Book One: Onnu and Pannu

Learning Curve

She turned a deaf ear to its cries of distress. She had to kill it soon, or she'd lose the nerve.
   Maybe if I just... land on it? Crush it? No, that's not quick enough. Gotta be merciful. Do I break its neck? Yeah, that's what they say is the cleanest. That or a heart stab. Wait, I have to try not to get blood anywhere, right? 'Cause that attracts other predators? Can I just eat it in one bite, like I did the croc thing?
   She estimated that it would take three to four bites. Guess I'll have to bite the head clean off? She shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to taste its blood, or feel bones crunching between her teeth. What if I like it? Ugh, I don't want to enjoy eating animals raw!
   She landed outside one of the apparently empty dragonholds and bit the head off of the animal. The cries ceased, but then she had to deal with the fact that she didn't hate the taste. She downed the carcass as fast as she could, so she didn't have to think about it too much.
   There was a pond nearby where she was able to wash her face and paws. She didn't want to scare them, if at all possible.
   Still dripping, she turned toward home. The kin needed to know that she hadn't abandoned them, but they also needed to be as self-sufficient as possible. She didn't know if it was midday or not. None of them had gotten the rhythm of the days here yet, so she didn't think anyone would know if she was late. Even she didn't know if she was late.
   When she reached the end of a spire to drop down, she didn't see anyone. They'd listened to her, and fled to the shadows. She landed as gently as possible, and tried her best not to look aggressive.
   "I have returned. You may come out."
   In case they weren't sure it was really her, she lay down and nibbled on a blade of grass. She didn't know what other dragons looked like, and neither did they. She supposed it might be difficult to know one dragon from another, at least in these early days.
   Her friend was the first to appear. That didn't surprise her, since he'd be the most likely to recognize her voice.
   "Ho! Good hunting?" He whapped her neck soundly. She rumbled her appreciation.
   "Indeed. I learned some things, as well!" She wouldn't tell them about the manta ray creature just yet, though she might mention the stars. Actually, maybe not. Then they'd want to know how it ever gets dark, and how am I going to get around telling them that something the size of a continent blocks out that many stars?
   And so she relayed the tactics of the herd animals she'd hunted. The only animal they could think of that would do that was birds feigning broken wings.
   "But that's usually to lure predators away from their nests. This creature was protecting a wounded herdmate. I saw no... calves? fawns? I mean, some were smaller, but I'd guess they were well beyond the stumbling, bumbling baby phase. None that couldn't keep up with the herd except the one. Why pretend to be wounded, to save someone who's actually wounded? It just doesn't make sense!"
   The elf girlfriend of the human suggested something akin to elephant hierarchy. "Could be that was the only one who knew their migration routes? Some animals do value the elderly. I dunno, maybe they'd lost everyone else who knew things?"
   The dragon shrugged. "I cannot gauge relative ages yet. But it did seem a practiced maneuver. Something the creatures evolved to do? Maybe their strongest member pretends to be lame because it knows it can outrun a predator, wear us out before we can catch the herd at all? It seems a sound tactic to me. Could work with other, less intelligent predators."
   She made a face. "Mmf. 'Predator'... Not sure I like thinking of myself as a killing machine." Her scales ruffled in a partial body shudder. "Maybe I should try eating a tree tomorrow."
   Her friend thumped the cheek that plopped on the grass. "Aw c'mon, we know you're not just a killing machine. You gotta do what you gotta do, that's all."
   One of the catkin reminded her that something her size couldn't subsist on grass alone. He was very pragmatic about the whole thing.
   That wasn't the case with everyone, of course. Some were still wary of dragons, no matter how helpful theirs had been. Others were okay with her eating non-sentient creatures, but gave her a wide berth if she looked hungry. Then there were those like the catkin, who saw it as a part of life. You had to eat to live. As long as she didn't eat them--and she didn't seem keen to--they were fine with it. 
   In time, the smaller kin grew accustomed to her presence. They learned that she would announce her intent to rise, most of the time. If she was agitated, she didn't always remember, but an agitated dragon drew enough attention to notice, whether or not she was about to get up. Their species, varied though they all were, had all been hard-wired to be mindful of dragons. One didn't grow complacent, or they risked being accidentally stepped on.
   She always warned them before she leapt up to haul herself over the rim. No matter how riled she was, she hadn't forgotten that. Standing was one thing, leaping was another. It would be harder for them to avoid her tail as it whipped the ground. She didn't intentionally flick her tail, it was just part of the mechanics of jumping. That was why she was so careful when she left the Bowl.
   Until the day they spotted another shadow in the sky. One that did not herald nightfall.