Days were warm and they were cold. The stone that lived in the years-old nest knew the heat of a parent and the cool shade of the great tree that sheltered it; it knew the sweltering heat of the storms brought up from the Underforge, and the cold sleet that rose off the celadon sea from the high winds of the massive cave. It knew the business of its family, the thunder of dragon's wings and the hushed sounds of conversation, and the silence of the breeze and rustling leaves when it was left all alone.

The dragon that lay in wait within the walls of the flint was sheltered from most of this. There had been times when the consciousness had stirred, ever so slightly, to the sounds of a mighty roar, only to shift in its stone and drift back into the lull of dreamless sleep. It seemed that it would never decide to come out of its eternal slumber. Why Dread spent any time tending to it was a mystery, but perhaps it was the natural longevity of the dragon that made it well suited to playing the long game with what was easy enough to assume was a dud. Who was to say that their natural clutches didn't take millennia to grow?

Or maybe, the stone's life-giver simply didn't think that much about it.

It might be too generous to suggest that Dread's patience was about to pay off. The slumbering dragon had slept for so long... What was a bit longer? It was comfortable, nestled in a massive cocoon of flint that had grown to accommodate the creature's huge size.

It wasn't that the slumbering dragon was particularly lazy, or even filled with an unnatural exhaustion. It simply failed to occur to the creature inside that there was something it needed to do. It was almost as though it was waiting for a reason to leave its shelter, though even that suggested some sort of thought or even agency that it simply did not yet have. The world drifted by, time irrelevant, blissful and ignorant of what it was lacking.

It probably could continue like this forever, and leave poor Dread wondering why this stone had failed to crack.

In the end, it was an itch that got to the dragon. One that came from a molt, triggered after cycles of inactivity that finally came to a head. It was a prickling, crawling sensation that caused the sleeping creature to suddenly kick, talons squirming to try and reach the spot in its plumage that need to go.

There wasn't exactly a lot of room, even for a stone as large as the one that it slept in. So it writhed against the confines of its prison, a low groan of struggle as it pushed and tried to make space enough to reach the itch.

If you didn't know, flint as a stone is quite hard, but when it does break, it breaks into razor sharp, vicious edges that make for very effective cutting tools. And so, when the unborn dragon inadvertently created the first crack, it was in for a dramatic surprise. There was a sudden chill as the inside fluid was flushed out and rapidly beginning to be replaced with outside air, and the unborn creature still had not wedged its foot up high enough to reach the itch in its feathers.

It struggled again, twisting its form within the stone, and the pressure and weight of its body fractured the crack further, until the weakness of the stone became too much. In an instant, the flint began to shatter on one side, spilling the feathered dragon into the nest with a burst of shrapnel: dozens of flakes and blades of flint scattered the ground and several nicked the soft, yet to harden scales of the dragon.

Only one thought hit the fully-grown baby, and it came all at once, along side the surface level pain of its scratches and the much more pressing pain deep in its stomach.

He was starving.

There was really only one thing to do, filled with indignant fury at the injustice he was immediately faced with after being pulled rudely from his slumber.

His jaws parted, inhaling a deep breath, fully prepared to let loose an earth-shattering roar (something he somehow knew he was capable of, subconsciously--) and yet when he went to bellow, all that came out was a shrill, pitiful squawk of a cry: "Fooood!"

@Dread

Dread had accepted the giant flint as a part of his daily life. It was huge, and took up half his nest, but like any dutiful parent he rested atop the 'egg' (which was pleasantly warm when the sun had been settling on it, anyway) and waited for it to hatch. Some of his 'eggs' took longer than others; but this one had been... many cycles, cycles beyond his count. Mostly because he did not count, or had not bothered to. (Years?) With an egg (read: chrysalis) about to hatch, he generally stuck quite close, leaving only for short trips to hunt, and asked Blight to watch the nest if he had to go any farther. But he'd taken to sort of assuming this one was different, and gone back, eventually, to a regular routine.

So when the cracking began, he was off soaring the warm updrafts of the bay, light gleaming down through dark wings to illuminate them red; he was basking in the joy of sea spray and open winds, drifting ever higher on the air.

The distant squawk of 'Fooood!' therefore took him by surprise: he barely heard it and, at first, he thought it was an intruder. Spines and fins bristled along his neck and he turned, banking for the sea stack, wings pumping and eyes narrowing.

His slam down onto the edge was menacing, all arched neck and blazing eyes, smoke curling from his nostrils as his gaze shot around in search of an intruder--but when it fell upon the hatching "child," he softened immeasurably at once. Fins lowered, head slid down, smoke extinguished; his ember eyes widened and he slid closer, the boom that had been about to erupt from his chest in a roar instead curling into comfort. "Be careful," he urged at once, more than familiar with the cutting edges of a chrysalis--his own, obsidian, was a bitch with razor shards whenever he awoke. "It is sharp." His immediate task, as it always was with his newly hatching children, was to clear a safe space for them to pull free: and so his snout and wing-claws began the swift but careful work of picking pieces aside, breaking chunks that might have caused more serious injury, and pulling shards away with his jaws. These he scattered on the ground, a little ways away, while his eyes ranged over the full-grown child in search of injury. He saw nothing serious, but noted how much--how perfectly--this child was a halfway point between he and Kalama. Draconic, but feathered; sharing both their colors, but mainly hers, and with a determined ferocity to it that already gave him pride. He bristled a little again, this time not in aggression. Oh--but the chrysalis shards...

With a grunt he carried on, pausing only to blink and speak. "I AM DREAD. I am your father. Kalama is your mother. She will be proud of you," he decided. It was an odd set of things to inform a child immediately upon its hatching--but Dread was an impulsive sort. And a repeated urging: "BE CAREFUL. THESE ARE SHARP! -I will find you food when you are out!"

All the important things were now covered, he felt--and he set himself back to freeing the feathered dragon.

@Knell

FWUMP.

The massive shadow appeared suddenly, shaking the very earth with his weight. Dread towered over the chrysalis with a height that could have been more intimidating had the hatchling not already been fully grown himself. For a moment, this appearance struck his instinct more as a competitor: another dragon that would chase him off of his territory. The newly hatched bared his teeth and growled, squirming in the wreckage to try and find his feet and the rest of his bearings.

Dread's smoking nostrils were met with an equal attempt to summon flame from the hatchling. With a deep breath, he opened his jaws and let loose-- with a spark from within his maw-- a breath of scorching air. It was no true fire, as that would take time to master, but it was intense enough to be noteworthy. It might have even scared off a true competitor.

But, to his confusion, the rival dragon's intensity had melted away into nothing. The aggression vanished, replaced with something more... Paternal. The voice was familiar too, in a way that the hatchling couldn't place but instinctively knew. He had heard this voice, this had been the one who's roars he had imagined when he went to squeal.

Dread's urging to be careful made him fall still, instead watching with bewildered curiosity as the other dragon made quick work of peeling away the sharp edges. The hatchling snorted-- not without impatience-- as Dread gave him the quick briefing.

If this was Dread, then he... "KNELL," he huffed, his breath still hot from his magic. "I AM KNELL." He had been given a name for the emotions he was feeling, as well: pride. He was a proud, powerful creature, and there was an eager gleam to his scarlet eyes when Dread promised him food. Proving to be impatient, he shuffled forward, shaking off any remaining pieces of flint and prowling his way clear of the hatched chrysalis.

"Father," he sniffed. "Food, now?"

@Dread

He withdrew at the blast of heat, blinking--but rather than be irritated or aggressive, the mindset of a proud new parent quickly set in. "THAT WAS VERY GOOD," he boomed. And then--"YOUR NAME IS KNELL." It was a repetition, not instruction; an agreement, an acknowledgment that he'd heard and understood and maybe even approved. Then Dread backed up, his reverse-wingwalking somewhat awkward, to make room--until his talons were again perched at the very lip of the stack.

He waited, watching closely, to see that the fresh adult-child crawling from the chrysalis did so safely; and when no horrific wounds opened up, Dread began to turn. "FOOD," he confirmed; "I WILL GET SOME NOW. WAIT HERE--UNLESS YOU WANT TO LEARN TO FLY NOW? AND COME AND WATCH?" Loudly-given options, but options nonetheless: he'd offer the flint--no, Knell--freedom and a choice. No child of Dread's would be restricted unnecessarily. That wasn't what being a dragon was about.

Well, there was no use in prolonging the lesson, in any case. "IF YOU DO WANT TO FLY," since the child would need to some day, anyway, "-YOU MIGHT WANT TO EXERCISE YOUR WINGS FIRST." A belated realization--he wasn't sure how much they might need strengthening. "BUT YOU JUMP AND FLAP AND HOLD YOURSELF ON YOUR WINGS. WARM AIR IS EASIER. IF YOU FALL YOU MIGHT DIE," he added--there was water down there, sure, but the drop was a hell of a long one.

Dread launched out, shoving off and up as he raised his wings out and up; a hefty thud of wing-leather as he began to fall drew him skyward and he turned, wings beating as he circled a lazy arc to sweep back toward the stack. He waited to see if Knell would come, or not. If not--he'd go and hunt for him; if he did follow, Dread was alert and ready with his magic to ensure the child did not fall to his death right away.

@Knell

Hearing Dread boom his name was kindling to the flame of pride alight in his chest. He raised his head higher, flaring his nostrils and puffing up his feathers. His father agreed to bring him food, and he would have happily sat and waited every agonizing second for his return... if not for the alternative offer that Dread provided. His head cocked to one side, his comb flopping comically over.

He adjusted his weight back on to his hind limbs, raising his wings in an attempt to flap and catch some air under them, mimicking the motions his father made as the dragon took off. He had little to no sense of balance, unfortunately, and promptly fell forward on to one of his wings in an attempt to catch himself. With a grunt, and a huff, he crawled forward to the edge of the stone outcropping, and tried again to flap his wings. He gave a little hop as he did so, but made no progress. Certainly not enough to consider leaping off the edge; he headed Dread's warning.

It was exhausting, having just hatched and not eaten yet, to try and master this new skill. He felt himself sway dangerously forward as he looked down, and the sight that hit his eyes of the plummeting drop made his stomach flip. He cried out at this, tumbling back in the dirt as he leaned too far back to catch himself.

Now flat on his back, his red gaze stared up at the sky, watching his father drift an easy, effortless circle back toward him. He wasn't sure he had the strength to get back up and try again, though this stung horribly. The flame of his pride was smothered, and he closed his eyes tight.

"Can't," he groaned. "Too hard." He didn't want to give up, by any means, but it was a crushing defeat. What good were his wings if they weren't strong enough to carry him?

@Dread

Poor child. The thought was unusually sympathetic, for Dread, but nobody--well, very few, and nobody he'd ever spoken kindly to again--had ever accused him of being a bad parent. "IT'S OKAY," he assured, shaking himself as he paused to hover for a moment before the stack. Fins rattled, and then he turned, flapping into a glide away as he called back: "STAY THERE. I WILL BRING FOOD."

He dove low, wind whistling around him until the seafoam sprayed cold around his talons--but he saw nothing at the froth of the waves, no gleam of easily-snagged fish. He slid upwards again, beating his wings for shore, and if Knell were watching he would see the muscled back of the black dragon working in a way his own wings would hopefully soon manage. Dread's wingspan was broader, though, relatively speaking--and as he reached the treeline, sliding into the drifting fog of Leo's humid bay, he cut through it like a horizontal black knife.

The picture of grace was somewhat ruined when--after a bloom of orange light ignited the distant fog--an irritated roar echoed far-off. And then Dread's voice, carrying over the bay, the wind sometimes bringing it close enough for Knell to hear: "COME BACK. LET ME EAT YOU. STOP-"

"IT IS A DEER. JUST WAIT THERE."

"I ALMOST HAVE IT."

"I SAID STOP!"

@Knell

Laying on his back proved to be a very boring thing once Dread's form dipped out of view. The cave's ceiling was high enough to provide a scant cloud cover on a wet enough day, but Knell was not born to be a cloud-watcher. So even if that could catch his attention for a moment, it wouldn't hold it for long. Indeed, he ended up rolling on to his belly scales, limbs stretched out in a sploot as he eyed the nest with scrutiny.

There were bones of old kills (he would presume, hungry as he was), some sparkling bits of odds and ends and pieces of gemstone among his flint shards. It wasn't especially messy, necessarily, but it wasn't organized in a way that he quite approved of. Perhaps he could shuffle everything into some neat piles and...

The distant roar caught his attention again. He turned back toward the edge, crawling up to it on his wings and talons, eyes wide and bright. In the distance, he could see the canopy of the far off forest, and straining his ears, he could hear his father's voice.

It carried even so far... The words, assuring him that food was coming. "Deer". Whatever a deer was. As soon as Dread caught it, anyway. He took a deep breath of the misty air, stretching his neck out over the lip of the stone outcropping to watch the rustle of trees far away. There, he relaxed, wind ruffling his feathers as he waited for a sign that his father had succeeded.

@Dread

Frustration seemingly gave way to impatience, and all at once, the distant father dragon put his full power on display. Rather than little blasts of flame that kept missing the whatever-it-was in the mist, the distant sheets of fog abruptly ignited in a firestorm of devastation. Enormous balls of flame coalesced and cascaded down out of sight like meteors, their resulting impacts like the constant explosions of artillery; the cloud bank lit in repeated brilliant flashes of firelight.

With this entirely reasonable and equal-force attack on a small prey animal administered, Dread dipped deeper into the cloud bank. His silhouette vanished briefly from sight before reappearing a moment later, twisting up to face the sea stack, a charred and quite dead cave deer clutched firmly in his talons.

It took him another moment to wing his way back, a laborious but graceful flight upward over the glittering bay. When he arrived, he looked pleased with himself, if still mildly irritated; the deer was shifted to the clutch of one foot, the dragon landing and balancing on the other as he pitched the prey forward toward his child.

"HERE," he offered; "THE FUR IS NOT GOOD TO EAT. BUT PULL IT OFF AND EAT INSIDE. IT IS STILL WARM," he added, though whether that was assurance or warning remained to be seen. (It was assurance. The flight had cooled it well enough.)

Then he rocked forward onto his wings, shaking himself again and wing-walking around the edge of the stack. He began to nudge the sharp shards of flint into a neater pile, intending to dispose of them. As he did, he spoke. "I WILL TEACH YOU HOW TO FLY AND CATCH YOUR FOOD! There is... fish, and there are deer. And we have other family!" he added. "Svartis and Bone and Cadenza and others!" He could rattle them all off, sure, with a little thought--but the list was just so long.

He debated offering to take Knell to meet Kalama straightaway but he wasn't sure where to find her. And a more reasonable parent might have warned Knell not to listen too much to Kalama's urging--not to turn into a weapon at his mother's behest--but Dread wasn't really aware of any potential in Kalama to do this. So far as he was concerned, Kalama was loud and strange and violent but had no ulterior plans--and Knell could undoubtedly decide what to do for himself.

@Knell