Frail
An opossum snored loudly on the sill of a window, frost threatening to hop over from the glass to its fur. Snow fell outside the lodge upon the mountains, but the interior was warmed with the embers of a fireplace and the warmth of a dozen eggs. Cloth covered the walls to keep out the cold. The floor timbers creaked under its feet as a dragon shuffled over them. It was dragging a blanket many times its size over to a pile of eggs. They were placed delicately on top of pillows, each polished to perfection from all the attention the little one had given them. The dragon covered its nest and tucked in the blanket with its snout. It hopped on top, circled around to find a comfortable spot, and then nestled among them. It was barely bigger than the eggs themselves, and none of them were related, but that didn’t stop it from heating up its scales and brooding over all of them. Marshasp knew that Firefall would eventually be a parent, but what wasn’t apparent was which parent it would be. Apparently elemental dragons had a while to think about such things, so neither of them gave it much attention.
What did catch his attention was an egg at the center of Firefall’s nest. Despite the fervent attention it received from both dragon and Rider, something was odd with it. It started with a warmth in it that slowly siphoned away. It was barely warmer than the room at this point. Although he once heard the call of the egg strongly, it only offered a weak tug when he reached his mind out to it now. It was still there, but faint, as if it could flicker out at any moment.
He could only imagine two scenarios—one, the dragon was dying. These eggs were supposed to be invulnerable, completely immune from harm, so he couldn’t imagine a dragon wasting away. They could go for hundreds of years without hatching and still turn out healthy. He knew, to some extent, that dark dragons were creatures entwined with death; but he did not consider himself to be among their Riders, and the coldness of this egg didn’t sit well with him. When he approached Iapetus about it, the Tsotska had simply chuffed and told him off for worrying. She wasn’t much of a tutor in these matters, but it had been worth trying.
The other scenario gave him a chill of his own—perhaps the dragon had decided on a new Rider. There was no telling what kind of metamorphosis happened in there. When Marshasp looked for the flow of its blood using his sight, he was only met with the cold walls of the egg. If a dragon could wait a hundred years for the perfect conditions, then perhaps Marshasp had done something to dissuade it from hatching. It was entering a slumber again, waiting for something he couldn’t provide.
Having not just one but two dragons bonded to him would be troublesome—he had no idea what drew these things to him in the first place—but he also knew he had no choice in the matter. While it would be convenient for this egg to change its mind and choose someone else, something in his chest hurt when he thought about how long it would need to wait.
Firefall raised its head from the nest, sensing his tension. Once a dragon decides, it decides. It chose you, and I suppose I can share. You don’t get to run away from this.
Marshasp gave a low growl. “I told you not to look into my thoughts or talk like that.” The mental connection was still something he was uncomfortable with.
Firefall hissed back, “I only guessed.” It uncovered the eggs again and carefully rolled the worrisome egg towards Marshasp. The Quetzalcoatl kneeled closer so that the dragon wouldn’t bang it around too much. “It’s waiting for you.”
The egg was a glistening blue and black, with speckles of white scattered across. He felt the cold shell with his hands. The shell color wasn’t meant to indicate the inner workings of the egg, but nonetheless, he couldn’t help but imagine that the dragon inside was just as bruised as its egg appeared to be. As long as it went unhatched, there was nothing he could do to help it.
The dragon lazily scratched at its horns and then sent him a glare. It was difficult for the dragon to send anything other than glares with its eyes, but the emotion behind this particular stare down came creeping over their connection and made the intention clear. “It’s not hatching because you’re being selfish. You’re spending too much time thinking about what you want to do and not what it needs you to do.”
Marshasp picked up the egg and turned it over, looking for some sort of clue he had missed. Firefall groaned and fell dramatically into its nest again. From within the comfort of the sheets, he heard the dragon chastise him. “You’ll never get it on your own, so I’ll tell you. If you want to help it, ask it what it needs. There’s only one way to do that when a dragon has no voice. I don’t care if you hate talking to me, but that one needs you to talk to it.”
The quetzal wasn’t one to linger on these matters; He knew exactly what the dragon meant. Since it was a life at stake, Prospero would likely forgive him this once. He reluctantly allowed his mind to open, focusing only on the egg in front of him. He felt some of his old magic flowing through the room—the heat from the other eggs grew more apparent, and he could watch the flow of his own blood and the beat of Firefall’s heart. But also in the room was Firefall’s soul, staying quiet for now, but sending an unhindered impression of amusement towards him. Within the egg, there was something awake—something not present in the other eggs. Marshasp created a tentative line between them and sent an inquisitive prod towards whatever it was. He felt it shiver in the egg and send back an emotion—it wanted to move, to wiggle around, to leave the egg, but something was stopping it. Marshasp quickly closed the connection.
Firefall hopped off its nest and scrambled over to the egg. “It’s already alive? Can it breathe in there?” As Marshasp’s mind flashed through similar questions, the dragon prodded it with his nose and claws. “Marshasp, it’s soft.”
So it was. Marshasp felt the eggshell give where he pressed—though it did take effort—while any other egg would stay hard and secure. As he fussed with the outside of the egg, the dragon inside began to pip and scratch. For whatever reason, the dragon could not deal with the egg. Was it too weak to hatch like normal, or was the eggshell not soft enough upon hatching? In any case, it seemed the invulnerable egg was very much a malleable cradle—or a casket, if they waited any longer. “We need to break it open.”
Firefall nodded. This was his specialty. He sunk his teeth and claws into the egg and only succeeded in making scratches. Marshasp fetched a knife and carefully built upon the scratches. When the quetzal grew too nervous about cutting deeper, the dragon would take over again and try to rip open the egg. Eventually, a seam split down the side of the egg, and they both stopped in their tracks. A small scratching came from the inside, then a huff and silence. Marshasp dug his fingers into the seams and carefully pulled from each side.
The egg shell cracked cleanly in two, leaving behind a small dragon and a large mass that was decidedly not a dragon. The mass glowed with a pale light, and Firefall let out a gasp. “A Star Pearl! Just like Minnow has! But…” the dragon changed its gaze from the hatchling to the lantern and back, “Don’t you think you put a little too much energy into it?”
Wasn’t it better to ask? Firefall’s voice invaded his mind, but Marshasp didn’t retort this time. You don’t live with Quetzalcoatl anymore—you live with dragons like us. This is how we talk. This is how Prospero talked, a long time ago. Maybe he’ll talk like this again, with his dragons.
It was the first time Firefall had ever brought up Prospero by name. Marshasp thought the memories were closely guarded, but apparently there was no protecting against a determined dragon. He plucked up the new dragon from its star pearl and carefully cradled it. As he pulled it closer to his body to heat it up, he couldn’t tell if it was shivering or purring. Firefall hopped into his lap and offered a bit of his own heating magic. The hatchling sent a message of thanks towards him, then one of hunger. Its body was too frail to be earth, and too cold to be fire, but it was nonetheless a dragon of his own.