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The blast of hot air had at least bought him time; the cave rats didn't want to stand up to something that could make the wind itself sear and scorch them to death. Instead most had fled, leaping up and over the hill as if abandoning a sinking ship. Others still lurked, watching him; a few had risked vicious nips at his hide.

He had rested for a few minutes, regathering his strength, but they were growing bolder. He'd have to act, and soon.

The wounded rat still huddled with a few comrades to one side. Dragon ignored them, for now, instead high-walking along the inner edge of the little pit, tilting his head to peer up. He wasn't sure how fire magic would get him out of this one. He'd probably have to dig the dirt down, and that would take awhile--particularly if these damn rats kept--

"BACK OFF!" he hissed, turning and snapping jaws at one of the bolder rats. It had come up behind him, biting fiercely at his tail.

Then another was nipping at his side, and he turned, snapping jaws at that one, too.

He could try to fill the place with his smoke, again--that would surely clear them out; but his flesh was aching from it.

A thought occurred to him, then. It was a stupid thought--very impractical, and very foolish. Only Dragon--with his overly confident, arrogant mindset--could have ever conceived of it, or thought it would work.

I'll need to back up--somewhere they can't jump on me. Stay covered from above. And the sides, as much as I can. I need to rest some more and I need a few of them to come for me at once. No--dozens.

He turned, crawling into the alcove he'd chosen, ignoring the rats (including the wounded) who'd scurried out. He lay there, for awhile, quiet; sure enough the rats began to get bolder, charging in at him, nipping, with many returning to the den. They wanted him out, and the longer he lay there, inactive, the more aggressive and fearless they became.

At last he opened his maw, trying to summon up his fire--but it flickered and died, simmering right back down into his belly. He hissed deeply, annoyed, and snapped at another couple of cave rats that had gotten too close.

He buckled down, resting and still focusing, preparing for another try.

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The alligator lay trapped in the cave rat den for some two hours, as still and silent as he could be.

For the first hour or so the rats' main focus was him: they would circle as best they could (which was not very well, considering he was mostly wedged firmly into a little alcove) and dart in to aim nips at his snout. He'd managed to nip one back and its shriek, coupled with a spray of blood, had both stirred them into a frenzy and given them pause.

Now they were half-ignoring him, still coming to nip at him in ones and twos now and again but, for the most part, going back to their daily routine. One had even come up and shoved at his side with sharp claws, not trying to attack him but rather to move him out of the way, as if he were merely an irritating large stone that had fallen in.

Dragon largely ignored them in turn. His mind was empty while he rested, gathering his strength once more, and mostly his ability to cast. This was one thing, though, that did pass through his thoughts: that he could tell, now, that sometimes his fire was banked and quiet, weak, as if its fuel had been all used up and its oxygen was low (or rather, he thought that in the terms one might use if they had no idea how fire really worked). He knew that after a good sleep, and especially a meal, or a leisurely swim, his fire tended to flicker up again, a roaring blaze in his heart rather than a dark and smoldering coal.

And so he waited here, silent, the rats eventually becoming accustomed to his presence. It was only when he felt truly restored and refreshed some hours later--and only when the rats had mostly returned to their den (though some stayed away, repelled by the scent of large reptile)--that he launched his attack.

Jaws slowly opened even wider, and the only indication that he was about to strike came from the dull orange glow that suddenly became visible in his maw. This brightened and grew, until suddenly a gout of fire lashed forth, into the rats' midst. Unfortunately it was not large, and it was not impressive--it was a long lance more than an engulfing blast, and the rats simply scattered and stared back at him, glittering eyes glaring from the immediate darkness.

Dragon could feel his flames stifled once more, and now the rats were stirred up all over again.

Uh-oh.

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Cave rats. Everywhere.

They had swarmed him, jumping, biting, scratching and hissing--it didn't feel like a particularly vicious and organized attack, but rather a frightened reaction to his sudden use of fire. Many others had again scattered and fled, but these few were making his life hell. They were biting him--along his forelegs, snout, his neck, the ridges over his eyes; some had even wriggled their way past him, and were slashing at his softer sides with long fangs. He leaned on those, pressing them between his (granted, conservatively-sized) bulk, and it was with satisfaction that he heard one squeal and felt it wriggle back away again, bolting.

But he couldn't go on like this for very long. He didn't have the reserves to cast another powerful offensive spell, but he could call on his magic, at least, to keep them off his flesh.

It'd hurt, but so did all of his magic.

Smoke began to plume from his sides, acrid and rancid as a few hours before; the stink of burning flesh again began to permeate the air. It wasn't as strong as it had been--and worse still, some of the rats didn't even seem to care. It made enough of them back off, though, that he was able to focus, to gather himself for another spell.

He stood higher, breathing deeply, closing his eyes as he prepared.

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The alligator changed the focus of his magic, nearly hyperventilating at the stinging pain of flames coursing through his own body. Instead of his own flesh charring, now--and the smoke began to slow, and stop--he focused only on his feet.

And enacted his "grand plan," one so arrogant only he could have presumed that it'd work.

I will trample them all with burning feet, and build a way out over their smoking bodies!

...Yeah.

He charged forward suddenly, and granted he did managed to step on a few--quite a few--with burning, searing clawed feet. However, more damage seemed to be caused merely by his weight and pointed talons than by any burning; and those who did burn simply fled.

On top of that, many of them were simply quick enough to dart away.

He wasn't going to be building an escape pile of bodies any time soon, but at least now, the cave rats were (for the time being) steering clear.

Dragon stopped his Godzilla-esque rampage and paused, releasing the taxing spell in order to look around. Many rats still watched him--from the lip of the pit, or the darkness of the alcove he'd just abandoned--but only a handful were still daring to approach, nipping at him.

He was safe, for now. ...Relatively. But he didn't relish the idea of having to live in a pit, feeding off of cave rats, until he was big enough to merely step out.

How was he going to escape?

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He rested for a time, simply laying back down and eyeing the pit's walls, wondering just how he was going to escape. It was dirt, so he could probably dig a channel out, given enough time.

He couldn't see any other way. There weren't any roots he could break apart and pull down. The rats were light enough to just leap along the sides, pulling their way along the thin tendrils of the shrugs that lived along the lip.

Damn it. I'll need to keep my eye on those cave rats.

With an irritated sigh snorted out through his nose, the young alligator made his way to the edge of the pit, and began to scratch at the dirt.

It was slow going, at best. He picked one of the shallower, sturdier sides rather by accident; it was the side he'd tumbled into, and in his mind, that way was home, so that's where he began. He scratched down clawfuls of dirt, which then piled up beneath, making it unexpectedly easier (though the dirt did pack down a bit too much to be very useful) to gain ground... rather literally.

It took over an hour to get even halfway.

Meanwhile, the cave rats were growing more irritable, and more aggressive: this big fat thing had not only invaded their space, but it was now tearing it apart, too! At first they kept their distance, but as it became increasingly clear that Dragon was focused on something else, the braver ones began dashing forward once more to nip at his hindquarters and his sides.

The first few times, a powerful swipe of his tail--side-to-side--was enough to deter them for awhile. Each time, however, they'd return a bit more quickly, until the last few slaps of his tail resulted in nothing but the rats dashing away before dashing right back again.

Finally, he went still. This time he could feel that he had, magically at least, rested for long enough for his fire to return; it was smoldering inside of him, even stronger than before, hot and charring--stoked, perhaps, by his frustration at both the rats' attacks and his own trapped state.

The alligator went motionless, ignoring the rats as they grew bolder, one or two even managing to sink long and crooked fangs into the armored skin of his tail.

His focus, instead, was on his magic: on feeding the flames, coaxing them up his gullet, and bringing them forth. The rats were attacking a dark and motionless thing, and assumed, perhaps, that he was weakened and dying; he was, after all, not responding to their nips and hisses.

When suddenly he turned, most of them scattered in fear before he could even strike them; his maw was wide open, fire already flickering forth from his belly, his eyes glinting with the reflection of the flames.

The brief roar of fire that poured from Dragon's jaws was enough to singe the fur from many rats, but it didn't kill any of them, as he had hoped; it didn't last as long as he'd meant. He would need to rest again, too, before he could repeat he act--but for now, it had (for the most part, at least) the desired effect.

The stench of burnt fur filled the air, and Dragon--grimly satisfied--turned back to his task of digging.

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He hadn't been digging again for very long when he struck the roots of some bush or other. He couldn't dig through them, so he resolved to tear the whole thing loose, and pull it down.

He leaned up, standing on his hind legs, weight on his forelegs against the wall, jaws snapping and tearing at the spiky plant matter; now and again he'd claw at it, pulling it free here and there with sprays of soil that scattered down over his face. He blinked the dirt away as he worked--

And suddenly the entire thing came free, tumbling down toward him, and with it all of the dirt that the roots had held in place.

Dragon found himself sliding backwards, right back down in the pit where he'd started--but now, there was an easy-to-navigate channel left through the dirt, leading right up against the hill he'd fallen in from.

YES!

The alligator scrambled, body wiggling with the speed of great excitement, rushing up the dirt slope--sliding now and again, clawing his way past the fallen bush and into the reeds once more.

It was with relieved joy that he dashed down to the marsh, dropping in with the sharp slap of a belly-flop, rolling around in the cool water.

Oh, swamp! Wonderful swamp! Black lovely swamp! I never thought I'd see you again!

An alligator smile distinctly plastered to his face--rather foolishly, in fact--Dragon hauled himself over to where he'd left his dead rat, snatching it in his jaws to carry back to Aquarian's pile.

The burnt one had escaped, for this one offering--and he'd nearly been trapped forever, and he'd been attacked by rats--but it was worth it.

Thinking again of the vast sea monster-dragon, the alligator nodded slightly to himself.

Anything is worth it.

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He'd taken his time tamping the rat's charred body into the pile, so it wouldn't simply fall out and float away. It was only when he submerged himself again, floating quietly away from the pile, that he realized that the scent of blood wasn't fading.

With some surprise he turned, sniffing--and saw a cloud of red, thin but visible, following him.

Rat bites.

They'd gotten past his tail armor, then--and their teeth had been so sharp he hadn't even felt it. With an irritated snort, the young alligator made his way back to the shore, and turned to stare at his tail.

He couldn't see it--not easily; he had to curl practically over himself, and for awhile he looked like as if he were chasing it, turning in fruitless circles. Finally he paused, exhaling irritably.

He was leaving a thin, circular thread of blood, and trampling in it. He'd have to find some way to stop the bleeding. As always, Dragon's "logical" answer was simple:

Fire.

It should be simple enough to do--a quick blast of flame to the affected area would burn the flesh shut, at least. Key word, quick. He was close enough to the shore that if he burned himself badly he could dive into the water--but hopefully he would be precise enough to only close the wounds.

The alligator focused, half-closing his eyes and going very still as the heat within him slowly built. Then his eyes slipped back open, and he leaned forward, opening his jaws wider; the blast of flame was quick, hot, and localized to the tail area around his wound.

Still, though the bleeding stopped at once, he found himself leaping frantically into the marsh water due to the pain--hissing all the way, which was echoed with a rise of steam from his burned tail.

Ow, ouch, ow, ow, ow!

He was abruptly reminded of something the baby crow had wisely told him--and he remembered it with both pride and chagrine: fire burns.

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The reptile slumbered the next few hours away just floating, bobbing up and down in the swamp's black water near the shore. He drifted, as he did, visions of flashing flames and great black twisting serpentine sea beasts filling his dreams.

When he woke he was some thirty meters from his pile; it was easy enough to orient himself, however, to its magical glow. He turned, and began to swim slowly forward, lazy and content. His tail hurt just a bit where he'd burned shut his own wounds--but now he knew that he was capable of doing so. Maybe, in the future, he might be able to use it on the wounds of others? He wasn't a particularly kind creature, but the practicality of it did strike him.

I'll just have to be sure they're wet, first, or else I might catch them on fire.

He'd drifted almost all the way back when he realized that he could hear quiet splashing near the shore. He turned his head to listen, submerging (bar his head) as he did.

It was fish--a cluster of them, perhaps a foot in length or smaller. He drifted closer and could see that they were strange-looking things, pale and ...eyeless? Or with tiny eyes, perhaps. Cave fish? He'd never caught one of these before, and he came to a stop, floating silently for awhile as he watched them.

They were nibbling at a bit of stringy flesh that had fallen into the water from his pile, and he found himself wondering if they were dangerous. Did they bite? Were they violent? Were they... maybe toxic? He tilted his large reptilian head slightly, then ducked entirely below the surface.

His third eyelids closed over his eyes as he slipped up beside them. He wanted to eat one, to try it; but he wanted more for the pile, too.

Well, he'd just have to catch more than one, then. The "dragon" gathered himself, feeling his heat well up easily within after such a long rest. He couldn't burn them underwater, not with fire, but he could exhale a blast of boiling, searing air at them, hopefully quickly cooking and killing the lot of them--or at least a few.

In truth, Dragon had no idea if this would work--but what did he have to lose? He opened his maw, and unleashed hell.

The froth of superheated bubbles poured from his jaws, engulfing the fish--some of them, anyway--and sending steam hissing off from the surface of the lake. Anyone watching from shore would have seen merely a spray of bubbles, the thrashing of frantic fish, and rising mist.

Most of the fish escaped, but two were dead or dying, one thrashing toward the shallows. Dragon quickly snapped up the first two, tossing them onto land with a quick shake of his head, and then grabbed the third, shaking it more violently to kill it.

He noticed at once that where the first two had been rather tasty in his maw, even briefly, the third was slimy and disgusting. Perhaps heat cooked it away? He piled the fish up, eyeing them consideringly.

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The young alligator nudged the fish, and tasted them, one by one. Yes, the fresh, unheated one was definitely slimier, and even after he'd nibbled past the coating (the fish was dead from Dragon's violent thrashing, thankfully), it didn't taste as good as the others.

Still good. Just not as good.

He pondered, and then tried, again, to call on his magic--this time to heat one foot, to act as a reptilian barbecue. His hope was to step on one of the "steamed" fish, to char it properly through and through. To cook it, to see if it improved the taste even further.

His feet warmed, then grew hot, and he grimaced--or would have if he could--as he pressed his claws down over the thing. Soon the mouthwatering scent of burning meat was drifting over him, but to his alarm, he wasn't sure if it was the fish, or him! He quickly lifted his webbed paw, but noted that it wasn't smoking. So he nudged the fish with his snout--which took a few times, and then he had to grab it and drag it through the water to clean the mud away--and stomped down on its other side.

Dragon the Alligator, living barbecue.

Once it smelled thoroughly cooked, he removed his foot, and sniffed again. It smelled utterly divine, and he found himself drooling slightly as he snapped the thing up and chomped it, savoring its flavor before swallowing it down. Then he sat, content and triumphant, basking, for a few moments. At length he stood, dragging the other two cave fish--one steamed, one "raw"--to the offering pile.

I have a new favorite food.

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It was bats, now.

He was floating, again, serenely quiet, resting and eyeing his offering pile through the low, seeping mist that was hanging over the Heart today.

Soon. It's almost enough. A little more... Maybe at the top, there--and that side...

He was pondering how badly-rotted the bottom was, and whether Aquarian would care--and surprisingly, it was only the first time he'd considered the possibility--when something flew low and very close to his head, hitting the water behind him with a splash.

He whirled in instinctive reaction, jaws wide, sending a spray of water in all directions--but there was nothing there, only the ghost of a dark shape vanishing off into the cave's mist. He slowly settled again, mind blankly waiting for anything else to happen--but nothing did.

Only then did he wonder what it was.

It was flying. A bird? Like Eve? A--

Another shape swept past, from low overhead, and he ducked down with a growling hiss. This time, he caught a brief glimpse of dark fur and veined, thinly-boned wings--no feathers.

Are those flying rats?! Those are HUGE! Are they attacking me?!

But now he noticed a few others, hitting the surface farther away. They were snatching at the marsh and flying off again, mostly spread out, but there was one area near the shore, about a hundred yards off, where he could see more constant activity. Curious, he took a breath and submerged completely, then began to swim swiftly in their direction.

As he drew closer he heard the splashing, an almost nonstop pitter-patter like water dripping steadily--but more violent, more chaotic. He slowed as he approached, eyes glinting in the dim light, straining to see--

...Bugs?

Sure enough, there were water skimmers racing over the water, here--and beneath them, the larvae of some flying insect or other. Above these hovered thick clouds of buzzing insects, probably preying on the bugs below--or maybe they were the parents...? The bats were sweeping down and picking one or the other neatly from the surface, or the air above it.

Dragon pondered.

He wasn't sure if flying rats were any good to eat, but he knew that rats were, so it was worth a try. Anyway, if they were, it could mean an easy, steady supply of food. He'd just have to get very good with predicting their flight, and either lunging for them, or knocking them out of the air with fire.

Or...

An idea had hit him. He could spit his bile accurately enough; he'd killed several rats and cave rats with it, in places where a fall into the water might extinguish a true fire. Could he get good enough with a powerful blast of bile to knock a bat from the sky...?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

Dragon rose up, very slowly and very gradually, until only his nostrils and his eyes protruded from the marsh's thin black surface. His maw opened as if slow motion, teeth glinting only briefly as he felt the bile churn and gather, heating in the kiln of his gut, before rising up his throat.

His first attempt, quite predictably, ended in failure; the bile was not as precise as he was used to... in fact it seemed hotter, boiling even, and as it curled up his throat he ducked down beneath the surface rather than aiming it. There was a sizzling hiss as his prepared, well, almost-vomit sank into cold water, and he found himself gulping down marsh water to quench the burning pain.

I thought after all that fire my throat wouldn't hurt anymore...

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