieces one by one in determined toil to Aquarius's hidden offering pile. The rotted torso came in one large piece, and this took the most time of all; Dragon had to stop often, sometimes even perching atop the bloated abdomen to bask and pant, regaining his strength. The thing was several times larger than him, after all.

Finally, FINALLY, he had it on the pile. Only then did he curl up over the entire pyre of death, closing his eyes and settling down to rest.

There was something here.

Dragon was roused from sleep by a quiet voice, and when he opened his eyes and blinked, he found another face staring at his. He jerked back and hissed, all his teeth shining in his gaping maw, the rough bite wound plainly visible on the end of his snout. Immediately possessive, like a true dragon over its hoard of treasure, Dragon curled over the rotting corpses and began to spit words. Whatever this thing was, it didn't look like prey. It looked like another Gembound--like the things that had fought Aquarian with him--and so he spoke instead of fighting or fleeing.

His warning spell--not meant as a possible attack, but as a warning shot of sorts--had sizzled entirely. But the stranger didn't seize the opportunity, didn't spring forward and attack; instead he simply spoke.

Dragon curled back down, settling somewhat, a bit calmer, though he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at this stranger. What did he want? In fact--it was a good question! He was so smart to think of it!

Dragon listened, but didn't really care what was being said. It sounded vaguely like a threat--something about fire, though, which was good, right?

This pile was for the big-dragon. He would have its power! Not this strange brown fur-thing. He chattered his fangs, hissing.

"Stupid-stupid, stupid thing," he growled, and it was--for now--the best insult he could come up with. But the cat was already hopping down and stalking off, its tail flicking back at him. For an instant Dragon's instincts were to lunge after him and bite the tail, then he remembered that it wasn't food, just the tail of another Gembound. With a grumbling, growling hiss, he turned and curled back over his prizes, guarding them proudly.

It was probably a fair warning, coming from the cub, and at the very least insightful for one so young, but Dragon didn't hear a word of it, in the end. He forgot the cub and what he'd said as soon as he was out of sight. Maybe later, he'd remember it--and if it truly came to pass, maybe he'd remember it too late. But for now, he cared about nothing other than getting some more rest.

He kept one eye open, nonetheless, just in case any other visitors--welcome or unwelcome, and surely they'd all be unwelcome--came his way.