FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1

Maroc awoke in a valley, a tree to his back, and a clear blue lake in front of him. He looked around for a second before raising a claw and held his throbbing head. This bright morning seemed too happy, especially after what happened last night. Maroc jerked his head up, ignoring the pain it caused. What did happen last night? All he could remember was that black tiger.

"What was his name?" Maroc thought out loud. He tried to grasp the fading memory before it was lost. All he got though was the tiger's face, and his name.

"John..." Maroc whispered. For some reason that name sounded wrong. Like a bad taste in ones mouth. The blue dragon tried to think back, back when he and, 'John', were together last night. There was another name the tiger used, it was Dr-

It was gone. The memory faded into the abyss. Maroc, frustrated, curled up his claws and slammed his fist onto the soft loam underneath the tree. In the process, Maroc noticed his katana lying next to him. Looking down, the blue dragon tilted his head and observed the blade. For some unfathomable reason, he was almost afraid to take up his weapon. Whatever happened last night, the sword was a part of it.

Maroc shrugged, though, and picked up his precious sword. As he stood, and went to tie it to his belt, he noticed that his attire was in poor condition. The night before, he went out in his usually clothing, a tan tunic and tan pants, with his black scale armor. This morning, though, as Maroc observed, his armor was missing patches of scales, and was missing the entire left shoulder plate. The shirt was torn in places, and there was a hole in one of his pants leg. On a hunch, Maroc checked his scabbard for his katana. It too, had a few nicks. This was all consistent with a battle, but when the dragon took a look around the field, there was no sign of any fight.

Before Maroc could think much more on the subject, a bird call brought him back to reality. He looked up and noticed that the sun was past its peak and was starting to descend. If he didn't get moving soon, Maroc would have to try and make the trek in the dark. Maroc stretched his wings and tail in thought. He could fly, but in armor, that was about as dangerous as being out at night. But before anything, Maroc had to get his bearings. He had an idea where he was, but first needed to find the mountains that lay to the west of the village. Soon, Maroc found them, and grinning, knew exactly where he was. So, the dragon started heading out east.

A few hours later, the sun already half swallowed up by the Earth Gods Mountains to the west, Maroc was only a crest away from beholding the village. It is also when he smelled the smoke.

Now here, out in this village, smoke was common, and each of the inhabitants having a hearth to keep warm during the cold winter nights. But this wasn't the sweet pine smoke. Maroc's nostrils twitched as he smelled burning cloth, wood, and...

Maroc stopped for a second. Not wanting to believe his keen sense of smell. He tucked in his wings and made the sprint the rest of the way and broke through the brush, finally seeing his village. Tears welled up in his gray eyes, his wings and tail drooped, and he staggered a little as he looked onto the village, not wanting to believe it. There were bodies everywhere; and the smell was the sickly sweet smell of burning fur and flesh.

The dragon slowly walked down to the village, most of the village inhabitants slashed and burning. Some were gutted, blood everywhere, and all looked like they had their throats ripped out. There was one of the rabbit farmers, impaled by a long piece of wood to the wall of a building, holding him a good foot off the ground. Another rabbit, a female, was lying in a pool of blood at his feet. Not too far from them, was the tavern keeper, a fox, was strewn about with a few broken wooden boxes. Literally strewn about, as his arms were ripped off and a knife was in his back. His daughter, though, wasn't anywhere to be seen with him. The villagers, foxes, wolves, rabbits, they were slashed, burned, and all were missing their throats.

He then turned his attention to the center of town, and saw that even the dragon warriors were dead. As he walked among the fallen bodies, he noticed, it looked like they had all died fighting, probably for their, and the villagers, very lives. His friends, they all had facial and chest wounds, and they, too, were also horrifically mutilated, having their throats torn out. Their weapons were still with them, clutched in their death grip. Each had a frozen look of shock on their faces, maws agape and eyes wide open in what seemed disbelief, when you could make them out clearly.

Maroc fell to his knees, tears blurring his vision. How could this have happened? Who could have killed every single fur here and all the dragon warriors too? He pounded his fists in the dirt, the tears running down his snout and dampening the dirt. It was then that he realized something. He jerked his head up and scanned the mutilated town. None of the Dragon Elders were among the slain. This gave him some sense of hope, knowing that they may be able to shed some light on this terrible incident. Maroc quickly scrambled to his feet, and started to hastily make his way to the temple in the center of the town.

He soon stopped, though, after thinking a little bit. If the Elders were safe, they would be a little longer. Any survivors, on the other hand, may need some care. So, Maroc started searching the houses, one by one. Sadly, he continued to see the same thing in all of the houses. There were bloody bodies everywhere. Mother's remains lie with their cubs, as if they were trying to hide or escape, only to be stabbed or slashed in the back. After all this horror, the blue dragon began to lose hope of finding any survivors. In one house, though, Maroc found a difference in the horrible pattern.

Lying on the floor of said home, if it can still be called as such, he found the body of the cloth weaver, a widow raccoon. She was one of the best weavers around, and always did repairs to the little one's clothing. Her name was Ruby. She was lying on her back, her left arm stretched out, her right underneath, holding her husband's shield, what was left of it, it being crumpled. It seemed like she had tried to defend herself, but a blade right through the round metal shield, through her back, pierced her heart.

The dragon knelt and closed her wide eyes, bowing his head in respect, humbled by her courage. That's when he heard the soft crying, almost inaudible. It was then that Maroc remembered that Ruby had a single child, had him with her husband before he left. He should be about twelve years old now.

Maroc stood, looking around for any trace of the child. He heard again, the soft cry's, coming from the back of the house. Maroc, stretching his ear fins, slowly made his way to a door that leads to the back. He reached the dark door way, and he then saw a small blood trail lead in there. He took a few tentative steps inside, widening his eyes to help them adjust, and breathing shallow to hear clearly. There was a faint sound to his left, a dry sob. Turning to it slowly, Maroc was able to barley make out the shape of a small boy, huddled in the corner.

Slowly, Maroc crept forward, not wanting to scare the frightened child. As he knelt beside the small raccoon, Maroc's hand fell into something wet. Looking down, his eyes now adjusted to the dark, he realized the poor kid was sitting in a pool of his own blood. Concerned, Maroc tried to reach out to the crying child, but on feeling his touch, he raccoon whimpered and shrank away.

"Please," the child begged. "Don't hurt me. Take what you want and leave." He started sobbing with renewed vigor, and buried his muzzle in his burnt and tattered tunic.

"No, I want to help," Maroc said soothingly. "I was one of the dragons here. I want to help you..." He held out his hand, hoping the child would see he's a friend.

The kid sniffed softly, and asked, "You're...you're really a dragon? I thought they were all killed by...."

Maroc's heart fell as he heard this, but he kept his voice calm and soothing. "Yes, I am a dragon. I just want to help you, I think you're hurt."

Reluctantly, after much cooing and convincing, the child crawled out of the corner a little and allowed the dragon to pick him up out of the pool of blood, and out of the house. The little raccoon kept his face buried in Maroc's armor, as the dragon looked for a suitable place to fix him up. He decided that the tavern would be well lit, and headed in that direction. When they entered, it was surprisingly clean on the inside. Maroc then took the child, and set him on one of the tables. The kid, though, didn't want to let go of Maroc's armor as he tried to set him down and look at him.

"It's okay...I need to look at you, make sure you're not hurt." Maroc told the young one softly, as he pried his tiny little claws off the scales of his armor. As he coaxed the child to let go, and was finally able to see him clearly, Maroc couldn't help but gasp a little when he beheld the raccoon. His clothes were dirty, torn, and burned in places. His pants were soaked with blood as it seeped onto the table the cub sat on, but all this was expected, except for his two injuries. One was from his left foot, which had sustained a nasty cut. This wasn't what had surprised him, though, as he suspected as much. What had surprised the blue dragon was that the little child had his face burned. This bad burn had covered his eyes, effectively blinding him, his flesh had blistered and swelled, becoming one big, solid scar. The boy's ears perked up at Maroc's small gasp.

"It's bad huh...?" he asked, lowering his head and letting out a small sob, though no tears feel from his now missing eyes. Maroc then took the tiny child's paws in his big claws, and squeezed gently.

"It's not the worst thing that could have happened. You're alive. You are going to be okay." Maroc cooed to him softly.

"But now," the little raccoon chocked out in between breaths. "Now both of my parents are dead, and he'll be back for me!"

"Who will come for you?" Maroc asked.

"The...the creature that did all of this..." the child managed, between shakes of quiet crying.

For some reason, Maroc was about as scared as he was that, whoever did all of this, would come back. But he held off these irrational fears and tried to comfort the child. "Look, he won't be back. If he planned on that, he would have been back already. And if he does come, I'll protect you."

The little raccoon sniffed. "Promise...?" he asked meekly.

"Promise," Maroc replied, smiling. And now that the child was comforted, he was able to tend to his wounds. Maroc was able to fix up the young ones paw, cleaning it and bandaging it tightly. Sadly though, there was nothing to be done with his eyes, it was beyond the knowledge of the dragon. He thought of cutting it open, but that might do more harm than good with his inexperience.

"Alright," Maroc told the kid. "I'm going to have to search the rest of the town. And I need you to stay here."

The little raccoon whimpered a little, and asked, "But what if he comes back and you're not around?" Maroc picked him up and carried the cub to the storage room of the tavern, which had miraculously survived unscathed.

"Then, if you hear or feel something that you don't like, or that scares you, call out to me, okay?" Maroc told the child as he put him in a corner.

The boy sniffed and tilted his head slightly. "What...what is your name?"

"Maroc, that is my name," the blue dragon told him, smiling. He then looked around the room and spotted some bread baskets on a high shelf. As Maroc got up and retrieved the food, he heard the little raccoon say something faint.

"What was that?" asked Maroc, returning to the boy and kneeling by him to hear him better. The cub licked his lips before answering softly.

"My...my name is Aaron..." Maroc smiled at this and gently placed a hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"That is a good name. Strong and well suited for you." The raccoon cub just nodded at this.

Maroc turned and finished collecting the bread baskets and placed them near Aaron. "Now," he told the boy. "I'm leaving these baskets here in case you get hungry." He took the cubs paw and shown him where they were. Maroc then got up and retrieved one of the few water jars intact from the counter in the tavern, and then placed it by Aaron.

"Here's some water," Maroc said, showing him with his paws. "I'll be back as soon as I can." Aaron nodded and smiled a little.

"Thank you Maroc, for saving me."

Maroc replied, "You're welcome," and left the tavern.

Upon returning outside, Maroc coughed and covered his maw as best he could. The sick smell of the burning bodies attacking his senses again, it had gotten even worse. Knowing that he should continue to look for survivors, he had to take care of the bodies before too much damage was made. So, one by one, Maroc went all over town. He smothered the bodies on fire by tossing dirt onto the flames till they were snuffed out. He looked in most building and homes, calling out as he did so, hoping someone would answer. After a couple of hours, and putting out countless fires, Maroc had failed to find to find anyone, though he had yet to search the dragon temple in the center of town.

Maroc had been holding off searching for the Elders. He had hoped they would reveal themselves soon, but it appeared not to be so. He had been worrying, that if they weren't dead, then where were they? Still in hiding? Or did they flee? Maroc had been thinking over these possibilities as he walked through town.

Finally, after a moments' walk, Maroc reached the dragon temple. It was called a temple, but it wasn't much different than the rest of the town. It was plainly built out of wood and mud brick, wide and long, though it did have a slightly higher roof to accommodate for the dragons height. On the crown, over the doorway, was a small stone dragon inlayed into the wood. Maroc turned his attention to the statue, and bowed his head as customary before entering. He made his way up to the doorway, the doors themselves missing, and laying destroyed just on the interior of the temple. As if they were blown off their frame.

As Maroc entered the building, he always kept his hand on his katana. Looking around, he noticed that the gods' statues were smashed into large bits of rubble. The statues, at least when they were whole, were carved in a similar fashion as to the small dragon statue. They were simply carved, and not too extravagant, but enough to honor the gods. These, though, used to only be five feet tall when on the pedestals. All were knocked off their mounts and were broken on the floor beyond recognition. While Maroc wasn't too serious about the gods, as they weren't studied much anymore, he did care about tradition. And this wasn't right.

Maroc sighed and picked his way through the wreckage and headed for the interior of the temple. Once he got past the wreckage of the statues, he walked through another doorway into a bigger room. This room had numerous screens, on the right and left walls. These led to small rooms for the trainee dragons and those who didn't have a home. Maroc remembered growing up here himself; remembered living here for years while being trained. That is, until he graduated, crafted his weapon and received the title Warrior. Afterwards, he built his home just outside of town as most do.

On the back wall stood a pair of doors still standing. These large wood doors led to the Elder Dragons personal chambers. One wasn't allowed to simply just walk without permission from an Elder to enter. But Maroc believed this was not normal circumstances. First though, he checked the numerous trainee rooms. As expected, most were empty, and only three shown recent use, but no one was there. Afterwards, Maroc then walked up to the Elder Dragons chamber doors. He stood there for a moment, contemplating what would be on the other side. Shortly, though, Maroc drew his katana and pushed open the doors. He gripped his weapon with both hands and slowly walked into the dim room.

The room it's self was about half as big as the training room. And on the back wall there were twelve screens each leading to one of the Elders personal quarters. These dragons lived simply, just as the ones they taught. The floor in between Maroc and the back wall had thirteen mats arranged. Twelve mats in a semi-circle and the thirteenth facing them. In the middle lay a simple metal disk, in which incense was burning. Hanging above this all, was a metal disk in which the edges held oil lamps and wicks, all burning low from being lit all night.

Maroc stood at the entrance taking all of this in. After a moment or two, he slowly made his way to the first of the Elders rooms. He approached cautiously and slowly pushed the screen aside. What he saw inside confused but enlightened him. One of the Elders was sitting there, meditating.

He wore his gray robe and sat on the floor of his room. He had long gray hair like all wryer dragons. His scales had lost some of their color and where a dull gold. In front of him was a low burning candle. Maroc knew that this was the dragon know as Elder Ferrion.

"Elder Ferrion," Maroc said to him respectfully, bowing to him as he sheathed his sword and knelt in front of him. "Elder, what has happened here? I have no memory of the night's events, and...everyone's dead."

He looked up at the Elder. "What could have done this? All of the Warriors here are dead or gone, and I haven't seen any of the younglings," Maroc said worriedly, talking about the trainees living here. Now, Maroc fell silent and respectfully waited for the Elder to respond as he quietly mulled it over.

The Elders, Ferrion, Deslier, Vulsian, Beccarda, Naiar, Carsio, Werlon, Darrak, Intian, Kerssa, and Father Dian and Mother Maian, were the ones that founded this town a century ago. These Elders, as well as all Elders, were mighty warriors once. They were a part of the original guard and knights that served and protected the first King of the Lands, the King that united all species and brought peace. After peace was obtained, the King ruled fairly.

After fifty years, the King suddenly fell ill. Before he died, he made his knights divide themselves and scatter, to pass on their teachings to young dragons. When the King did eventually die, so did the kingdom. With no heir left, every fur soon went back to their old ways, species against species, kill or be killed. The Elders, though, managed to survive and create small towns and train younglings. Naturally, furs started to gravitate to them, finding safety from the chaotic outside world. The Elders welcomed them, and soon communities developed. Sadly, other towns that did not form around the Elders are terrible places, ruled by carnivores and very discriminative to any who are not.

Many sought to restore the Kingdom, or to take the thrown. But not only would they rule an empty Kingdom, but one task defeats any who try. Before the Elders left the Royal City, they not only put a complete barrier over the City, but it is guarded by what is known only as Guardians. None have made it into the City, and very few escaped with their lives. It was then that Maroc started, realizing he had relaxed and let the soothing sent of incense put him in a meditative state. He looked up at Elder Ferrion and waited for him to speak.

"Elder?" Maroc asked him when he noticed his candle was wavering and was about to go out. Maroc got up and approached him slowly.

"Elder Ferrion, are you alright?" Maroc said, worried, as he touched his shoulder.

Just as Maroc touched Ferrion's shoulder, the candles flame died. Underneath Maroc's hand, he could feel something strange happening. It felt as beneath the Elders robe, he was turning to sand.

Before Maroc could understand what was happening, Elder Ferrion started to melt into dust. The blue dragon stumbled back as he watched Ferrion's hair, scales, and finally his bones become gray dust and fall to the floor under his robe. Maroc stood there, clutching his sword in his left claw, his right covering his maw almost like he wanted to scream, but not a sound came out. He didn't want to believe what he just saw. Slowly, Maroc opened the rest of the Elders screens, and witnessed the same horror over and over. All the Elders, all frozen, and all turn to dust at the slightest disturbance.

"No, no this can't be!" Maroc told himself, the empty eye sockets of the Elders skulls staring at him every time he closed his gray eyes. They haunted him.

He stumbled, and hit the dirt, realizing he had made his way outside. He collapsed in the middle of town, falling to his knees. How could something like this have happen? Who was powerful enough to kill all twelve of the Elders? They may have been old, but still were the fiercest fighters in all the Lands. Maroc let out a chocked sob, feeling he lose control and wanting to break down and cry; all of this senseless death around him, and he was out playing, fooling around with John.

The dragon gasped, as he remembered something. He, and John, went out in a mock dual! He remembered John now, he came onto the town looking for some shelter, and the Elders gladly housed him. And soon, they discovered he was adapting at sword craft. The other dragons found that amusing, but respected it. And then, John challenged him to a dual. They went out to the valley, and...

That was it, the memory faded again.

Maroc clawed at the ground, angry at whatever was keeping him from remembering the whole night. This flashback, though, brought him back to the here and now. Night had fallen, and there was Aaron to watch over. So, the blue dragon picked himself up and walked back to the tavern, wiping tears from his eyes.

Aaron's ears perked up when he heard Maroc enter. "Maroc!" he called out loudly, unsure who was entering the room.

"Aaron, it's me," he replied as he entered the storage room.

Aaron sighed and said, "Don't sneak up on me like that." But the raccoon did look happy now that he wasn't alone. Scattered around the young boy were crumbs, and Maroc noticed he ate about half the bread in one of the baskets. Maroc smiled, and bent down to Aaron.

"Would you like to go to sleep now?" the dragon asked softly. At this, Aaron let out a loud involuntary yawn, which caused the dragon to laugh.

"I would suppose that is a yes, no?" Maroc said, smiling down at the boy.

Aaron yawned again and gave a tired sigh. "Aye, I am pretty beat."

Maroc picked up the tiny raccoon and held the kid close. "Well I know just the place," he tells him as he leaves the tavern. He had contemplated taking him back to sleep in his own bed, but quickly dismissed the idea. Going back there wouldn't be good for the young one. Maroc had also thought of the temple, but that was before he saw what had happened there, it just seemed wrong. So, he had one last idea.

After a while, Aaron nuzzled Maroc to get his attention. "Where are we going? I don't remember the way you are going, and I think we left town."

Maroc smiled as he walked, them just passing the last house in town and headed for the tree line at the edge of the valley. "We had just left town, and we are heading to my home."

Aaron looked up at Maroc as best he could. "But I thought all dragons lived in the temple?"

"We start our life there, that is true," nods Maroc. "But when we receive the title Warrior, we are free to leave. Some do, set up in other towns as a sort of muscle for hire to sort out personal quarrels, but they mean well, and do well. Most of us stay here though." Aaron just nodded at this, seeming satisfied with the answer.

Soon they reached Maroc's home. It was a simple wood hut, one window, and one door. When the two entered, Maroc beheld his beloved house, one he built on his own, after many failures of course. There was a small fire place by a table. The table had only two chairs and only a dish of butter in the center. Farther from the fire place was the bed, covered with blankets. At the foot of the bed lay a chest in which Maroc placed his armor. Aside from another chair and table by the window, the only other noteworthy thing in the home, was all the books. Almost every wall was covered with book shelves, and all were stuffed with books.

Aaron, upon entering, merely sniffed the air; Maroc guided him and sat down in one the bed. Maroc then looked out his one window and into the night. It was considerably dark now, making it difficult to see out into the forest, even with his gray eyes Maroc had trouble making out more than dark shapes. At this, he sighed, worried at what he was going to have to do.

Aaron's little ears perked when he heard Maroc's drawn out breath. "What's wrong?" he asked

"Oh, nothing," Maroc replied, returning his attention back to the house. The dragon went over to the fire place; it had died down to nothing more than cold ashes. He tossed in a log, and, looking over his shoulder, moving his wing slightly to give Aaron a quick glance, tried to quietly use a flint to start a fire. Sadly, though, the little raccoon's ears easily picked up the scratching of metal. He got up and cautiously walked to the sound, unaware to Maroc who had turned his full attention to the uncooperative flint. When Aaron finally recognized the sound, he was standing right next to the dragon.

"What...what are you doing?" piped up Aaron, a little worry in his voice.

Maroc jumped a little, startled that he didn't notice the raccoon sneak up on him. He then sighed and looked over at Aaron.

"I'm making a fire...." The dragon said quietly, working on the flint again, hoping this answer would satisfy the raccoon.

"But," Aaron asked, confused. "I thought dragons could easily breathe fire?" Aaron scratched his furry head in confusion.

Maroc stopped working on the flint and sighed again. "I can't breathe fire. I should, even though I am young. All the other dragons of my age have been able to at least summon a little flame, but I have yet to be able to bring even a spark out."

The dragon then turned back to the fireplace, working the flint and trying his best to coax life back into the dead wood. After a short while, a spark finally caught on the kindling, and Maroc got down and gently breathed on it, and soon enough he had a decent flame going, bring warmth onto the two odd furs.

Aaron, still standing in the same spot, soon coughed and said, "Well...I can't see. So I think we are even."

This drew a smile from Maroc as he looked over at the cub, taking his paw gently. "That is true, my friend, that is true." He patted Aaron on the head, and guided him to the single bed. Soon he had tucked the little fur into the soft and warm blankets, and was lulling him to sleep with an old story the hatchlings were told as they slept. He sat on a chair from the table, turning the chair to rest his head on the back as he recited the tale to Aaron.

"There once was a land, beautiful and full of plenty. It was the most astonishing place, said to hold every single flower, fruit, and plant know to any fur over the lands, and even ones that were not known at all. The water was clear, cool, and the most fresh anywhere. The fruit was ripe, no matter what season appeared, and tasted like the Heavens. In fact, it is also told that this land was a gift from the Gods to us mortals."

Even though Aaron was tired, he did listen. "Where is this place?" he questioned.

"I am getting to that little one," Maroc told him fondly, and Aaron nodded and remained silent.

"This place," Maroc continued, "Is where the Sun and Moon Goddesses circle each other, in and eternal dance. It is neither day, nor night there, just harmony.

"Now and again, the Gods would choose who they believed were worthy to live there. Many furs that were chosen choose to stay. Though a few furs were missing their loved ones, they chose to leave. They were warned that once you leaved, you could tell others of your journey, but you could never return. These furs accepted these terms, and with the Gods permission, even took back some seeds from these fabulous plants. Eventually though when the seeds were planted, and eventually grew, they were nowhere near as beautiful as they were on the Goddesses Land.

"Eventually, though, the Goddesses grew bored, for while the furs lived on this Land, they never grew old. And after so many centuries, even if more furs were chosen, near nothing was similar to the Gods. It was here, that the Gods had an idea, for you see, not only was the outside world cold and barren in comparison to this Land, but the gods longed for companionship. The Gods did not resemble any fur alive. So they decided to brighten the lands with envoys of their own image."

Maroc stretched out his wings and let out a long breath before continuing. "The Gods convened, and created. The Earth God molded a body out of clay, made it as hard as his gems. He shaped the body as a panther, took the claws of a lion, the fangs of a wolf, and numerous other traits from his children, and sculpted them into the clay.

"He then handed this form to the Moon Goddess. She, in turn, polished its surface to a high shine, and imbued it with all her colors.

"The Sun Goddess then gave it the ability to soar on her winds. She then breathed fire into its heart, bringing it to life. Together, they had made the first dragon. This dragon, while almost resembling the Sun, Moon, and Earth Gods, didn't look as much as the Water Goddess. She felt sad and alone, and while the Sun and Moon Goddesses played with their new creation, the Earth God felt pity on her. Together, they worked and created.

"The Earth God took coral from her waters, and made a thin silky body. The Water Goddess then clothed them in her water, making them the fastest and most swift creature around."

Before Maroc could continue, he saw the tiny little boy snoring quietly. The dragon smiled as he imagined Aaron dreaming of the Goddesses Island, of all the plants and dragons roaming free. Maroc was content, sitting here, watching Aaron sleep, warm and cozy. Soon, though, Maroc sighed quietly and got up. He went to the door and quietly exited the house. Once he was outside, the dragon clutched his katana, pulled his wings in close and set off.

First he was headed back to town, since he needed to secure supplies. After a while, walking through the forest, his gray eyes caught sight of the town. In the cover of darkness, Maroc made his way through the houses collecting what food was there. Once he obtained a reasonable amount, he stored them in the tavern. Maroc placed everything in the storage room, putting it on the shelves. When he left, he barred the door in hopes of keeping out any vermin that might still be around, though he did leave some bread out for them.

Once this was done, the blue dragon sighed, and made his way to the Temple. When he once again beheld the demolished monuments, he weighed the idea again of repairing them. He soon, though, dismissed the idea, knowing that without magic it was impossible. So, he walked past the remains and entered the training room. He made his way over to one of the vacant rooms, and was able to locate pieces of armor. This armor was very similar to his own, so after an hour or so, he was able to scavenge it for enough parts to repair his armor. Though, with the entire left shoulder plate missing, he was lucky enough that this set matched in that account. Sadly, all these simple tasks, was the dragon pushing off the final task needing his attention, though Maroc was able to find one more thing to do before this. He went to the Elders chambers and, not wanting to see the dust that became them, felt he had too. He pushed open the doors and entered again. Each of the Elders screens were pushed open. In each room, the piles of dust were there, underneath their robes. With a heavy heart, his tail almost dragging, Maroc went and knelt at each of the remains and prayed. He prayed that they would rest in peace, even get to see the wonders of the Gods.

Maroc was not religious, and even though this was tradition, he felt he had too, to do something, anything at all, since he had failed to protect them. When he finally reached Father Dian, and finished praying to the Gods, Maroc saw something when he raised his head. In Father Dian's room, hanging from a peg above his bed, was a necklace, a crystal attached to a leather cord. The crystal's color seemed to change underneath itself, though it remained mostly clear. Not knowing what he was thinking, it was as if the idea came from someone else. He walked up to the gem, and soon realized it was true, it was some sort of vial. Maroc knew what he had to do, it was gruesome, but he had to do it, so, Maroc took the crystal. He then proceeded to take bits of the Elders dust, and place it in the vial. After this was done, he closed the screens, and blew out all the oil lamps. As the blue dragon left the Temple, he turned and bowed his head to the tiny stone dragon again. Thus began the long night of grave digging.

Maroc didn't know where to start, till he walked by the blacksmiths. Stopping, he decided to get what he needed and begin. He went inside the blacksmiths home and shop. Walking past the open front, Maroc soon found a shovel behind a table, and returned outside to start digging. The blacksmith was an old black stallion, by the name of James, the only stallion and blacksmith in town. He was good at the forge, and a good friend of the dragons. He always helped them with their armor or weapon repairs. After some time, Maroc had dug a decent grave, six feet down and wide enough for James' body would fit in comfortably. The blue dragon wept as he found the stallions body, and carried him to his grave, tears falling from the dragons eyes onto his cold and lifeless body. With the hole in his neck, it was easy for Maroc to take some of his blood, what was left of it, and add it to the vial. When, eventually, his body was buried under the dirt, Maroc went to the next house, tears welling up in his gray eyes anew.

It went on like this, collecting some blood from the body before burying them outside their home. One after another; and Maroc wept for every one of them. After burying the entire town, not only was the crystal vial full, but the sun was rising from the East, bathing everything in her gold sunlight. Maroc, of course, was extremely tired and exhausted from last night. His arms, shoulders, even his wings burned, his gray eyes were dry and tired, but the warmth of the sun brought a small smile to his face. It reminded him that not all would be lost, that something would be done. This gave him enough energy to just make it back to his house, stumbling all the way with sleep deprivation.

When he finally opened the singular door, he saw that Aaron was still dead to the world; his cute soft snores could be heard clearly. Maroc watched him, smiling, before he closed the door and made his way to the fire. He tossed a log into the dying embers and brought new life back to the flames. After he warmed his claws, Maroc stood and stretched. He quickly shed his armor, and, not even changing out of his tattered clothes, promptly fell asleep on the kitchen chair. Soon, though, Maroc awoke, still dazed and tired. Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he tried to discover what woke him, though he didn't have to wait long.

"Is that you, Maroc?" Aaron called, worry plain and evident in his voice, "Maroc! Where are you?!" At this, Maroc quickly removed his claws from his eyes, scanning the room for the little raccoon, the bed vacant of him.

"I'm here!" the dragon called, worried at were the little cub may have gone. As he looked around, Maroc was able to spot Aaron's little form underneath the bed.

"Where are you?" he called. Maroc quickly made his way to the small child.

"I'm right here, Aaron," the dragon said towards the boy, laying on the floor and placing his head under the bed. "I'm going to pick up your paw, okay?"

Aaron nodded, and Maroc gently took his small furry paw in his big clawed one. The boy was shaking badly, and it sounded as if he was about to cry, if he could.

"How about we got out from under this bed?" Maroc asked the startled cub soothingly. Aaron nodded gently, still shaking. Maroc carefully pulled him out from the tight space and held him close.

"I awoke, and called to you, but you didn't answer. I keep calling, but I got scared. So I went underneath the bed in case someone else came..." Maroc sat down on the bed as he held Aaron close to him.

"I am sorry, I was asleep right in front of you. I am really sorry that I scared you." Aaron sniffed quietly and nuzzled into Maroc's chest.

"I thought you had gone on without me..." Aaron said to him quietly. Maroc shook his head at this.

"I wouldn't do that to you. And from now on, I won't leave you when you are sleeping."

Aaron sniffed again. "Wait....you had left?"

Maroc nodded, forgetting the boy couldn't see. Quickly, he replied, "Yes, I repaid my respects to every fur last night."

"You mean you...?" Aaron's voice trailed off.

"Yes, I buried them." Maroc told the boy sadly, emotion heard in his voice.

"Can...can you take me...take me to my mother?" Aaron asked him with a shaky breath.

"Of course Aaron; I'll have to get a few things, so you will be alone. Whatever you want to say will be between you, her, and the Gods." Aaron nodded grateful at this.

"But first," Maroc said in a happier tone. "We have to get you some new clothes and a nice bath." Maroc got up and went to a chest he kept on a high shelf. The chest was only as wide as his shoulders, but quite heavy; and Maroc grunted as he set it down in front of the bed.

"What is that?" questioned Aaron, easily hearing the heavy thud of the chest.

"This," answered Maroc as he opened the chest. "Is some older clothes of mine." He proceeded to pull out numerous garments, all small and perfect for the little raccoon. They were mostly were mostly brown, black, and a few green. Knowing that the young one could not see, Maroc picked out some simple clothes for him.

"Come here, Aaron," Maroc told him. As he slowly came close, Maroc pressed the clothes into his tiny paws. Upon feeling the clothes, Aaron nodded in thanks.

"You can change after your bath, alright?" Maroc told the small raccoon, who only nodded again. The dragon then took a kettle and going outside, pulled out a tub from its hiding place. He then walked to a stream and filled up the kettle. When he came back to his home, he emptied half of it into the tub, and brought the rest to heat up on the fire.

"I have some salts you can use to clean yourself with, would you like that?" Maroc asked Aaron, who told him yes, he would. Once the water was hot, he added to the tub, and bought Aaron out. Handing him the salts, he then stayed out of sight for the cubs' privacy. After awhile, Aaron clean and freshly clothed, the two were headed out for the town again. Maroc clothed in his repaired armor and a new tan tunic and pants, Aaron in a dark green tunic and similar tan pants. Together, they walked through the forest till, eventually, they reached the village.

Maroc, with a guiding claw, lead the young raccoon to the grave of his mother. Before leaving the young one to grieve, the dragon reminded him that if he needed any help at all, to just shout out for him. Aaron didn't acknowledge the blue dragon, and Maroc took this as his signal to go. So, he set off for the tavern.

Upon entering the storage room, Maroc immediately set to work. He gathered three packs, and various other commodities. He filled up the packs with bread he wrapped up in cloth, dried meat and cheese, and empty wine skins he filled up with water. Finally, a couple of bed rolls rolled up and strapped to two packs. The third pack Maroc filled with more food and some of the money he had. Maroc paused here, placing a hand on his chest were, underneath the armor and shirt, lay the crystal pendent. For a moment he contemplated placing the vial in with the money and food, but soon concluded that it may break in the leather pack and left the pendent on his neck. A short while later, all three packs in hand, Maroc went to where he left Aaron. As the dragon approached, he saw Aaron was on his knees, shaking. Moving quickly, Maroc was soon by the boys side, kneeling.

"Are you alright? He asked, the boy still shaking as the dragon laid a gentle claw on the boys small back. At this Aaron let out a long shaky breath. After a short while, the only response that Maroc got was a small shake of his head.

"Do you need more time?" Maroc asked Aaron quietly. This time, Aaron let out a calmer breath before answering.

"No...I think I'm fine, hurt, but fine..." he replied.

"Alright," Maroc said, nodding. "You ready to go? Is there anything you want to do before we leave?"

Aaron tilted his head in Maroc's direction, his ears perking slightly. "I suppose we have to leave, don't we?" Maroc watched the raccoon as he said this, and merely nodded, even though the cub couldn't see it.

"There is, one, thing...I'd like to get, before we leave," Aaron told Maroc.

"What is it?" the dragon asked him, and Aaron turned his head to the house in which he and his mother lived. After a short pause, Aaron spoke.

"In the house, above the hearth is my fathers' sword." Maroc nodded and got up to retrieve the weapon. It was right where Aaron said it would be. It was a two foot sword, with a gray scabbard. The hilt was broad, black, and had a bronze disk. The disk had on it, inscribed with something illegible. As Maroc picked it up off the shelf on which it lay, he noticed that it was only big enough for one of his big paws to grab. Though, to a small raccoon, it could very well be two handed.

As Maroc returned to Aaron, he handed the blade to the cub, sheathed of course. "Here is your father's sword." he told him as he handed it over. Aaron turned it over in his small paws, inspecting it by touch. His small clawed fingers soon found the hilt, and they paused over the small disk. This, however, was failed to even be noticed by Maroc. Aaron soon handed the blade back to the dragon, who carefully stashed it in the same pack that contained the extra food. Though the hilt did stick out noticeably out from the top.

"Is there anything else Aaron?" Maroc asked again, knowing full well that once they leave they may never be able to come back. For a while, Aaron sat there thinking before he chose to respond.

"No, that is all I need," he replied sullenly.

"Very well, than we need to get moving." The dragon then stood and collected the packs.

"Where are we going?" asked Aaron, as he picked himself up out of the dirt, brushing himself off as best he could.

"We are going west, towards another dragon village." Maroc told him, shouldering two packs, sliding them down between his wings. He placed the third on the child's shoulders. Aaron, though, soon pointed out the obvious.

"Won't I slow you down? You know, with the....this?" he asked, gesturing to his scar. Maroc smiled and chuckled at this.

"You didn't really think I would have you hold my hand the whole way did you?" Maroc chuckled again and Aaron tilted his head in confusion. "No, I'm going to carry you."

And before Aaron could do anything, the big blue dragon scooped him up. Aaron let out a small squeak in surprise before he was placed on Maroc's shoulders. The packs were perfect for him to sit on, and allowed him to wrap his small furry arms around the big dragon's neck. His father's sword was also nicely placed, almost acting like the back of a chair for the blind fur.

"What's the weather like up there?" Maroc turned to the raccoon, smiling. Aaron laughed as he remembered the question cubs called up to the dragon warriors on cold days.

"Same it is down there, I suppose!" Aaron told Maroc. "It's almost as if I'm sitting on a soft chair!" This made Maroc smile.

"Well," the blue dragon said, "Before we go, there's a couple more things I need to collect." Aaron nodded at this, still smiling, as Maroc started to walk back to the dragon's temple. When they reached the Temple, Maroc picked up Aaron and set him down.

"I need to get something here, and I can't do it with you riding on my shoulders, but I will be right back, alright?"

"Alright, but don't take too long!" Aaron replied.

"I won't," Aaron heard Maroc say, followed quickly by the sound of, what Aaron guessed, was the leather packs being tossed on the ground. Aaron waited patiently as he heard the sound of claws scratching. Soon, the sound stopped, and Aaron heard a loud thump on the ground followed by Maroc grunting.

"Are you alright?" Aaron asked Maroc.

"I'm fine, just retrieving the small stone dragon for the Elders." The small stone statue was clutched in Maroc's claws. The dragon went over to the leather packs and, carefully, wrapped it up in his bed roll to make sure the small white dragon would not break easily. Replacing the backs on his shoulders, sliding them down, Maroc than quickly scooped up the furry raccoon, placing him on top of the packs, and of course, Aaron squeaked loudly again.

"You need to warn me before you do that!" laughed Aaron, pounding Maroc's shoulder with his tiny furry fist.

"I will, from now on!" Maroc said, smiling. "Just stop hitting me!" Aaron laughed again and playfully hit the dragon one more time for good measure. As Maroc, chuckling, started walking, Aaron soon piped up.

"What do we have to get?"

"Well, I need to use one of the warriors' weapons." Maroc told him, looking over his shoulder at him.

"What kind of weapon?" Aaron quizzed as Maroc climbed over a log and moved a branch out of their way, excitement clear in his voice.

"Just a bow, that's all I need." Maroc replied.

Aaron scrunched up his muzzle at this. "Is it just a bow? That's not very cool or scary looking."

"No, I suppose it isn't," observed the dragon, "But we'll need to hunt, and it's hard to hit a feral dear with a sword." Aaron hummed in amusement at this image. Soon, climbing a hill, Maroc and Aaron were by another hut. This one was wider and longer than Maroc's, but also shorter, being built into another hill. The color was the same, a mellow brown, though this hut had more windows than the dragon's singular one.

Together, the two were soon entering the threshold, placing their packs by the entrance. Maroc helped Aaron dismount and clasped his paw in his as they entered the hut. It was dark and a little chilly inside, but everything seemed in place. Looking around, Maroc noticed that for such a big place, not much was contained inside. Whereas Maroc's was filled with books, this one only contained the bare necessities. Though an iron stove was contained in the kitchen to cook food. In the main hall, there was a hearth, as accustomed, and a handmade chair by one of the round windows, leaving the rest of the room bare. Through a doorway, adjacent to the main door, was another room that contained the iron stove and a handmade table and a pair of chairs to match. In here, there was another round window that let light fall in the center of the dining table. In the back of the dining hall was another door. As the dragon and raccoon walked through the door, a horrible sight met them. Blood was splattered on all of the walls. With this, Maroc was extremely grateful that Aaron was blind at this moment. The blood was literally spattered on every wall, dripping down. It was also splattered on the ceiling and on the bed, the only piece of furniture in the room. How this happened, Maroc had no idea. It was then that Maroc saw the simple wooden bow and a quiver of arrows in the farthest corner of the room.

"Aaron," Maroc squeezed the cubs paw gently. "Stay here, okay? I don't want you to trip on anything." At this, Aaron nodded and gave the dragon a grateful smile. Maroc then let go of the fur's paw and walked through the bloody room. As he went, Maroc's big talon hind paws smeared the gory floor. It was then that the blue dragon noticed that some, thing, had already walked through the room. Now the blood on the floor had, of course, made the floor extremely slippery. So, as Maroc moved a crossed about half the length of the room, his hind paws finally lost grip and he fell. On instinct, Maroc snapped open his wings and raised his arms as he tried to stop himself. This did nothing but painfully pull at his wing membranes as the dragon slammed down onto the blood covered floor, effectively knocking the wind out of him. The shock had also caused his sharp teeth to stab into his tongue, filling up his maw with blood.

When Aaron heard the blue dragon crash to the floor, he let out a frightened cry, calling out, "Maroc?! Are you alright? What happened?"

"I...I'm fine," Maroc grunted back, struggling to get his breath back as he spat out some blood. "Stay there, little one. I'm alright, just tripped."

"O-Okay..." Aaron replied, though still unsure with worry creeping into his voice.

"It's okay!" Maroc chuckled, hiding his fear. "I just didn't look where I was going is all."

Aaron slowly relaxed, calming down. "Alright," he replied.

Now, Maroc is a Warrior after all. Battle hardened as much as a villager can be, and not scared too easily. Maroc fell, lost his breath, and got completely covered in blood. This would make anyone uneasy, maybe even sick, but not the dragon. Something had frightened Maroc so badly that he almost heaved onto himself; it was what he saw shoved under the dragons' bed carelessly.

It was the decapitated head of the dragon that lived there. The head was laying on the right side of what used to be its face, the maw agape and blood pooling around it. The worst part, and perhaps the most cruel, was that the entire left side of the dragon's face was burned off; the left eye missing. It was a gruesome sight, doubled on the fact that fire shouldn't be able to burn a dragon easily, at least without taking the house with it. Maroc, though, was able to hide what he saw well enough from Aaron.

Slowly, the blue dragon, now half red in blood, carefully picked himself up and retrieved the bow, returning to Aaron's side. On the return trip, Maroc was more careful at where he stepped. He then remembered the pendent, which had, upon examination, survived the fall and weight of the dragon without a scratch. Maroc wiped some of the blood from his armor into the pendent with a sigh. Maroc then took his one gore free paw and clasped Aarons, together leaving the dark home, packs in hand. Using his memory of when he was just a hatchling, Maroc and Aaron soon were on the banks of a shallow river, not too far from the house they left. Aaron, sniffing the air and hearing the flowing water, soon spoke up.

"Uh...are we going to cross this?" he asked, pulling on Maroc's big clawed paw with both of his.

"Don't worry," Maroc smiled as he directed the young boy to a large rock. Picking up the cub and placing him on it. "Wait here, I just need to clean off this bow before we continue."

"Oh, is it dusty or something?" Aaron asked, tilting his head.

Maroc pressed his lips together, the iron taste of the dragon's blood lingering in his maw, before he replied. "Aye, it is."

"Alright, I'll be right here when you're done," Aaron said innocently, his little legs swinging off the edge of the rock.

As Maroc walked to the stream, he couldn't help but feel bad. He used his clawed paws to scoop up water and do his best to wash off the blood. Maroc hated to lie to the young cub, but he couldn't let him know what really happened. The dragon continued to clean himself as best he could, and soon, mud clinging heavily to his talons; he made his way back to Aaron.

As Maroc shouldered his packs, he turned and asked the raccoon, "You ready for a new town?"

"Let's go!" Aaron replied with a smile.

When the duo was at the stream, it was nearing mid-day. Now, with the sun resting on the edge of the land to the west, they were preparing for a nights rest. As Maroc and Aaron were lying out the bed rolls on some soft grass, Maroc soon realized a big mistake he made when he went to collect the fire wood; he had forgot his flint. The dragon cursed under his breath, turned, and punched a nearby tree.

The sound made Aaron jump. "What's wrong, Maroc?" he asked

"I forgot to grab my flint," the dragon told him frustrated. "And that means we can't start a fire quickly, and that means no hunting."

"Well," Aaron replied, thinking. "We have enough food to make it to town, yes?"

Maroc let out a long breath and tried to calm down. "Yes, that is true, I believe." The dragon wasn't going to tell him that, being a hunter and an omnivore, he enjoyed fresh meat to the dried meat they had. He knew, though, that they couldn't waste a day just to ease his own appetite. So, with no easy means to start a fire in the growing dusk, they slept in the dark with only the moon to bring light to their night.

It was about midnight that the noises started. They were primal noises, but quiet, hiding at the edge of your hearing, a rustle there, a heavy breath here; the noises where you can never be sure if they are there, only when they stop. Needless to say, when Aaron awoke to such noises, he was severely scared. Before he could call out to Maroc though, he felt a gentle clawed paw on his shoulder. Squeaking quietly in surprise, he was soon comforted by a deep voice.

"Do not worry, young one," it said, "This is just the music of the nightly creatures, and they will not hurt you." The voice, it was rich, deep and soothing. It had calmed Aaron before he even realized it. The big paw gently squeezed his shoulder and Aaron soon felt at peace. It was then that it dawned on him, that this was obviously not Maroc, as his voice was nowhere near as rich or deep as this. Though still soothing and relaxed, the voice belonging to the comforting paw seemed to sense what Aaron just realized.

"No," it said, "I am not your companion; I am another dragon warrior from your town."

"Really? You are?" Aaron said sleepily, fighting to stay awake.

"Yes, I am," it replied, its head seeming to nod. "You do not need to fear the night, for it will protect you."

And just like that, sleep over came the young raccoon. The noises seemed less sinister, even caring, soothing. They helped the raccoon sleep, knowing he was safe now. In his last realm of consciousness, Aaron felt the clawed paw withdraw from his shoulder.

Maroc awoke, the dawn coming at the edge of the sky, slowly turning gray. The dragon pushed himself up off the bed roll and onto his knees, rubbing the sleep from his gray eyes. Having wings, the dragon had slept on his belly, as most dragons do.

He stood, the cool moist air feeling good on his bare chest. Maroc, then, letting out a big yawn, stretched his wings, tail, and the rest of his body to wake up. The dragon proceeded to do what used to be a morning ritual to welcome the Sun Goddesses' light. Taught by the Elders, it was adopted as a ritual to awaken the mind and body. As the dragon proceeded to do this, he soon felt his body come alive. Lost within the motions, Maroc didn't register the time going by. When he completed the last set, stretching his wings up and out, the dragon smiled as the rays of the sun broke up and over the eastern mountains; he stood there for a moment, then relaxed and folded his wings.

As Maroc made his way to his pack, he heard Aaron stir. This made the dragon smile as he pulled on his tunic, pulling in his wings close and slipping them through the giant openings in the back. When he reached for his armor and weapon, though, he frowned in confusion and looked back at the sleeping raccoon. Walking over quietly to the cub, he kneeled and looked over him. It seemed that some creature on two legs, heavy set, and with impressive claws, had walked through their camp. This creature had also spent considerable time around the cub.

"Aaron?" Maroc said softly, "Wake up, I'm going to go look at something, and I need you up." He proceeded with this till Aaron was sufficiently awake.

"What is it?" he asked sleepily.

"I saw something I need to check. I won't be long, but I didn't I didn't want to leave you while you were sleeping."

Aaron nodded and replied, "Alright, but don't take too long." Maroc nodded, grabbed his katana, and followed the tracks off into the woods.

At first, these big tracks were easy to follow. They headed in a generally strait line off to the north. With each step Maroc studied the tracks, trying to puzzle out what this creature was. Suddenly, Maroc stumbled onto a rocky clearing. No foliage grew in this small area except for the occasional moss and scrubby bush. Maroc looked down and saw no tracks. Looking back, the dragon was able to make out his and the creature's tracks, but both ended once in the clearing, the boulders and rocks effectively hiding any trace. The dragon sighed, shook his head, and searched the boarder of the clearing for any recurring tracks, but failed to find any.

By the time the sun had almost fully risen from the earth, bathing everything in light, Maroc returned to the camp. Aaron, in his absence, had done what he could. He had managed to roll up the bed roll nicely, put his tunic back on, and had gathered the packs. Aaron had just found some bread, and was helping himself to a bit when he heard Maroc break through the brush.

"Maroc?" he called out, his ears back and naturally wary.

"It's me," the dragon replied, brushing off bits of branches and foliage that had clung to his tunic. "Sorry I had taken so long, but what is this?" Maroc said, observing the camp. "It seems you have been busy while I was away! Good job!"

"Oh, thank you!" Aaron replied with a nervous smile. He then held out some of the bread. "Would you like some?"

"Why thank you, yes I would," Maroc sat down by the cub and took the offered bread. As they ate the bread, Maroc also dug out one of the water skins. Together they drained half of it.

When they finished the meager meal, Maroc finished cleaning up the camp. He rolled up his bed roll, and replaced it in the back, the dragon statue inside. Then Maroc put on the pieces of his armor, tied his katana to his belt, and scooped up Aaron. Together, they headed west.

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