The obsidian stone lay among dozens of others. Not obsidian, of course, but other gemstones, glittering their rainbow colors; and rocks, sparkling in myriad hues. A ruby close by offered sanguine riches, a rose-light glowing over the mica on a pebble, which in turn sent Monoceros' light sparking and dancing among the stones like a rather misplaced disco ball. Another of the jewels--large, translucent, and aqua-blue--gave off a constant, soft singing sound; and others gave off very real light, rather than simply reflecting it.

But of all the treasures in the hoard, only one was moving today. It twitched; it cracked. And when a piece of smooth, sleek black rock fell away at last, and liquid flowed forth to darken the dusty rock beneath, the other gems didn't take notice.

This was because they were rocks.

A small, wet bundle, all soaked fur and wrapping wing-leather, tumbled forth. It didn't fall, it just sort of plopped forward as the stone at last gave, and for a moment it lay cooling, steaming and silent, in the heat.

Then it opened round eyes, which blinked like glowing embers--and let out a tiny "Mew?"

Bug stared up.

The thing was huge, but it was the first creature--the first thing at all--she had ever seen. It was loud, and her tiny ears flattened back in the warm gust of his words. When he stopped, she relaxed her squint and stared up at him.

And then, very tentatively, she toddled forth: and reached up one tiny paw to bat him on the snout.

Within a heartbeat she was tumbling around on her back, swatting clumsily at the massive dragon's nose, blinking against the brightness of the light and trying her best to play with him.

As her father spoke, Bug toddled forward bit by bit. One tiny, unsteady paw after another, uncertainly-placed, brought her closer to him again.

He spoke, his words whirling past her newborn brain, but some stuck with her and echoed there, resonating.

"Magic?" she tried, hesitantly; and then, more sure of herself, "Hungry." A stray glitter of light caught her eye, and she was dancing forward, falling over herself to pounce at it, bounding around Dread's left hind leg. She didn't notice him lifting a wing to peer back at her; she chased the light, and then stopped to look around. A tiny, spade-tipped tail waved up into the air behind her, tiny bat-wings half-spread over her back.

The chiming had become more quiet. Only a bit, but she realized it with sudden apprehension, and bounded back to the singing crystal. She'd incubated by its side, with its music suffusing her chrysalis, and things felt strange--wrong--when it wasn't so close and reassuring.

The dragon kitten sniffed around, then began to bound here and there, pouncing onto stray bits of smelly charred bone or wisps of feather and fur.

Bug flinched as Dread's snout lightly pushed her away from the bananas. But the strong, sweet scent drew her as he split their skins. She could sense, instinctively, that this wasn't the sort of food she would normally like. But magic-!

"THANK YOU," she managed up at him: a very loud little squeak. And she tried, straining for a moment, to do magic too. Nothing happened--and no more bananas appeared--and so the kitten toddled forward. She barely heard Dread's warnings and promises; instead she was already stuffing her face directly into the yellow peels, licking up sweet mush, her tiny tail lashing as magical light began to glitter around her.

She didn't notice Dread shuffling away, unfurling his wings, and dropping from the ledge; she only noticed her meal, and how delicious it actually was.

When she woke, it was to a loud (yet somehow quiet), rhythmic rush of air. Everything had gone quite dark, and pleasantly warm, and smelling faintly of blood and more strongly of ash. It took her a moment to realize that she was just about engulfed by Dread's form, and that the rush of air was his steady, sleeping breathing.

She wriggled free--not difficult what with her size, but confusing with his. She wasn't quite sure what was a foot, or a haunch or a wing, but eventually she had clambered high enough to conquer Mount Dread, trotting (and sometimes tumbling with a new kitten's clumsiness) across his spined back.

Her stomach was still pleasantly full--maybe a little too full; she wasn't familiar enough yet with the passage of time to know that she had napped perhaps an hour or two. All she knew, with the enthusiasm of new youth, was that she was AWAKE now, and it was time to play.

Bug bounded along his back, looking around and down over the edge from her vantage point. She could see the distant swirls of the storm, though she knew not what it was. She could see the cave stretched out before her, and to Bug, this was the whole wide world. She could see, too, the dips of the Gorge and the serpentine paths its ravines took.

Every stray wisp of wind, every toss of dust and quiver of the dragon's sleeping spines, caught her fluttering attention and sent her from game to game like a cheerful butterfly. One moment she was staring down, whiskers quivering; the next she was dancing around one side of the dragon's spines, batting at them playfully.