1 - Daughter Of The Storm

23 - Primal Foundations

36th day of the moon season 2448

That morning, a gust of wind slammed against the window. In the modest room, Azéna grumbled in her sleep. She wasn't sure what was going on anymore. A moment ago, she was at the White Horn and had finally gotten herself a pint of beer by manipulating a drunken fool. And now a high-pitched scratching sound was giving her a nasty headache.

"It's cold," she complained while yawning, her eyes watering.

She extended her arm towards the ground and felt around blindly. Finally, she found a blanket that had fallen down from her bed. She wrapped herself in it and returned to her dream.

A second gust of wind raged against the window. Something was clawing insistently at the window sill.

"Shut him up," lamented Fayne, who was also dozing.

"What are you talking about?" muttered her roommate, her words muffled by her face buried in her pillow. "For fuck's sake, I just want my beer."

Her friend didn't answer her; she had fallen back asleep.

An infernal din followed. Azéna ignored it, only wishing to sleep and return to her dreams to get drunk. She had not forgotten the words of the former bartender of the White Horn:

"Do you know why people drink so much? To forget, for some freakin' peace, including me. I'm so sick of this dirty hole..."

And she had wanted these things since the first memories she could remember.

"Nooo," she growled as something rough and wet licked the back of her head.

Her mane ruffled, she turned onto her back. In front of her were two huge violet eyes with dilated pupils. She recognized Tyrath who purred with amusement and licked her face.

"Good morning to you too."

She wiped her face to get rid of the slimy drool stuck to it and rose, annoyed that she couldn't finish her pint even though it wasn't real.

"Yuck. Damn, you act like a mix of a dog and a cat. It's really strange."

Tyrath cocked his head to the side as if unsure of what she was telling him.

"Don't worry about it," she continued, trying to improve her mood. "You're perfect! By the way, what are you doing in our room? How...? The window was closed..."

It was then that she noticed that the window in question had been forced open and damaged by claws, that the mirror on the dresser had been smashed, and that a dragon was in her tiny room barely able to accommodate him properly.

"Oh, by the White Woodruff! Fayne, don't look!"

It was too late. The brunette, arms crossed and nose scrunched up, stared angrily at Tyrath. The drake lowered his head, his gaze begging Azéna for support.

"Stay calm," said the archer, forcing a smile. "He doesn't understand property values and besides, he's too cute. You can't scold him."

Tyrath put his big front paws on her bed, which creaked under the excessive weight, and brushed his muzzle with love and energy on her face. He wagged his tail and it hit Fayne in the stomach. The herbalist momentarily lost her breath and coughed several times.

Azéna and Tyrath turned their attention to her and winced. The young dragon cowered in shame.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, speaking his words slowly.

He still wasn't comfortable speaking Aerindian, but he was slowly improving. He sat down by the window and waited silently for Azéna to get ready for her lessons.