FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*****

Chapter One Hundred Three

*****

When all the urd'thin of the desert were ready, The First awoke them as one. Their minds were all filled with the belief in their people's great duty. They were crossing the desert, to spread their people across the sands. They believed this oasis to be their first major stopping point. In the future, others would follow in their path. Their first task was to build a village for their people to dwell, before others could join them. Eventually, some would stay here to propagate, while others would journey onwards. He instilled in their minds a knowledge of the great red wasteland beyond the desert. Should they ever reach it, they would use their shaping to spread the desert's beautiful golden sands, and all the life that lived there.

The urd'thin got to work on their new home right away. He had given them all basic tools and weapons, anything they would have taken with them for a difficult journey. Such tools made their tasks manageable, but it was still long, difficult work. They started with gathering food, collecting fruit from the trees, and using spears to hunt fish. Then they cut reeds to make rope, and nets. Trees were felled, their trunks and fronds cut up to make housing materials. They built great fires to celebrate their arrival at the new oasis. At night, they spoke of all their successes. Much to The First's delight, they also told great stories about their people.

Throughout their early days, The First kept close watch over them. Though concealed, he was always among them, checking in on their bodies and their minds. Bringing Mica around first had made two things clear to him. One, his designs were quite successful both physically and mentally. Their bodies worked perfectly, and their brains filled in any gaps he had overlooked. Two, there were a lot of gaps he had overlooked. At least he was able to fill most of them before he brought the others around, thanks to Mica.

The First kept his promise. Mica remembered him. But those memories took hold and consumed her thoughts in ways he did not anticipate. During their daily labors, Mica contemplated having met a god. In the evening, when they relaxed together, Mica thought about her own death. And when night fell and the others slumbered, Mica sat awake, whispering to The First.

He resisted the urge to answer her. The First had greatly enjoyed their time together, but he was not meant to be an active part of her life. He hoped, if he remained silent, she would eventually stop trying to talk to him. But Mica did not mind his silence, and did not stop speaking to him. Her belief in him meant she knew in her heart he was listening, even if he was not replying. So Mica spoke to him often. Sometimes she whispered to The First under her breath. Other times, she talked to him aloud, uncaring of who overheard. Mica did not care what the others thought of her, because she knew the god was real.

At first, the other urd'thin paid Mica's new quirk little attention. They focused on their work, and on keeping their tiny tribe fed. But by the time the little village was finished, several weeks had passed, and Mica was still talking to The First. Some of the others started to worry for her. None of them ever remembered Mica talking to herself, before now. They asked her who she was talking to. When she answered honestly, they only grew more fearful. One of them thought Mica was going crazy. Another thought she was telling the truth. Soon, each urd'thin was whispering to the others.

She's losing her mind. We have to help her.

What if she's dangerous?

She could be telling the truth!

What if there is a god, among us?

We have to do something.

Mica heard the whispers, too. One night, each urd'thin took a turn telling a story. When it was Mica's turn, she stood up and told them all about the night she met a god. With her fur aglow in the flickering flames, Mica walked among her people as a fiery spirit, spreading his word among them. Those who already believed her were held in rapt attention, their eyes wide, and ears perked. Mica had a confidence about her, a certainty that even the disbelievers found hard to discount. She knew in her heart that she spoke the truth. Thus, she spoke it with great conviction. Even those who thought her mad began to reconsider.

One questioned why a god would speak to her, and not the rest of them. Mica was ready for that, and told them the rest of the story. She told them all how she died, out in the desert, and that three of them had died with her. She tapped those three on the head, just between their horns. Mica told them how she saw them built anew from sand, waiting only for the breath and blood of a god to give them life once more. Mica waited for them to question her again, and when they did, she pounced.

"Do you know what I remember about finding this place?" Mica pivoted amongst them, flames flickering in her eyes. "Nothing! My meeting with the god is vivid, in my mind, but discovering this place? This oasis we so long sought? Not a thing! I don't remember joy upon finally seeing its waters, or relief that our hardships were over, for a while. I just remember waking here, with a strange drive in my head, an urge to build a village. And before that?" She stalked the group, her ears flat. "All my memories are hazy. It's as though I'm remembering not a life, but a dream! I remember my mother's face, but not the sound of her voice, or the comfort of her touch. I don't remember her scent, or the feel of her fur. And the rest of you? I only met you all a year ago, but those memories are as distant as my childhood. The only vivid memories I have, the only ones that feel real? Start when I met the god."

Oh dear, The First thought. He'd left out more than he realized. He did not want to interfere, but neither did he want Mica to ruin this and force him to start again.

"You!" Mica turned towards Nemil. He stared up at her, his ears splayed, jaws hanging open. "You feel the same way, don't you?"

Nemil slowly nodded. Confusion radiated from him in blue-green waves.

"You see?" Mica ran hands back across Nemil's muzzle, smoothing the fine fur. Her voice dropped into a pained whisper. "I saw you, when you were only sand. You died, Nemil, just like me." She turned away, pointing out another. "And you, Yorvan. You died with us."

"That..." Yorvan wrung his tail in his hands, whimpering. "That can't be true."

"Think about it. Think about your memories. On the surface, they're all there, but doesn't something seem off?" Mica approached him, her voice sharp and incisive. "Do you remember reaching this place? Or do you just remember waking up, here?"

Yorvan stared down at his tail, his voice shaking. "Waking up..."

"Exactly! You're the same as me! We died, but a god granted us new life!" She turned slowly, her voice echoing across the sands. "We live again because the gods are real!"

Torm slowly lifted up her hand. "I remember waking up here, too."

"Yes!" Mica spun towards her. "Because you were frozen! Frozen in time, while he brought us back to life. I saw all of you, standing, waiting."

"No, that's..." Torm settled her hand down. "That's not what I meant. All my memories are hazy, too. Only this place is clear."

In his hidden place, The First scowled. Mica was pulling on every loose thread she could find. If she pulled too hard, the story he built for his children would unravel all around them. The First feared what that would do to them. Their minds were built upon certainty and understanding. They believed in their own lives, their own pasts, that they were all part of something bigger. If the urd'thin realized they were just some story spun from sand, he feared their carefully woven minds might collapse.

"My memories are fuzzy, too." Vakka stood up, rubbing around one of his horns. "I only bid my parents farewell two years ago, but now it feels like..." He licked his muzzle. "Like they were only ever a dream." Vakka flattened his ears, whimpering. "I can't remember their scent, anymore! Did I die, too?"

"No, you weren't..." Mica trailed off, looking him over. "You were whole, but you were naked. We were all naked. But why...we weren't all dead, were we?"

Nemil whimpered, looking around at everyone else. "What if we're _still_dead?"

The First feared he was going to have to intervene, or this would spiral out of control. Keeping his promise to Mica allowed her to question everything she remembered. But the stories and memories he built for them were not meant to be questioned. Those memories were the foundations upon which he built their lives. Without realizing it, Mica was ripping out the very threads with which he wove her consciousness.

"We're not dead now, Nemil." Mica patted his head, trying to comfort him. She glanced around at the others. "But maybe we were. Or...no. Wait, what did he say?" Mica squeezed her horns, focusing on her most vivid memories with The First. "I wasn't really listening, at first. I was too scared, but...I think he said..."

Memories rolled through Mica's head, and The First's voice echoed through her mind.

I didn't want them to see me building their new friends.

Mica gasped, her jaw dropped. "We weren't dead." Her voice came out a whisper, as she struggled to comprehend a horrifying realization. "We were new."

This is my first time being this kind of god, you know.

The real truth behind his words had not clicked with Mica, at the time. But it was clicking now, and it terrified her. She held her hands up in front of her face. They trembled and shook as The First's voice just kept echoing back to her.

Your brain is fascinating.

"He...he lied to me!" Mica panted, her whole body shaking. "I wasn't dead, none of us we! He didn't think I'd remember, but...he was building us! Like toys!"

Connections lit up everywhere in her brain. Like a plague, they spread to the others. New ideas and terrifying possibilities through the minds of all his urd'thin. Some of them reached the same conclusion. Others thought up entirely different possibilities. All were equally dangerous to their sanity.

The First knew he had to make a choice. He could intervene, or he could let this play out. If he did not halt things, then they would all suffer for Mica's choice to remember. That did not seem fair to his children. He reset them all, and put stronger memories in their heads this time. Or he could offer Mica the truth, and hope that she was strong enough to handle it.

He knew what he should choose. The First should let it play out, and watch them spiral into madness and death. After all, he watched countless generations of his earlier lifeforms die off, in order to learn how to adapt them. But back then, The First was composed of light, and understanding. It was different, now. This vessel was bound by mortal limitations, and by mortal feelings. And as a mortal, he felt this was _his_fault. Though he kept his promise, all Mica had to remember of him was deception.

It was not right.

The First froze everything but her. "Hello, Mica."

Fire and fury swirled in Mica's eyes as she whirled towards him. There was no surprise in her. She had expected him to show up, and here he was. "Why did you lie to me?" The ferocity in her voice surprised The First, but it stemmed from pain, not anger. Waves of hurt and confusion emanating from her. "We never died, at all! You were making us! You promised to let me remember, but you filled my head with lies! Why?" Mica faltered, as if only now realizing she was shouting at a god. She backed away, lowering her head. A deeper pain crept into her voice. "Or...Or did I not deserve the truth? What did I do wrong?"

"Mica..." The First held out his hand. Hot tines of guilt pressed into his mortal heart. "I'm sorry. The truth was not..." He was going to say, 'meant for you'. But that didn't seem right, either. "The truth is painful, and I wished only to spare you that pain."

Mica stared at his hand. After a few moments of hesitation, she took it. Her touch was warm, but shaky. Where before she grasped his hand with confidence, now she held it with fear and trepidation. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Honor your choice." He closed his fingers around hers, giving her hand a chance squeeze. "You chose to remember me, where it would have been easier to forget." His touch brought her calmness, eased her fear, and slowed her racing heart. He did not want her to be afraid, and thus, she was not. "You wished to remember the truth of your existence, but you did not know what you were asking for."

Mica lifted her ears. "I'm starting to wish I let you take the memory away."

"I considered it, to avoid problems like this." He waved his free hand at the others. "But you were right. I had to let you make the choice. If I want this to work, I have to let my people make their own choices, no matter how the consequences pain me."

Mica sniffled and nodded, staring at their twined hands. "Are you going to make me forget you, now?"

"That depends on you, Mica." The First wiped away a tear that tricked down her pale, golden-furred face. "I see now that you will always question your existence. If I erase these memories, you will question the hole it leaves behind. But that's good. Our people need someone like you. So I will offer you two paths. In one, I will erase myself from your mind. You will wake anew with the others, with stronger memories of your life. I will build a story to guide your people. But one day, you will start to question again. And I will not answer. I will not interfere. Down this path, you will never know me again. Whether your questions bring you peace or madness, I will only watch in silence."

Mica swallowed, her voice trembling. "And the other?"

The First smiled at her. "I tell you truth, and I tell you all of it. It will prove painful. It will terrify you. You may even beg for me to take the knowledge away, and let you walk the other path." He tightened his grip. "But I will not. This choice, and its consequences, are permanent. So think carefully, Mica. Will you choose a life of blissful ignorance, or will you choose a life of painful truths?"

Mica tilted her head, staring up at the frozen stars. "Is there really more, beyond this place? A cosmos, you called it?"

"Yes."

The stars danced in Mica's eyes. "If I ask for the truth, will you show it to me?"

"If you ask for the truth, I will show you anything you like." The First gently brushed her muzzle, guiding her eyes back down to his. "You must understand, that I will only show you. I will never appear to the others as anything but a mortal. Whether the rest believe you or not, I will never show them the truth, as you will know it." He leaned his head forward, smiling. "I offer it to you, because you chose to remember. And I believe you are strong enough to understand. After that, whether you share the truth with the rest is up to you. I cannot say what the consequences will be if you do. But I will not prove myself to them on your behalf, no matter what happens."

Mica perked up her ears. "So you will appear to the others, but only as a mortal?"

The First sighed. "That's what you took from my speech?" He stroked Mica's ears. "That I may someday appear?"

"You have to!" Mica leaned her head into his touch, whimpering a little. "If I'm right about _what_we are? We need someone to guide us. Someone to-"

"That someone will be you, Mica."

"What?" Mica stared at him, struggling for words. All at once, The First saw the great cosmos reflected in her eyes. It was as if Mica were staring into the deepest reaches of existence, and existence stared back. "What do you mean?"

"You were right." The First smiled at her, and the cosmos smiled with him. "About yourself, about your people. Their story began with you. You were the first flash of light in this dark, empty desert. If you choose the truth, then you will be the first to know, and understand. You will guide your people. Your successes and failures will mean their lives, and deaths. It is a responsibility you can scarcely fathom. But I believe you are strong enough to handle it. Your story, your choices, your life in your own hands. Your new people to guide." He drew himself up, all at once looming over her, an outline of impossible light cast across the sand. "Make your choice, Mica. Will you forget all this, and live the story I build for you? Or will you have the truth, and your own story to tell?"

Without ever tearing her eyes away from his, Mica reached out and took his other hand. "The truth. I want the truth."

The First bowed his head, in awe of her quiet strength. "Just the answer I was hoping for. Come, my flash of light, and I will show you the cosmos."

*****

The First took his time in showing Mica the truth. He carried her through the cosmos, and its greatness overwhelmed her. There was terror, at first, and then impossible awe. And then sheer delight, as he let her chase after comets and wander among spiraling galaxies, sheltered by his power. He called to the stars, and they sang for her, and Mica danced across the universe to their eternal song.

When Mica was ready, The First took her to the barren world he once called home. There, upon his ancient island, he spoke to Mica of the truth. She was the first true consciousness built by a young god trying his hand at storytelling, for the very first time. Mica took it harder than she expected. She had guessed correctly that he had built them, but she had not realized that he had built _only_them.

In all the grand enormity of existence, there were only twelve urd'thin shapers. And Mica was the first. The terrifying vastness of it devastated her. She cried and raged, questioned why she was made, and cried some more. The First consoled her best he could, but he did not take the feelings away. She needed to process them, to find her way through them on her own.

When she was ready to move on, he answered all her questions to the best of his ability. There were no_easy answers. When she asked why he made her, The First spoke of his great loneliness, his desire for friendship, and how that led him to meet the humans. Then he told her of the gift he gave them, and how it had ruined the world Mica now inhabited. He explained to her about the other urd'thin, and his desire to create a story, just for them. That was why her people were special, and unique. His hope, for her, was one day they would fill the world with their kind. Other questions were harder to answer. He did _not know where _he_came from. Nor did he know if there was an afterlife.

Just as he hoped, Mica proved strong enough to bear the burden of such truths. Her mind did not break, her will did not crumble. If anything, speaking at length with her creator only_strengthened_ her consciousness, and her resolve. She thanked him for his honesty, and for giving her life. Mica understand now that her people were all the world had, and it was up to her to guide them. When she came to terms with it, when she accepted that responsibility, The First returned her to the others.

The First made a few small alterations to everyone else's memories. Each believed they came from an older tribe. Some were cast out because of their powers. Others left of their own volition. Each believed they came together because of a great duty, like those spoken of in the old stories. It took Mica only days to convince the others that those stories were true, the gods were real, and so was their duty to the world.

The tribe took to calling her Warrior Priestess Mica, and she shouldered the title gladly. Warrior Priestess Mica taught them everything she could. Though their heads were filled with knowledge, they had little practical experience. It did not matter to Mica, for she had a god to guide her hands. The First poured every bit of knowledge he gained through his mortal life into Mica's head, to help her teach her people. She taught them better ways to cut spears, to weave nets, and clothing. She led them on their first hunt for a Rakatch, and showed them how to slay the beast without being devoured by it.

Warrior Priestess Mica solidified their peoples' history in their heads. Where she once tugged at the threads holding her mind together, now she snipped those loose ends in everyone else. She tightened their mental weave, and made her people stronger. At night, when they passed the time with stories, Mica asked each of them to tell a story from their childhood. Mica smiled and laughed with them, asking about their favorite memories with their families. Each time, their brains and minds made the connections, filled in the holes. Soon the once-hazy memories were _real._No longer where those memories just a story put there to hide a great chasm, but a real history. A life. They believed in it, and thus, it existed.

Over time, Mica took over the tribe's storytelling duties. She turned her false memories and stories from her illusory past into great tales of her peoples' history. Mica wove a rich tapestry of a culture they all believed in. They learned of great cities built of stone, of gods who walked amongst them, and of children singled out for great power, and responsibility. Mica told them of a wasteland, ruined in ages past and littered with fallen cities. Now, it waited for rejuvenation.

Mica built her people's history out of nothing more than sand, and shadows. Though she was no god, she too, could create existence from nothingness. Her existence simply came in a different form. Mica's creation was a history that they all believed in. She told them stories as if they were real, and thus, in their heads, they _were_real. The First had constructed their minds and put stories in their heads, but it took a mortal's great imagination to make those stories real. Mica built the foundation upon which an entire history could be laid.

The First wondered if even Mica knew the power she held.

Warrior Priestess Mica taught them to hone their powers. She called it shaping, and claimed the name came from her mother. In her words, Mica's mother used to tell her that healing power was shaping not of the earth, but of the body. She touched a wound, imagined it closed, and thus, it closed. To the same extent, the others could touch the sand, imagine it rising into a dune, and thus, it would rise. Though she could not do as they did, she understood the principal and the power better than any. Warrior Priest Mica trained her to move the sand, to find the stones and ores hidden with in it, and to make the desert flow like water.

Each day, Mica reminded her people that their powers were a gift from the gods. That they were meant to rebuild a world once shattered. Soon, questions came. Who had shattered the world? Why did not the gods prevent its destruction? If the gods could grant such things, why did they not restore the world themselves? Mica _always_had an answer. By knowing the truth, she also knew how to twist it a story they'd all believe.

Mica called them, Those Who Came Before.

She created the term herself. It sounded ominous and mysterious. It meant nothing, and yet it seemed a complete answer. Those Who Came Before had powers too, but they had misused them. They changed their world too much, and it all fell apart. The Gods did not prevent that destruction, because their people had free will. The gods _began_their story, but left it in their children's hands to finish. While intervening would have saved them, it would have taken that story away from them. Though Those Who Came Before were beloved, the gods had to let their story end.

After all, a new story could only begin when the old story ended.

And that was why the gods did not restore the world themselves. Because Mica's people were the gods' new story. That was why their powers were so rare. That was why they had to leave their old tribes behind. In the tribes that remained, most pups were born without shaping to prevent its misuse. Those few who could shape had a great duty to restore what was lost.

For the gods' new story was about rejuvenation.

The First, as always, was in awe of Mica.

The stories Mica told became her people. They began as a mixture of truth and fiction, reality and imagination. But by the end of her peoples' first year of existence, those stories were history. They believed in the gods. They believed in Those Who Came Before. They believed in their duty to spread the desert.

And The First knew that was not his doing. It was Mica's.

From time to time, The First visited Mica in her dreams. He sat with her in desert dreamscape, with the cosmos spread above them. They talked as friends. They shared stories, and spoke about simple things, like the taste of fish, the smell of fruit, the feeling of sand. And he told her he was proud of her. That was impressed by her, and that her strength inspired him. Each morning after such dreams, Mica woke with renewed vigor, joy, and purpose.

As one year bled into another, friendships between tribe members grew into something deeper. The First let such things develop naturally. By the time another year turned, several of the tribe's females were pregnant. Each new pregnancy was a special occasion for all the urd'thin, but only Mica knew how truly special it was.

When the first female entered into labor, the whole tribe was anxious. Mica took charge, supporting her, comforting her, preparing for the birth. The First watched over the expectant mother, too. Birth was a very taxing process, and newborn pups were fragile. But the pup was born healthy, and the mother birthed her daughter with few complications. The First had scarcely known such joy as the moment the child took her first breath, and squealed her first cry. The life he had created, the story he had begun, it was self-sustaining now.

As soon as the mother had her strength back, the tribe threw a great celebration. They feasted on roasted fish and meat, and on sweet, fermented fruits. They built great fires, sang to the stars, and danced across the sands. All the while, The First rejoiced with them. His celebration came as a great storm on the horizon, with brilliant bolts of blue-white lightning that streaked across the skies, and rumbling thunder that his heralded his joy across the earth. At night, after Mica danced herself into blissful exhaustion, The First visited her in her dreams. There, danced with him until light returned to the earth, and pulled her from the slumbering world.

Two more pups were born in the following months. The First looked after each new family to ensure their health. Whenever there were dangerous problems, he made tiny adjustments to fix them. The second mother bled heavily during the birthing process, so The First ensured her survival, and her recovery. The third pup born had difficulty digesting his mother's milk, so The First changed that. While he did not like to intervene, The First had to ensure his creations could successfully repopulate their desert.

To that end, one tribe would not be enough. Six females and six males alone did not provide enough genetic differences. They would require many more unique individuals to insure proper genetic diversity. The First decided to create more urd'thin tribes all throughout the desert. Each would have time to settle into their existence, just like Mica's tribe. Eventually, members from all the tribes could journey and meet one another, and combine their growing populations.

The First visited Mica in a dream, and told her his plan. He did not know how long he would be gone, building other tribes. Mica shed tears in her slumber, when she bid him farewell. Sorrow reverberated through The First, as well. He had grown to consider Mica a great companion and took immeasurable joy in their dreamtime conversations. The First promised to return to her one day. In the meantime, if her tribe ever genuinely needed his help, Mica was to call to him.

After their tearful farewells, it was time for The First to go. He knew he had to dissolve his mortal vessel at last, but he found it difficult to bring himself to do so. The First decided to preserve it, instead. He imprinted his light upon sand, burning into it a record of everything his body had been through. All accumulated memories and knowledge, his experiences and feelings, and his vessel's many years of physical history. Now, when he spun that imprinted sand back into a vessel, it would be just the same as before. When it was done, some of the sand was now a striking, crimson color, as if he had burned his very blood into it. He cast it all into the sky, and bid the winds to carry him.

In a great, gold and crimson sandstorm, The First crossed the desert and started over.

*****

The First built dozens more tiny tribes. The history and culture that Mica wove for her tribe became the foundation for all of them. He took the concepts she developed, the histories she created, and he applied them to every tribe he made. Each had its own little twist. Each tribe had their own personal story, their own reason for coming together. Their basic beliefs were the same, but the personal details were all unique.

To fit all his new tribes, The First expanded the desert significantly. He dotted it with oases, and built a thriving ecosystem large enough to support all the urd'thin who now called it home. Even then, it remained but a golden blotch upon the vastness of the red wasteland. There was plenty of room for them to grow and explore, but eventually, it would be on them to spread their desert, and with it, life itself.

The First planted seeds of power deep within their genes. While most of the urd'thin had only basic shaping abilities, the offspring of a select few would prove far stronger. Within a few generations, each tribe would have several shapes powerful enough to birth rain in the sky, to turn dead earth into sand, and to build new oases to support their people.

Experience made the process easier, but years still passed as he toiled away, building tribe after tribe. Weaving minds became less and less of a challenge. He knew what memories to give them, what holes to fill, and how to twist their knowledge into filling in the blanks. The longest part of the process was ensuring their survival. He lingered for months at a time with each new tribe, watching for problems, fixing dangerous flaws, and subtly guiding his people in the right direction.

The First lost track of the passing years. As a mortal, he had paid time's passage far more attention. Now that he was but light and understanding again, he found it hard time a difficult concept to measure. He was vaguely aware of the changing seasons, and through them, the turning of years. But he did not try to count them, and instead, lost himself in his work.

Eventually, there were hundreds of urd'thin in his desert, scattered across dozens and dozens of tribes. That seemed enough, for now. Such numbers would provide plenty of genetic diversity, so long as his people traveled far enough. He pulled his understanding back enough to gaze across his desert, and let time pass. Just as he hoped, many of the tribes began to explore the desert. Some wandered as entire groups, while others sent out brave explorers alone. A great sense of pride settled over The First.

He had done it. He had built a flourishing world, in a story just for urd'thin.

Why, then, did he feel so empty now that he was finished? His pride remained, but beneath it there was a hollowness, a longing he could not place. He drifted through his desert, watching his people from afar. They socialized, they talked, they laughed, they slunk off into the sands to make more urd'thin. Tribes met, made alliances, or skirmished briefly before making treaties. It was working. So why did he feel like something was missing?

As The First observed a birth celebration, the realization hit him. There was nothing missing from the world, but everything missing from his existence. He missed being a mortal. He did not want to existence, only as an unknown god, only as light and thought. The First wanted to live this story with his people, as part of their world. He wasted to taste the fruit, to feel the sand, to drink the water. The First wanted to join them for every celebration, to dance and sing, to rejoice in the simple happiness of being alive, just as they did.

And he missed his talks with Mica.

Perhaps, he thought, it was time he keep another promise to Mica, and return to her people. The First cast himself across the desert, to the home of his very first children. To his happy surprise, he discovered their tribe had grown immensely. In his absence, they were one of the first to explore the desert and discover another tribe. Together, they colonized nearby oases, allowing them to journey further still. Soon, they met and joined with more of his early tribes. The tiny pups he left behind now had pups of their own. Their combined tribes shared a single, ever-growing population. They used their shaping to excavated old ruins of fallen towers and crumbled halls, and turned them into a city of stone.

Mica now led them all. Her had guidance led them to new oases, to new homes, and to all they'd ever needed. They trusted and believed in her, and through her, they thrived. And now, to all her beloved people, her word was law. To all the urd'thin who knew her, Mica was the High Priestess.

High Priestess Mica had a family she cherished, now. Her mate was Nemil, the shortest amongst the original tribe. Mica felt a kinship with him, though she dared not ever share why. Mica remained the only urd'thin to know the truth of their existence. She had seen Nemil when he was nothing but sand, an unfinished creation. It drew her to him, a loving reminder of how blessed they were to have this chance to live, and breathe.

Though The First intended to return to mortal form immediately, he found himself fascinated by Mica and her family. Their daughter was still a tiny pup. She was always toddling around after her mother, tugging on her tail, trying to be helpful and generally getting in the way. Mica was as loving and patient a mother as The First could have hoped for. Despite leading the tribe, she always made time for her child. Mica played with her in the afternoons, and spun stories for her at bedtime. Nemil was just as loving a father, carrying his pup on his shoulders around the tribe, and playing with her when Mica was busy with tribal business. Their love was inspiring, and The First promised himself to care for his desert children the same way.

When The First was ready, he drifted to a location outside the tribe. He did not wish anyone to see his vessel built anew by wind, and swirling sand. Instead, he planned to walk to the urd'thin city, posing as a wandering traveler. He was certain if he asked to share their water and their shelter in return for knowledge of other distance tribes, Mica would accept him.

He summoned forth all the crimson sand, imprinted with his light and blood, and forged it back into his vessel. It remained just as it was the day he dissolved it, complete with all its accumulated age, experience, and all its little scars. He settled his consciousness into it, and heat struck him like a physical blow. It staggered him, snuck deep into his lungs and stole his breath. The sand beneath his feet was unpleasantly hot. Sand stung his eyes, got into his nostrils, his mouth. He fell to his knees, gasping. It took him several minutes to catch his breath, to adjust once more to the mortal sensations of heat, of discomfort.

The First eventually collected himself and stood. He struck out for the city's largest oasis, certain he had built his vessel a reasonable distance from the water. In actuality, he had greatly misjudged how far mortals could travel without shade, or water. He walked for hours. With every step the sun beat hotter upon his back. Soon he was certain his fur would catch flame. As his thirst grew unbearable, The First prepared himself to experience his sixth death.

By the time he actually reached the edges of the city, The First could barely see straight. Everything twisted in spirals. He wobbled and swayed, his stomach heaved and lurched. His heart sprinted as if to outpace his steps. Surely, he thought, his tongue and throat were drier than the sun itself. The scent of water both guided and taunted him. He stumbled into the city, driven by desperation and instinct, and heedless of the stares and murmurs all around him.

At last The First reached the water's edge. He fell to his hands and knees, crawling through the mud surrounding the great oasis. When he reached the shore, he slurped water until it filled his belly. The First immediately vomited it all right back up. Then he flopped over, rolled onto his back, and passed out.

The First awoke in darkness. He lay upon a bed mat of soft, woven reeds and animal hides. His whole body was damp, and cool. The First's tongue was swollen, his jaws stiff around it. As his eyes adjusted, he realized it was nighttime. Hints of starlight filtered in through the windows of the small room where he lay. Movement caught his attention, and he turned his head towards it.

Mica sat nearby with a basin of water, and a cloth. She soaked the cloth, then wrung it out over him. The cool liquid dribbled onto his chest and belly, rolling across his fur in delight rivulets. He reached towards her, his arm shaking. Mica smiled and set her cloth down in the basin then gently eased his arm back down.

"Easy, now. Just rest. You've over the worst of it." She patted his hand, her ears perked. Runes and emblems carved from bone were woven into her fur. Her clothes were dyed in shades of silver, and blue. "We got your temperature down, and got some water into you. Some of it you even kept. You gave us quite a scare, though."

The First tried to reply, but his voice came out a damaged, raspy croak. A steady, sharp pain throbbed behind his eyes. It pulsed and stabbed him anew with every heartbeat. Why the hell had he ever wanted to be mortal again? Unable to speak, he managed to point a trembling finger towards the pitcher and drinking cup nearby.

Mica poured him some water, then slipped her hand under his head. She eased his head up, then put the cup to his muzzle. "Slowly, now." She tipped it for him.

The First sipped the water. It was fresh from the oasis, and cool enough it must have come from the deeper areas. After three sips, she took the cup away. He tried to mouth 'more' but his swollen tongue refused to form the syllables. Mica shook her head, easing him back down before she put the cup next to the pitcher.

"You can have more later. Too much at once and you'll just vomit again." She returned to bathing him with the wet cloth. "Right now, we have to keep you cool until your body has recovered. And when it has? You'll have a lot explaining to do. We've never had a delirious, sun-stroked nomad visit us before." Mica gave a soft, musical laugh. "Let alone a naked one."

_Naked?_He tried to lift his head to look down at himself, but struggled to do even that. In reply, Mica soaked her cloth, and then wrung the cool water out across a place that really made him shiver. A trickle of mortal embarrassment rippled through him.

Mica leaned in, her voice lowered to a knowing whisper. "You forget you're supposed to wear clothes, didn't you?"

She knew.

The First found the strength to smile, and force a few words. "Hello, Mica."

She only laughed and shook her head. "You almost killed yourself, you know." She flicked her ears back. "Again, I mean. It probably would have been easier on you. You could have just..." She waved her hand at him. "Brought yourself back to life, good as new. But I suppose feeling like death will serve you a more important lesson, anyway."

The First coughed. His head throbbed worse. He gazed at the water cup. "M-more. Please."

"Alright." Mica took the cup, watching him with an especially wry grin, her ears splayed. "But if you vomit on me again, I'm going to leave you to die and fix your own problems."

He nodded his agreement, smiling again. This time Mica let him enough to soothe the edge off his thirst. He settled his head back down, closing his eyes. "Thank you."

Mica put the cup away, then wrung her cloth out across his face. "You should go back to sleep. You've clearly forgotten our bodies are fragile. You must have walked all damn day without a drink of water, or shade from the sun. I touched you with my healing, and not only was your bladder as dry as the sands, but your kidneys were damn near failing."

The First opened his eyes again. "Healing? Why didn't...?"

"Why didn't I use my shaping to heal you?" She squeezed more water over his muzzle. He licked up the droplets, nodding. Mica rested her hand upon his shoulder. "I would have, in a normal_emergency. But I knew who you were. If I just healed you, you wouldn't have learned your lesson." She patted his arm, then rose to her feet. "I'd wager you won't forget how fragile your body can be, now." Then she shook a finger at him. "And don't even _think about healing yourself. Everyone saw you, so unless you want to reveal what you really are, you're going to have to live with the consequences. Not to mention, if you waste all my hard work with a wave of your hand, I shall be quite cross with you."

He smiled, turning his head to watch her. "No healing. Promise."

"Good." She picked up the basin, waggling it. "I'm going to get fresh water. I'll be back to tend you, after." She walked towards the exit. "Now, go back to sleep. In the morning, we'll talk about what you're doing here, and what I'm going to tell everyone."

In the doorway, Mica paused to glance back at him. Her voice was the last thing he heard before he plunged back into unconsciousness. "It's nice to have you back."

*****

Chapter One Hundred Four

*****

Revaramek lay curled against his family, with his wing draped across them. Korakos slumbered between his parents, his head resting on Nyra's forepaw. Nyra watched Mirelle's other guests as they ventured out to partake in the feast. Each of them took time to wave and call out greetings to Revaramek's family. He translated, explained the gestures, and gave Nyramyn everyone's name. Then he translated Nyra's hesitant replies.

Despite the va'chaak and urd'thin present, Nyra's attention was most drawn to Kurekka, and Chir'raal. She stared them quite openly as they helped themselves to the food. While Nyramyn watched his friends, Revaramek watched her. Her shyness made him smile. It seemed like ages ago now that Nyramyn taught him all about surviving in the swamp. Now it was his turn to teach her about this place. He licked her ear, vowing to himself to teach her everything.

Revaramek hoped watching the gryphons interact with everyone would help ease Nyramyn's nervousness about them. They fed each other, and preened one another's feathers. They laughed and joked with Enora and Jekk, Beka and Tavaat, and all the kitchen staff. Revaramek wanted Nyra to see them less as exotic creatures, and more as friends, waiting to be made.

Nyramyn's rapt attention on the gryphons was finally broken when Knight Commander Elrind arrived. He strode out onto the back patio, clad in a royal purple tunic with golden hemming, and silver buttons. Elrind also wore golden breeches with fanciful ebony embroidery down the sides. Red hair flowed across his shoulders in perfectly maintained waves. Elrind's immense scarlet mustache curled across his face, woven into his gargantuan mutton chops. When he spotted the dragons, he lifted his right arm and swirled his hand in the air three times. Then he bent his arm stiffly across his belly, and bowed to them at a sharp angle.

"What is that?" Nyramyn stared at Elrind, her eyes wide.

"It's a perfect_bow, is what it is." Revaramek cackled. Then he lifted his voice. "Fair and warm tidings, Knight Commander! That's a fine bow, precisely forty five degrees, by my count." Then he switched to Nyra's tongue. "You _think you like formality, but Elrind lives it."

Elrind straightened back up, flourishing his hand again. "Thank you, Sir Revaramek! I'm told your lovely wife is quite the shy lass, so I'll maintain a proper distance of at least seventy-five feet until she's ready for her coming out party."

Revaramek blinked, tilting his head. "I don't think that means what-"

"May I say, I'm gobswoggled by your family's beauty!" Elrind clapped a hand to his mouth. "Oh, what ho, a thousandfold apologies for uttering such profanity in front of your infant! I'm just hornswilled by such glad tidings. Oh, fiendish tarnation, there I go again. I'm afraid I've had a celebratory nip of the devil's milk this morning." Elrind offered another bow, then turned towards the feast. "I do believe I'd best go stuff myself with wieners, hmm?"

Revaramek ground his teeth, struggling to keep a straight face. "You're...going to do what, now?"

"I say, gryphon!" Elrind strode off, his posture perfect. He waggled a finger towards Kurekka and Chir'raal, feeding each other from a platter of sausages. "Do let my get my hands on your wieners, won't you?"

Revaramek put a paw over his muzzle, barely holding in a bawdy laugh. When it passed, he sighed and shook his head. "He has to be doing that on purpose."

Nyramyn nudged him with her muzzle. "You didn't translate!"

"I'm not sure where I'd even begin." Revaramek flattened his ears, grinning. "I don't think it would be funny in translation."

Nyra nipped at his scales. "You can start by telling me what species he is."

"Species?" Revaramek tilted his head. "He's human."

"Really?" Nyramyn turned her attention back to Elrind. "But he has so much more head fur than the others! And it's on his face, too." She glanced at Jekk, her tail tip twitching in thought. "Though I suppose the old one has it, too." She looked Elrind again. "But nothing like that!"

Revaramek thumped his tail against the grass. "It's magnificent, isn't it?" He watched the Knight Commander select an especially long sausage, then gesture at the gryphons with it in a way that was far more provocative than he seemed to realize. Both gryphons clamped their beaks shut, doing their best not to laugh. "To think, he used to hide that resplendent mustache inside that ill-fitted helmet."

"Oh!" Nyramyn giggled, her ears perked. "That's him? I remember him from your stories, but I thought he'd be all encased in metal. Though, I thought you said he talked funny because he couldn't hear."

"That's what I thought, too, but then after he took off his helmet, things got even worse." He drummed his clawtips against the ground. "I'm still trying to tell if he's doing it on purpose, or if he really is that oblivious."

Nyramyn nosed at Revaramek. "So? Tell me what he said this time."

"There's no way I can translate words like gobswoggle, Nyra." Revaramek flexed his wing around her. "Half of what he says is just gibberish."

"Gob...swog-gle?" Nyramyn scrunched her muzzle at the sound of the word. "That sounds like something you'd beg me to do for you while Korakos was asleep." She lowered her tone, whispering. "Oh, Nyra, gob swog-gle me just this once."

Revaramek's frills lifted. "Well, he did say it was profanity." He swallowed, shifting himself. "And now I'm going to have trouble hearing him say words like that."

"Happy to help." She waved a paw at the gryphons. "What about them? You were really having trouble when he talked to them." Nyra watched as the gryphons passed Elrind a second sausage. "I'm guessing it had to do with the way he's handling the gryphons' meat."

"Oh, Nyra, not you too!" Revaramek laughed, rubbing his muzzle with a forepaw. "But yes. He used words that directly translate to...well, that kind of food. Sausage, is the word in their tongue. But indirectly, it translates to something else."

Nyramyn giggled, brushing his wings with hers. "Yes, I can imagine it does."

"And then he said, basically..." Revaramek circled a paw in the air. "That he needed to be stuffed with them, and asked the gryphons to let him touch theirs."

Nyramyn's giggle got louder, enough to leave Korakos stirring between them. "You're right. He _has_to be doing that on purpose."

"You'd think so." Revaramek tilted his head, watching as Elrind demonstrated the proper use and placement of specific utensils. "But I'm just not sure his mind works that way."

Revaramek's attention was drawn away from Elrind when he saw Mirelle approaching them. Now that all her guests and staff had a chance to help themselves to food, she was free to come and check in with him and his family. She came to a stop near the dragons, smiling.

"So?" Mirelle clasped her hands behind her back. "How was everything? Please tell Nyra I hope she enjoyed it."

"She did." Revaramek smiled, nosing his mate. "She ate so much she hurts." He licked his muzzle, and then bowed his head to Mirelle. "Thank you for arranging all this. I think it's doing her a lot of good."

"It's been my pleasure, Revaramek." Mirelle rubbed her eyes, chuckling. "Could do with a bit more sleep, but I can get that tonight. Will Nyra be alright with Beka coming to say hello?"

"She's ready to meet a few people, yes. Bring Tavaat too, we can introduce them together. Then you can bring Kurekka and Chir'raal over." Revaramek craned his neck to peer past Mirelle, towards the back of the tavern. "Are any other gryphons here? I haven't seen Jay Bird or her mate, yet."

Mirelle shook her head. "They had security business to attend, but I promised to save them some food." She put her hands on her hips. "And you know she hates it when you call her that."

"Nonsense!" Revaramek tossed his head. "She loves my playful nicknames."

Mirelle rolled her eyes. "Tolerates is more accurate."

"Tolerating is better than hating! Which means I'm right, and you're wrong." Revaramek arched his neck, grinning. "It's just as well she's not here. I think meeting two gryphons will be enough for Nyra, for now."

Nyramyn bumped her muzzle against his when she heard her name. "You're not translating."

"Oh, sorry." Revaramek shrugged his wings, then gave her ear a few appreciative licks. "We're just bantering, that's all."

"I want to banter, too."

"Banter doesn't work well via translation. You're just going to have to learn to speak the local languages." When Nyramyn only glared at him, Revaramek huffed and relented. "We're talking about a female gryphon. I call her Jay Bird, because it turns out Blue Jay was taken."

"What is j-aay?" Nyramyn tilted her head. "You did not translate that."

"I don't think it has a translation. It's a type of bird. I call her that because she resembles one. Mirelle is trying to express to me that Jay Bird doesn't like the nickname I gave her." Revaramek shook his head. "I'm sorry Love, but banter just doesn't work this way. You'll have to wait till you can speak to Mirelle in her own language to join in."

"But that's no fun." Nyramyn tilted her muzzle down, her frills drooping. "I was hoping I might finally have someone witty enough to be my equal."

Revaramek returned his attention to Mirelle. "Now she's cranky because she can't understand our banter. She thinks you'll be a better match for her wit than I am."

"She's not wrong." Mirelle smirked, folding her arms.

"And won't I be the lucky dragon when you both gang up on me with your verbal berations." Revaramek tossed his head.

Mirelle tapped her foot against the grass. "Berations is not a word."

"Is too." Revaramek cocked his head. "It means to berate. You say, berate means-"

"I damn well know what berate means!" Mirelle's voice sharpened, and she nudged the toe of her boot against Revaramek's paw. "It's what no one does to you often enough anymore!"

"I could call her Death Grip." Revaramek stretched a wing to scratch his neck with its tip.

"What? What are you-"

"Jay Bird." Revaramek gestured with a forelimb. "If she prefers, I could call her Death Grip. Remember what she did to Buralva last time we had to go deal with him? She squeezed them so hard she must have left stripes!" Revaramek cackled.

"Ugh, there's a mental image." Mirelle ran a hand down her face. "It must have worked though. That dragon hasn't caused us any trouble since."

"And just think Mirelle, you might have been her inspiration." He switched into the swamp dragon tongue, whispering to his mate. "Now I'm trying to get under her skin by jumping around topics."

"Is that why you do that?" Nyramyn brushed her paw across the grass. "I thought your brain just didn't work right. And why are you whispering? She can't understand our language, anyway."

"Never underestimate Mirelle." Revaramek cast Mirelle a sidelong glance, ignoring her glare.

"Even if she can understand you, why would you whisper?" Nyramyn waved at Mirelle. "She's right there. She can hear you whispering. You're just drawing attention to the fact you're hiding something from her."

"How about I just go get Beka and Tavaat?" Mirelle unfolded her arms, laughing. "And leave you two to whatever you're talking about." She took a few steps away, then glanced back. "Oh, and I'm going to tell Sikki that you're calling her Death Grip, now."

"Rather you didn't!" Revaramek wriggled his hind end, wincing. He'd rather not give the female gryphon reason to try giving him stripes, too.

Nyramyn stared at him while he wiggled. "Is she threatening you again?"

"Not exactly." Revaramek watched Mirelle walk off. "We were talking about changing Jay Bird's nickname to Death Grip."

"Death Grip?" Nyramyn cocked her head, then gave a little gasp, eyes wide. "This gryphon female did that to you?"

"Not to me! To Buralva." When Nyramyn gave him a blank look, Revaramek licked his nose, trying to explain. "Jay Bird is the head of one of the city's security brigades. She goes with me to help deal with potential problems, outside the scope of the town's guard."

"So you and this gryphon fight other dragons?" Nyramyn flattened her ears, sorrow tinging her voice. "Do you have to slay them to keep your food sources safe?"

"What?" Revaramek blinked, stroked Nyra's neck. "No, Love, it's not like the swamp here. At least, not anymore. We rarely have real trouble, but..."

Nyramyn leaned into his touch. "But this Buralva does trouble you?"

"He did, yes. Buralva's the sort of dragon the old tales were about. He thinks he should able to take whatever he wants, just because he's a dragon. Hates that humans are in control of the land. Buralva didn't believe that Mirelle was genuinely interested in peace and equality, thought she wanted to subjugate-"

Nyramyn put her paw against his muzzle. "I don't need the complicated backstory right now, Rev. Your friends are coming, just skip to the end."

Revaramek licked her paw, then pulled back. "Buralva never quite attacked the town but he did make a lot of threats, did a lot of posturing. Mirelle made a deal to help appease him, but a few months back he got it in his head that-"

"That's not skipping to the end."

Revaramek chuckled, shaking his head. "Jay Bird and I went to convince him to back down. Instead, he attacked us, so we had to fight him. In the midst of the skirmish, Jay Bird managed to get a death grip on his balls. As you might imagine, that ended the fight immediately. Jay Bird didn't let them go, however. In fact, she refused to ease her crushing grasp until he swore himself to peace. Buralva doesn't have to like the human cities, but he's not allowed to trouble them, either. We haven't had any trouble with him since."

"Excellent." Nyramyn lifted her head, glancing back at Revaramek's hind end. "So, it really works that well?"

Revaramek narrowed his eyes. "This is why I don't like telling you those stories."

"Luckily for you." Nyramyn bumped her nose against Revaramek's. "You've already sworn yourself to me."

"That I have." Revaramek nuzzled her. "Besides, you can batter me into submission with your wit alone."

"Without even trying."

"Case in point." Before Nyramyn could get the last word, he flourished a forepaw at Beka and Tavaat. "And speaking of my friends a moment ago, here they are!"

Mirelle ushered Beka and Tavaat forward, and then stepped back to let them meet Revaramek's family on their own. Both were now dressed formally. Beka wore a bright blue dress with silver thread hemming the sleeves and skirt. Tavaat had a cream colored vest with ebony buttons, and dark gray shorts trimmed in black. They approached the dragons together. In unison, they bowed to Nyramyn. The formality of the gesture made her smile, and she bowed her head back to them.

"You've been practicing that, haven't you?" Revaramek chuckled, and then introduced them to Nyra. "These are my close friends, Beka, and Tavaat. Beka runs the tavern. She's an excellent chef and brewer. Beka makes the ale they sell, though these days she has apprentices to help keep up with demand. Tavaat is the..." He trailed off. There wasn't really a translation for head bartender, so he improvised. "Is the one responsible getting the taverns' guests whatever they request. They were some of the first friends I made here, in this town."

Nyramyn listened intently, her ears swiveling. "Greet them for me, please? And thank them for all the food. Tell them it was wonderful! And, that I am very grateful for their hospitality."

Revaramek nodded, then grinned at Beka and Tavaat. "Nyra says thanks." When Nyramyn glared at him, he translated the rest of it.

Beka bowed again, then straightened up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I'm so glad she liked it! I've never cooked a feast for dragons, before. I hope there wasn't too much..."

She scrunched her face. "You know, human food."

"No, it was perfect, Beka." Revaramek nuzzled at Nyra's neck, then glanced at Korakos. The youngling was still fast asleep, despite the conversations going on. "They both loved it as much as I did, I think. Thank you for all your hard work."

"You're quite welcome." Beka beamed. "It's not often we get introduced to a dear friend's family for the first time." She peered down at Korakos, partly hidden between his parents. "Let alone a hatchling. I watched him running on the tables, he's so adorable!"

Tavaat rubbed Beka's back, smiling. "Yeah, he really is. And don't worry about it, it wasn't that much work."

"Says you." Beka glared at him. "Scales here just sat on his ass drinking ale all night."

"It wasn't just ale." Tavaat laughed, his little red frills raised. "And I walked around, some."

Beka thumped him on the shoulder. "Only because I told you to get off your scaly ass and help the rest of us."

Nyramyn pressed her muzzle to Revaramek's ear. "Are they mates? They act like it."

"Now you're the one whispering right in front of them." Revaramek rumbled amusement. "Yes, Beka and Tavaat are mates. Though, they've always acted like that. But that reminds me."

Nyramyn sucked in a breath. "Don't you dare."

Revaramek dared. "You know, Tavaat, Nyra asked if your people were the result of dragons mating with humans."

"She what?" Tavaat gaped at Revaramek, his jaw hanging open.

"Well, there is a resemblance." Beka pursed her lips as she appraised her lover. "You definitely have some dragon traits, Tavaat." As her gaze drifted lower, she tapped a finger against her chin. "A shame that you haven't taken after them in _every_regard."

Revaramek erupted into boisterous laughter. The sound was enough to make Korakos blink awake. The hatchling butted his head against his father, and curled up again. Revaramek stroked Korakos' wings, lowering his voice. "She's saying you're small, Tavaat."

"Yeah, I got that." Tavaat grunted, giving Beka a long glare. "Hilarious. Just be glad it doesn't have spikes."

"Dragons have spikes?" Beka stared at Revaramek with wide eyes.

Revaramek snorted, tossing his head. "We most certainly do not!" He curled his tail, peering down at the spiky fins lining its tip. "At least, not there."

"That's good, for your mate's sake." Beka flashed Tavaat a mischievous smile. "Besides, I was only suggesting Tavaat was undersized compared to a dragon."

"If I was his size, I'd be bedridden." Tavaat curled his arm around Beka's waist. "Come on, you've done enough damage for one day. I haven't had a chance at that dessert table, yet."

"Yes, don't let the gryphons hog all the desserts." Revaramek glanced to Kurekka and Chir'raal, now splitting a sizable fruit tart. "In fact, tell them to drag their feathers over here while they can still move."

"Will do." Beka offered the dragons another bow, smiling at Nyramyn. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, and I promise, you'll find our town a very welcoming place."

After Revaramek translated, Nyra thanked them for their hospitality. As they walked off, she gestured between Beka and Tavaat with an unsheathed claw. "So, if he's not_descended from dragons, will _they have children?"

Revaramek licked his muzzle, contemplating it. "I doubt it. Just because they're compatible physically doesn't mean his flowers can take root in her garden."

When the gryphons finished their dessert, they approached the dragons. Revaramek kept his wing stretched out across Nyramyn to ensure she felt safe. Nyra lifted Korakos to snuggle up against Revaramek, then resettled the hatchling between her forelegs. This time Korakos did not go back to sleep. Instead, he stared up at the gryphons, silent and wide-eyed. Revaramek couldn't decide who looked more in awe of this world's largest featured creatures, his mate or his son.

"Kurekka, Chir'raal, I should like you to finally meet my mate Nyramyn, and my son, Korakos." Both gryphons mantled their wings, and bowed their heads. Revaramek switched into the swamp dragon language. "Nyramyn, these are two of my oldest friends, Kurekka and Chir'raal."

"The pleasure, I assure you, is ours." Kurekka glanced at Revaramek. "Translate, please?"

Revaramek did so, then gestured at Nyra. "If you're willing, it helps her to get your scents."

Both gryphons moved closer. Nyra very hesitantly stretched her neck towards them. She nosed at the feathers across Kurekka's chest and throat, then did the same to Chir'raal. Korakos wriggled free and inspected Kurekka's paws, sniffing at his forelegs. He tilted his head back, staring up at gryphon's face. Korakos waggled his haunches.

Revaramek lashed out to snatch his son's tail. "No pouncing, Korakos."

Korakos whined and curled around to bat at his father's paw.

Revaramek ignored him his ferocious protests. "I'll keep hold of him, or he might climb like you a tree."

Kurekka ruffled up his red-brown feathers. "As long as he doesn't use his claws-"

"He would, so I'll keep my grip." Revaramek glanced back at himself, flattening his wings. "I'd be pocked with scars if not for my scales. He hasn't yet learned not everyone is so well protected."

Nyramyn glanced between the gryphons, then nudged Revaramek's cheek with her muzzle. "You know, up close? They're not hideous at all."

"Aww, and here I was hoping to tell them how disgusting you thought they were." Revaramek laughed, lifting his frills. He smirked at the gryphons. "She says you're actually not _completely_hideous."

"That's good. I think." Chir'raal clicked his beak and preened a few of Kurekka's feathers. "No doubt that's due to this handsome creature sitting with me."

Kurekka nipped at Chir'raal. "It can't be because of you, you ugly bird."

"Frankly, we're both hideous compared to this little fledgling." Chir'raal reached towards Korakos, then paused. "Can I hold him?"

"Awww, Chir'raal, you big softie." Revaramek asked Nyra if she minded, and then relayed her answer. "You may, if he's willing. But if he bites you, claws you, or pees on you? Well, just consider yourself warned."

"I shall take my chances with his little teeth and claws." Chir'raal ruffled himself. "I expect that he's old enough to know better than to pee on someone."

"Expect to be disappointed, then." Revaramek stretched his neck towards Korakos. "Kor, is it alright if the big soft bird picks you up?"

Korakos' eyes widened at the idea. He glanced from his father to the gryphons, then to his mother. Then he looked up at the gryphons, and finally back to his father. He nodded, and Revaramek gave Chir'raal permission. Chir'raal scooped Korakos up in his forelegs. The little dragon squirmed and wriggled at first, but stilled when Chir'raal cradled him against his chest. Chir'raal cooed and warbled, nuzzling the tiny green dragon.

"He's so adorable!" Chir'raal gave a happy chirrup, smiling at Revaramek. "You've done quite well for yourself, I must say. Your family is beautiful."

"Yes. They are." Revaramek smiled, warm pride swelling beneath his chest plates.

"May I hold him as well?" Kurekka held his forelegs out, and Chir'raal passed him the hatchling. He cradled the little dragon against his spotted beige chest fur, rocking him. "Aww, he really is-AWK!" The gryphon squawked when Korakos swatted him on the beak.

Chir'raal warbled laughter. "Oh, he likes me better than you!"

"He does not! He-OW!" Kurekka gave a pained chirp when Korakos swatted his beak a second time.

"Are you sure?" Chir'raal tilted his head, holding his forelegs out. "He certainly seems to like me better."

Kurekka glared at his mate. "I refuse to admit-AH!"

Korakos slapped his beak again, giggling like mad.

"Kor!" Nyra snapped her teeth. "Stop that!" and the hatchling went still. "Stop that!"

"Sorry, momma." The hatchling went still.

Nyra pointed at Kurekka. "Tell the gear fin. Your father will translate."

Korakos stared up at the gryphon, his tail hanging limp over his furred foreleg. "Sorry gear fin."

Revaramek chuckled. "He says he's sorry."

"Oh, that's alright." Kurekka smiled and nuzzled the little dragon's belly, making him giggle and squirm.

"His face is tickly!" Korakos kicked his hind paws, thumping Kurekka on the cheek.

Kurekka grunted and glanced at his mate. "How come you didn't have this much trouble?"

"He's only doing it because of the way you react." Revaramek tilted his head, lifting his ears. "Now hand him back to Chir'raal." A smirk crept over the dragon's muzzle. "Who he clearly likes better."

"Told you." Chir'raal took Korakos back, cuddling him against the gray plumage of his chest.

"Oh, shut up." Kurekka gave an irritable chirrup, then plucked a feather from Chir'raal's wing with his beak.

"Ow!" Chir'raal pulled his wing out of reach. "What was that for?"

Kurekka flattened his ears. "For being..." He glanced at Korakos. "A word I shall not say in front of a child."

"You're just envious he-"

"If you say he likes you better again, you shall be sleeping alone, tonight." Kurekka flared up his bright crimson crown feathers, leaving his head ringed in fire. "Outside."

"Very well. I shall let his actions say it for me." Chir'raal lifted Korakos up and nuzzled his belly/ The hatchling wriggled and squirmed, paddling at the air with his paws. Despite his motions, he never kicked Chir'raal in the face. "Yes, everyone knows who your favorite is."

Nyramyn watched it all with a smile on her face, her frills up and her ears perked. "I think he likes that one better."

Revaramek laughed, flashing Kurekka a devious smile. He reached out and smoothed down the feathers around the gryphon's head. Kurekka gave him a strange look, but did not complain. "See, Nyra? They're not so bad, are they?"

"No." Nyramyn shook her head. "If Korakos likes them, who am I to disagree? It wasn't as if I did not _like_them. It's just very strange, for me." She lifted her head and peered at all the people now mingling around the tables. Humans, urd'thin, and va'chaak all ate and laughed together. Two female gryphons had arrived, and joined in as well. "I've never known other creatures who talk before, aside from dragons. And even those were so rare, back home. Now I've seen so many of them, I hardly know what to think. I knew if you trusted them, that I could trust them, too. But..." She turned her attention back to Chir'raal, watching him coddle Korakos. "It helps to meet them, and see them treat Kor so gently. It's just..." She brushed her paw back and forth against the grass. "A lot to take in."

"I know, love." Revaramek gently squeezed her paw. "If you're feeling overwhelmed, we can retreat to the other side of the trees."

Nyramyn glanced over her back, staring at the row of pines behind them. She scrunched her muzzle, then shook her head. "No. Retreating won't make it easier. If I'm to live here, I have to get used to..." She swallowed, and turned her beautiful copper-bronze gaze back to all the people roaming the patio area. "All this."

"So you do." Revaramek licked her neck, smiling. "But one day at a time. You won't get fully accustomed to everything all at once, after all. For now, we'll limit your visitors to close friends. But when you're willing, we'll let more people come and say hello."

"You say that as though lots of people wish to meet me."

Revaramek could not hold back his smile. "The whole town wants to meet you and Korakos."

Nyramyn swallowed and pulled her head back. She shrank up against Revaramek beneath his wing. "Why?"

He curled his neck to nuzzle her. "Do you remember the stories I used to tell you?"

"Of course." Nyra gave his nose a shy lick.

"And, do you remember how I came to be in that swamp?" Revaramek cocked his head. "How I sacrificed myself to save this town?"

Nyramyn slowly nodded. "Yes. I was never quite sure how much of it to believe. But when I first came here, and I saw carvings of you..."

"For once, my love, I do not mean to brag, but..." Revaramek returned her lick, still smiling. "I'm a hero to this place. When I saw the statue of myself-"

"They made you a statue?" Nyramyn's eyes lit up, and for a moment, Revaramek recognized the sudden, shining wonder there. It was the same look he used to see in her eyes when they were young together, when he used to tell her stories from another world.

"Yes, Water Ally Nyramyn, they did. Many statues, in fact." Revaramek swept his paw at the town beyond The Cathedral. "The first one is in a big plaza. When I saw it, I broke down sobbing in front of Mirelle, and half the town. That's when it hit me that..." Revaramek's throat tightened, burning. He choked out his words, blinking away sudden tears. "That I'd left you behind, in that horrible place. Ever since, I think they've been nearly as desperate to see you as I have. So yes, Nyra. This city wants to meet its hero's family."

Nyra gave a long sigh, pressing herself against him. Revaramek glanced at the gryphons, but they couldn't understand even if they were listening in. Chir'raal stilled cradled Korakos, and now the little hatchling lay across his forelegs. Kurekka stroked Korakos's wings, and the two gryphons warbled and cooed to him.

"It may take me some time. But when I'm ready? I want to see your statues." Nyramyn tilted her head back, offering him a shy, beautiful smile.

"And I would love for you see them." Revaramek licked her nose, then gestured with a wingtip at the gryphons. "Until then, you'll always be welcome here in Mirelle's garden, and tavern. It should be an easy flight for you to manage." He bumped her with his nose. "And I know you'll have no trouble navigating from between this place and our home. Once you're comfortable around them, the gryphons will keep you company and help you watch Korakos until I'm back."

"Until you're back?" Confusion flickered across Nyramyn's face. She lifted her head, her eyes widening. "Where are you going?"

"Mirelle and I have to go, Ny. You know this." Revaramek took her paw in his, gently holding it. "We have to find the whatever star's blessing is."

"N-No." Nyramyn shook her head, tugging her paw back. Fear shone her eyes, wet and wavering. "No! You can't leave me again..."

"Father's leaving?" Korakos twisted towards his parents, whining. "No, Father, don't leave!"

"I'm not leaving, Korakos." Something cold and terrible squeezed Revaramek's heart. He glanced at the gryphons, switching to the common tongue. "We need a moment alone. Can you take Korakos somewhere, please?"

"Certainly, Rev." Kurekka moved back from his mate, and Chir'raal set Korakos down on his feet.

"Go with the gryphons, son." Revaramek pointed back to the pond, through the trees. "I need to talk to your mother alone. Go show the gryphons how well you can swim!"

"Swimming?" Korakos's favorite activity proved distraction enough, for now. He trotted off across the expansive yard. "I can swim good! Watch me swim, gear fins!"

No sooner was Korakos out of earshot that Nyra put her paw against Revaramek's chest. "You can't leave me here, Rev. Not this time."

Revaramek flattened his ears. He stroked her foreleg. "Nyra, we talked about this. I have to find star's blessing, and-"

"Then you're taking me with you." Her voice sharpened. Fire and pain glittered in her eyes like furious stars. "You're not leaving me behind, again."

"I know how you feel-"

"No, you don't!" Nyra's words twisted into a snarl, and the snarl turned to a sob. "No, you don't. You don't know how close_we came. Or how completely I gave up on you, Rev. You were dead, you were _dead." She pressed her head to him, horns brushing scales. "I said goodbye to you. I gave you a funeral! I danced in the rain, alone, sobbing your name! And I gave you up." Tears dribbled down her scales. "I gave you up. Because, I couldn't search anymore. I had to save my strength, for our son."

Revaramek enfolded her in his wings, already crying with her. "I'm sorry, Nyra. I'm so sorry." He closed his wings tighter, sheltering her from the world and every prying eye.

Nyramyn wept against his chest plates, her voice ragged. "I never told Kor. He was too young to remember your funeral. And as he grew up, I never told him you were dead. Not until our last day in the swamp, and even then, I don't think he believed me. He thought you were..." A bittersweet laugh escaped her between sobs, and she waved a paw. "Here._The place with the clean water, from your stories! And he was _right! But I thought you were dead, and I never told him. Because...because one of us had to have something to hope for. Something joyful to dream about! So, I let him believe you were alive." She shook her head, tears dripping from her muzzle. "Korakos was all I had, my only lingering joy. Without him, I would have been so empty inside." Nyra went silent, staring right through Revaramek. When she spoke again, trembling terror filled her whispered voice. "And then the swamp tried to take him, too. It wouldn't let him leave. It wanted to drown him! I could feel it, like some wretched monster, angry that we dared try and flee it! But I would not let it have him! In the end, I almost..." She quieted again, sucking in a shaking breath.

"It's alright, Nyra." Revaramek lapped at the back of her neck, offering what tender comfort he could. He caressed her foreleg, holding her in his wings. "It's alright now."

"You can't leave us again." Nyra slowly lifted her head till her tear-reddened eyes were locked with his. She braced her forelegs against his chest. "Not after we've only just found you."

"Nyra, this is different." Revaramek cupped her cheek in a forepaw. "I promise I'm coming back."

Fresh anger flashed in her eyes. "You don't know that!"

"I'm sure it will be perfectly safe." Revaramek flattened his ears.

Nyra kept her eyes locked with his, her voice even. "Then we'll come with you."

Revaramek grit his teeth. "You can't. It's too long a trip for you to take."

"I crossed the damn swamp to save our son!" Nyramyn hissed at him, baring her fangs. "On a mouthful of meat, and a swallow of water. I may be sick, but I am not so weak I cannot fly anywhere you can!"

Revaramek swallowed hard. "We have to cross mountains, Nyra. And I've never been to the desert. I don't know what's waiting for us, it could be..." He trailed off, realizing his mistake immediately.

"It could be what, dangerous?" Nyra snapped her teeth at him. A few fresh tears left glittering streaks on her emerald scales. "I thought it was perfectly safe? Which is it, Revaramek? Safe, or dangerous?"

"Nyra, I don't-"

"No, Rev, which is it?" Nyra's frills flared up around her head. "This is important! Because if it's safe, you can take us with you. If it's dangerous, I refuse to let you go alone!"

Revaramek gave a low, rumbling growl. Sorrow sat cold in his belly, mingling now with growing frustration. "It isn't fair of you to back me into a corner like this!"

Nyra snarled at him, all pinned ears and bared teeth. "And it wasn't fair of you to abandon us in the swamp to die!"

Revaramek withered in an instant. It would have hurt less if she'd torn him open and sunk her fangs directly into her heart. The only words that came to him were small, insignificant, and little more than a pitiful whimper. "I'm sorry." His limbs gave out, and he crumpled onto the grass. Revaramek curled up, struggling hold back a sudden flood of guilt-ridden sobs. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"Oh Rev, I..." Nyra's voice broke again. She dropped onto her belly, nose to nose with him. Nyra took Rev's muzzle in her grasp. Her trembling paws were like ice against his scales. "I didn't mean it, I just-"

"No, you're right, Nyra!" Revaramek shook his head against the grassy earth. "I did leave you there, and it wasn't fair! I knew I had to, but it broke me inside! So many nights, terrified I'd never see you, horrified by what I must have put you through! But you're right!" Revaramek fought a muffled, wrenching cry, grasping her foreleg. "You're right, I don't know how you feel. I'm so sorry, Nyra. For everything I put you through! For leaving you there! Knowing you'd think me dead! Knowing it would steal your joy."

There was so much more Revaramek wanted to tell her, but he had neither the words to say, nor the strength left to speak them. Anguish poured from him in tearful, wracking waves. This time, it was Nyra's turn to hold him while he cried. She stretched her wings out, embracing him, and Revaramek pressed himself to her warmth. Together they held each other, hidden beneath their wings, and cried out all the long years of grief, guilt, and lonely sorrow. When there were no more tears to cry, they cradled one another for long, silent moments.

In the end, it was Nyramyn who finally broke the silence. "I know why you want to go with out me, Revaramek. But I need you to understand something." She lifted her head, resting her muzzle atop his to gaze into his eyes. "I cannot watch you fly away, and fade into the sky, wondering if I've lost you again. I cannot pass those nights alone, without you, or lie to Korakos anymore. I used to tell him you'd be back someday, but I knew you wouldn't._And if you leave me now?" Nyramyn cradled his cheek in her paw, her voice a shivering whisper. "How can I tell him you'll be back, when I don't know you will be? What if you _don't come back?"

The raw, honest fear in Nyramyn's voice broke what was left of Revaramek's shattered heart. He feared his absence had damaged something, deep inside her. For the first time since their reunion, he was not so sure that wound could ever be healed. She was always going to fear his absence now, always worry his return, always dread his disappearance. In that moment, all Revaramek wanted in the world was to hold her, and tell her he would never leave again. That she would always have him. But he couldn't lie to her.

"Ny, I promise." Revaramek took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I will do everything in my power to-"

"I'm going with you." Nyramyn put her paw over his muzzle, cutting off his reply. "If you're going, _I'm_going. That is the only answer I will accept. If you think to leave without me, I will follow you. I will follow you, Revaramek the Resplendent, to the ends of this marsh, and whatever lies beyond. You said yourself, that we made vows. You are mine, and I am yours. And I..." She faltered, blinking back fresh tears. "I cannot watch you leave me behind again. Whatever waits out there, I will face it with you."

Revaramek let out a long shuddering, sigh. "So be it, Nyra. We'll go together. But I genuinely do not know what we'll find in that desert, and so we cannot risk bringing Korakos." He glanced through the trees. In the distance, both gryphons were splashing around in Mirelle's pond with the hatchling. "Someone is going to have to take care of him, while we're away. Chir'raal and Kurekka already adore him, and I trust them completely."

Nyramyn sniffled, gazing towards the feathered creatures. "He does seem to like them." She tilted her head, watching Korakos. "But I kept him safe in that swamp, all on my own. So I'd like to think the two of us could protect him from anything."

"Not from this." Revaramek cradled her chin, turning her face back towards him. "Not from gods, Nyra."

Nyramyn bristled. "Gods? You really think he'll be there?"

"I don't know _what_will be there, Nyra." Revaramek stroked her muzzle. "That's the point. But I know that a god, born amidst a desert, told me I can save you. And that same god put a puzzle piece in my son's head, and that puzzle is leading me to a desert. I don't know why, and I don't know what we'll find. I don't even know if it will be dangerous or not. But I don't want to risk Korakos."

Nyramyn nipped at his muzzle. "What does your..." She patted his chest. "Spark tell you?"

Revaramek chuckled. "It doesn't work that way, Nyra." He clasped her paw, easing it down. His smile faded. "But my heart tells me it's going to be dangerous. Besides, I don't care what Asterbury wants." Revaramek watched Korakos clamber up one of the gryphons, giggling like mad all the while. "I refuse to allow my son to be a pawn in _any_of his games."

Nyramyn nodded. "I agree. Very well, Water Ally Revaramek. If you believe our son will be safer with your friends, I trust your judgement. After all, you did..." She trailed off, gazing around.

"It worked out once before, I know." Revaramek caressed her forepaw, smiling. "Painful as it was for both of us."

"I was going to say, you did catch a very big swamp crab, once." Nyramyn giggled, just a little. "But I suppose your secret plan to save your family by breaking their hearts also counts."

Revaramek manage a soft, bittersweet laugh. "I don't want to leave him here, either. But we know he'll safe here. We can't say the same for our destination."

"I understand. If you intend to leave him with the gryphons, I'd best get to know them first." She curled her tail, leaning against Revaramek. "Have they ever helped raise a child before?"

"No, but neither had we, till we had Korakos." Revaramek curled his wing around his mate again. "I was going to have my friend Enora serve as our guide. She's been to the desert before. But perhaps I'll ask her to draw a map, and stay here to help the gryphons watch Korakos." Revaramek stroked her scales while he spoke, paws roaming her sides. His pads brushed softer flesh, and Nyramyn tensed up. Glancing down, Revaramek realized he'd touched her lingering sword wound. "Sorry."

"It's alright." Nyra shifted her weight. "Just a little tender."

Revaramek clenched his jaw, deciding now was as good a time as any to broach that particular subject. "Nyra, you need to have that examined by experienced healers."

"It's fine." Nyramyn flattened back her spines.

"No, it isn't." Revaramek hissed his frustration. "Mirelle and I agree, it needs tending. Therefor, I will make you a deal."

"You will do no such thing!" Nyra hissed right back at him.

"I can't let you travel with a wound like that. If you want you accompany me, you will let the healers deal with it first." Revaramek arched his neck. "Furthermore, you will accept whatever treatment they recommend, even if it is painful. After that, you'll have plenty of time to get to know Kurekka and Chir'raal while your wound finishes healing. Only when the doctors tell me you're healed will I allow you to accompany me to the desert." Nyramyn looked away, and Revaramek gently stroked the curve of her neck. "Do we have a deal, Water Ally Nyramyn?"

Nyramyn sighed, her wings drooping. "We have a deal, Water Ally Revaramek."

"Good." He smiled, lowering his head to nose at her cheek. "I am sorry, you know."

A hint of a smile crept over Nyramyn's muzzle. "I know. And I'm sorry too, for what I said. I think this was..." She circled an unsheathed claw tip against the grass. "Good for us, though."

Revaramek licked a few scales. "I agree. We needed to get that out."

Nyra leaned into his affections. "We did."

Revaramek put his paw over hers, licking her ear. "I love you, Nyra."

"I know." Nyra perked her ears, playfully avoiding his eyes.

"That's all you have to say?" Revaramek grinned, pulling his forepaw back. "Not quite the answer I was hoping for."

Nyramyn smiled, and without another word, pressed her muzzle against his. She cupped his cheek, parting her jaws. With no regard for who might be watching, Nyra kissed him as passionately as she ever had, her forepaw stroking his neck.

Revaramek could think of no better answer.

*****

That's all for now! If you enjoyed the chapters, please hit the FAVE button and leave a comment with your thoughts!