Dragon had heard the calls of the strange, ethereal birds, seen a glimpse of them overhead in the dim light of a fire he had roaring. He'd heard their calls for aid, and lay there bemusedly, lazily; he had, at first, ignored it.

More petty bickering, more foolish games.

Until, that is, rumor had followed the birds.

Now that he'd heard what the prize was, Dragon was frantically digging through Cetus. He had covered more ground in one day than he'd ever covered before, even as a hatchling; he'd gone to the old map that his Children had carved into the wall, and he'd clambered toward the Divine (but not too close, because that tree was terrifying), and he'd ripped his way through one of the spider-caves against the cliffs.

Now he was diving, deep into the Heart of Cetus, nudging along the rock walls--again, not too deep; this was his father's territory, after all--and blasting little bits of underwater flame for just enough of a glimpse of light, before the water hit it as it left his gullet, to try and identify colors.

The reward had made it the most important thing in the world.

The reward was wings.

Unfortunately, nobody had told Dragon--or perhaps they didn't know--that the wings would not, in fact, work.

He nudged a small reddish pebble from the silt, and lifted it in his jaws as if it were a hatchling, carrying it with strong thrusts of his tail to the surface. He paused only briefly to wonder why the hell these birds wanted colored rocks--perhaps they sought a missing gemstone? But it mattered little, to him. All he needed were the wings. The why and the what, he would leave to others to sort out, for once.

The heavy alligator just kept the red stone in his jaws as he searched for a new one. He made his way through the muck, broad snout shovelling up mud before him wherever he found stones underfoot--and in Cetus this was no easy task.

He'd had to ask the rumor-bringers where the birds were said to be--and it was somewhere he'd only ever been once. Somewhere dry and landbound. Ugh.

Still-... what he wouldn't do for wings! Imagine being able to simply fly through the tunnels, rather than having to slowly, painfully crawl with one broken and poorly-healed leg! Imagine if the distance, the dryness, the obstructions, weren't a problem! He could go to the rest; he could seek his answers himself... if only he had wings.

But-... Rocks?

The alligator huffed and hissed to himself, still trying to puzzle out why the birds would possibly want rocks, as he flipped his way through the mud.

He pried a larger, crooked rock from the wet earth. This one was, in fairness, more orange than red, but it would do, he judged. It certainly could not be mistaken for gold. He added this one to his jaw, where it sagged like a meal in a pelican's pouch, and moved onward.

I will spend some time here, he thought, and then I will move through the tunnels. Surely it will take me time to get there--and I can search along the way. Those tunnels probably have more red stone than this place does.

Quietly, steadily, the alligator churned his way up the black water channel that he often used to get to the groves of trees. He splashed his way along softly, carrying his two prizes held high in his jaws.

His thought was that perhaps, on drier ground, more stones might linger near the surface. Once near the roots of the trees, he began to dig, nudging bits around.

Black. Grey. Brown. Black. Black. --No wait, that's just--an eyeball? Gross--

There! RED! Triumphant, the alligator snapped this smaller, glossier stone up from the mud, not stopping to bother himself about why there were red rocks hidden about in Cetus. Regardless, he was getting away from the faint firelight, now, so it would be wise, he thought, to make some fire. He began to turn slowly, dragging his way through the marsh and peering around for a good place, a good fuel source, for his flames.

The alligator had found a likely, relatively dry area--close enough to water that if he set himself on fire (which seemed to be happening more often these days) he could quickly put himself out--and set about dragging dry brush into a pile.

Well, as dry as Cetus got, anyway. As it was, he nearly lost his stones while doing this, and it occurred to him that he might singe them a little. Oh, well; a few charmarks wouldn't hurt, right? He could always rub the soot off later.

The alligator reared back, focusing.

Don't backfire. Don't backfire. Please don't backfire. Be ANGRY. Remember Raheerah! This was all he needed; almost unbidden he felt his flames welling up from deep within his gullet.

Then it sputtered out.

With an irritated growl, the alligator sat, squat and grumpy, staring at his unlit pile of perfect fire fuel.

WHY does it keep failing me? ...Why do I keep failing?

Forget it. Just forget it. Try again.

He tried calm, this time: the picture of Cetus--when it had still been lit by the orbs, anyway--faintly glowing. The mist rolling slowly over the black water; the tall trees standing sentinel far in the distance. His peaceful, calm home. He just had to focus, to concentrate, to take his time. To inhale, draw his magic around him while he drew a measured breath.

He sat there in his strange sort of zen state, willing himself to take even, deep breaths, to feel the fire burning within, streaming up through his gut and through his throat.

...Okay, so it was tiny, but there it was, a small twist of flame lurching out. The tongue of fire licked over the carefully-gathered kindling and set it alight, and a moment later a small fire was burning.

It wasn't much, but it was enough, at least, for Dragon to see by, and after watching his work with admiration (and no small measure of relief) for a moment, he returned to his snout-burrowing search.

Dragon turned, satisfied with this new fire, and began to claw his way into the muck with his forelegs, slowly. All the while, he considered the why.

They want stones. Undoubtedly searching, then, for a gemstone. But whose? A lost ally? A companion? Perhaps the red stone is Raheerah's, and he is dead? Did the Nemean kill him, then, in the end? Perhaps the blue is that of the phoenix-of-ice, and the golden belonged to that deer. I do not know. I have not seen any of them in an age.

The alligator dug, for a time, flinging up mud behind him slowly, burrowing his broad snout through the muck beneath the reeds. He then crawled higher, clawing--and making far less progress here--at that drier dirt beneath the trees.

All he found here was grey, and brown, and mud. There was nothing red--not to his eyes; and so he decided to take what he had found thus far, and perhaps move on. It was a long way, after all, to--...

Though... He did have sort of a monopoly, here. He could make light--and who could do that?--and Cetus was his home. He just had to think.

Where, in Cetus, would have red rocks..?

The alligator was now at the Crags, again, staring up at the now-dark ridges that used to lay basking in warm orb-light. Now they were not even visible in the shadows, bar when he belched out a blast of flame.

He was going in. Going in where the angry spiders made their home, and in the darkness, no less.

The alligator opened his maw, again focusing and calming his mind, attempting to let out a blast of flame into the cave mouth where he knew the giant spiders lived. If he could force them back, and start a small fire, he'd have the peace to search for red stones where nobody else could.

Fire. A long blast of flame, a few glittering eyes receding quickly to avoid it, a few snatches of marsh grass igniting to provide some short-term light.

He winced heavily at the pain that seared his jaw, though the flesh was long-since hardened to any real damage; still, he found himself chewing mud to cool his skin as he watched the flames take. He must act quickly, and get some searching in before those spiders decided to brave the flames and come for him. Though--by now, he supposed, their fangs might not even pierce his thick hide. Still, he didn't want to be stuck in miles of webbing by the time his fires died out, and so--with a loud hissing huff--he shoved forward into their den.

Dragon crept in slowly, cautiously watching the roof of the 'caves' above him--easy enough given the eyes atop his head--and, at length, began to search. He burrowed his snout into the muck, flipping it, sniffing.

What do they want with the stones? To revive them, undoubtedly; to make weapons of them? No--they are birds. But the red one--they spoke of it as violent and chaotic. Is it as Raheerah was, then? Hrm. It means I would be aiding with the revival of the dragon, perhaps--yet wings! Dragon's wings, then! I can kill it myself, should it return. -...Though it was very large.

There was no way Dragon could take on Raheerah, of course, with or without wings. And there was certainly no way he'd be in any way elegant in flight. He didn't consider that, either. He imagined himself sinuous and agile, but in truth, even if he could fly, he'd just be hanging straight down like the heavy beast that he was. He was built for hydrodynamic streamlining, with the support of water beneath--not for slithering about in the sky.

There were likely no wings that could be strong enough to hold the alligator aloft, but he didn't know that. All he knew was, "WINGS," and that there were red rocks to be found.

The first one he dug up--his fourth, now--was not the blood red he'd hoped for, but more of a dark maroon. It would have to do, he thought--it was oddly smooth, perhaps a gem? He was unsure, and perhaps it didn't matter. He added this one to the pile in his jaws, and pressed on into the gap beneath the ledges.

Dragon hauled himself forward, through the dark. One more; one more here in Cetus, and he'd have--what, five? red rocks. He burrowed his snout in, letting out a hissing rumble of a warning up at the myriad glinting cave-spider eyes and their thick and sticky webs.

He began to churn up the muck, here, lifting great jaw-fuls of mud and tossing them aside. It was only on the third that he realized he risked losing his carefully-gathered red rocks, this way; he quickly spat them out and counted them, then carefully picked them back up, before beginning again, with only his nose this time.

Ahh--there. This one was good. Glossy, and streaked with black. It looked odd; it looked like a genuine gemstone of some kind.

This must be a trick. What are we delivering to these birds...?

The alligator grumbled to himself as he lifted this and added it to the other four in his mouth. If it was a trick, he could try to kill whatever they were hatching. The last thing they needed was another Raheerah in the caves.

He turned, dragging his way out of the spiders' lair--undoubtedly to their relief, if spiders felt such a thing--and, for the first time in many cycles, he limped his way out of Cetus altogether.

He was leaving home, the safety of his swamp, the security of his survival, and his very father behind--but wings!

To fly!-... It would be worth any risk.

As the alligator hauled himself from the tunnel exit, he glanced back only once. Hopefully, his home would stay safe without him, and hopefully, he would remain intact so that he could return to it.

I wonder what it looks like from the air?