Draconic Beginnings (01)
#1 of Draconic Beginnings
Planning on writing a few dragon's stories here to see how my writing skills fare. I am considering either writing a prologue after this, or a continuation of the story. If interest mounts for either, I will choose so. Any criticism or critique to be offered will be very much appreciated.
Once apon a time, in realms rife with strife, struggle, and turmoil, there upon a stony precipice, 'neath a cliff and hidden lay a small clutch of eggs. Shells coloured black, violet, and another broken to two of a crimson hue, occupant tardy from this visage. A distant blue glimmer catches the eye; a figure approaching with the steady beating of wings. Queer, yet comforting warmth falls over the assembled dragon spawn as she lands on an embankment near, earth trembling and a scant few rocks dislodge to fall the frightening height to the forest below.
The mother examines her young still trapped in their stony prisons to an immediate, though hopeful melancholy. This red, hatched and healthiest of the three, was sensed nearby, scrabbling up the sheer face of the outcropping, tiny claws kicking up dust as he slid down in his futile effort. He was only a dozen or so days old, but already the beginnings of a strong dragon was seen in him. Her attention turns to quiet dismay as she gently nudges the ebon egg, it's surface cool and rough. Within, cold and quiet beneath the wall separating two universes; yet this one still narrowly clung to the threads of a life yet unlived. She sighs quietly, then nudges the smooth, purple egg lying beside it.
Within, this one was beginning to get too small for his shell; she sensed frustration, a will to be free, and even a hint of awareness. The little one had noticed her unfathomable mind grace his own. This sparked a sudden kick from within, the egg rolling to its side. Pride, that is what the mother felt when sensing his movement. She rights the egg back up with a small bump of her snout.
Tap...tap...tap
He must get out. What had once been a blurry, warm, and comforting place became a confining, suffocating prison. What lay on the other side of this hard, nearly impenetrable wall, he did not know. The the foreign dreams of green and gray, black and blue, he knew. Another attempt, a sore nose, and a crack. Freedom was near, and there was no more of that vast thing that he had dreamt and felt the presence of before. The crack grows, and a blinding light leaks through. His eyes close for the first time. The light hurt, and he was feeling weaker by the moment. One more push... that was all that was needed until he could live.
The crack widens to a crumbling gash, head now free and gasping sweet air. Strength renewed with this rejuvenation, he widens it with tiny forelegs, pushing away the crumbling hard stuff. The egg tips over, and the hatchling tumbles out, slime coating every inch of his small, purple form. Triumph, at last. Even as he felt chilled by the wind, the great light above warmed such that he would not shiver. He swam in a river of sensations: Scent of the thickly wooded forest below, sight of new shapes and colours beyond imagination, and the feeling of power at conquering that previous, blurry and suddenly foreign world behind him. Frail, wet, and trembling with exertion, his small wings fan out to either side, stretching the muscles with this new freedom of movement discovered. Their membranes were a bright aquamarine, another colour he had not known before.
From a hidden position nearby elicited a shrill hiss. The violet hatchling cocked his head to the side at the odd noise: it was far different, more frightening, intense and most of all, insulting! What dared disturb the dragon from his rest? Silence follows. A red blur springs from behind, tossing him off of his feet and reeling with what little strength he had. Sharp, stinging pain lashed as he felt sharp claws dig into his side, a heavy weight now pressing his head to the cold dirt below. His eyes shoot open, having closed at the moment of impact.
He had a brother.
The assault came from another young dragon, red, and double his size, snarling with jealous, violent fury. A plaintive squeak arises from the violet as the tyrant lurches down and bites his shoulder, hard. A wrath builds within the purple, his chest feeling warm- no, hot, with the coals of anger. From ponderous to enraged, he fights back, thrashing his serpentine body about. He pries his only meager weapons out from under the crimson's pin, and aims a frantic scratch at his horrible rose-amber eyes, slitted in daylight as they were. They close as his paw brushes past, another bite attempting to further maul the hatchling's foreleg aimed, but missed. With what little energy the violet had, he hefted the beast off of him, now panting and short of breath. Utterly exhausted.
He scrabbles as best he could away, lungs burning as he gazes uneasily at his assailant. A thin trail of blood follows him, and he had developed a slight limp on his right foreleg. A shadow passes overhead, yet neither combatants take notice, eyes locked upon one another in mortal combat, one wishing for murder and another for mere survival. The violet trips and stumbles, falling to his side as the crimson leaps to exploit this weakling and rid himself of the beaten and bloody purple once and for all.
A sudden sad, maternal presence is felt, as well as a earth-quakingly loud growl that turned the previously mortal squabble to dust. The crimson quakes where he stands as she reaches her head down and stares into him with a piercing gaze. The purple seemed equally terrified of this once otherworldly, yet comforting being. She speaks, growl still apparent "My kin's blood is shed where I swore it never would. Iramkae, rise and speak why your newly hatched brother's blood stains your teeth and feet."
The red stands and stammers, voice shrill and awkward, yet burning with an odd mix of innocence and hatred "Mama, we are always so hungry, and he looks so frail and thin and dull! You always tell of how few prey there is in the forest, and that I must be strong to grow as big as you! Put 'im off the ledge, he is too weak and tiny to ever grow strong and get a mate like I will," The blue dragoness makes a long, disappointed sigh "If we are to survive, if we are to all survive, then we must help even the weakest among us to achieve their potential. Even if it means less meat in your belly for now." She glances to the frigid, faint violet stained with red before her, and tenderly extends a paw to pull him near. She works her gaze around his form, licking and cleaning where the crimson's claws and maw had left their mark. This brings a whimpering hiss from the violet, though his protest is short lived. She speaks to him "Quiet your anxious heart, little one. I can feel your anger, your pain, and your confusion. I am here, you are safe." The words worked to lull the aquamarine-frilled hatchling to finally calm, melting into a short coil, his wings half-extended at his sides and eyes drooping with fatigue.
The crimson whelp whines non-distinctly, unable to protest his mother's actions, yet his jealousy of the purple's treatment only grew. His stomach pained him so. The giant blue figure says coldly "I have brought a couple hares for you today, but with your destructive behavior comes consequences, Iram. I name him Quster, after his father, and he will have his choice of the meat before yours. If you as much as touch it before he does, you are getting nothing and must find your own food for tonight. You are fortunate that you did not cripple him, for your punishment would be far less agreeable for both you and I if that were the case." The red whelp sulks and grumpily grooms himself, refusing any due shame.