Ryns.
The soldier caste of dragonlings, a particularly vicious species of shapeshifters.
Dragonlings are dangerous.
Ryns are deadly.
Born and raised to be a bloodthirsty soldier, Anita's life has never been her own. She always knew her fa...
We may see each other as different and varied, but in truth, we are one culture fighting for survival. Whether we be from different castes, different families, or different colonies, we must remember that we all share our ancestors. They watch over us with pride and we must never forget this.
This is Our Law.
~ From the Dragonling Grimoire
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"Albina, please bring me the weather report as soon as you get it," I called out as I helped Masya, an Umny, heft some newly-felled trees into a vaguely house-shaped pile. It was ugly, but it had only been a few days since we started and we didn't have enough resources to make it look professionally done.
"Yes ma'am," Albina replied, dipping her head. "Mako and Lukyan should return soon. Is this area for storage?" She approached, picking up some iron nails and beginning to pound them into place.
"Thank you," Masya said quietly, dipping her head to me and then to Albina.
"It's for shelter." I corrected Albina. "Masya says the summer storms are going to hit hard, and I don't want anyone getting sick or drowning."
I felt Albina stare at my back as I used my claws to rip the stray branches off the trunks. "... Masya is an Umny," she began quietly, "so-"
"So what?" I turned and gave Albina a sharp glare. "An Umni has just as good instincts as a Lira. Masya is older than both of us. I trust her judgment when it comes to predicting the weather."
Albina's pale blue eyes rested on me for a long moment, her scales shifting from color to color, before she bowed her head. "Of course. I'm sorry." Then she straightened and walked away. As she retreated, I felt my heart sink.
Ever since we'd settled down on the outskirts of Watercress territory, it felt like we were constantly going in circles. I hadn't realized just how bad Queen Dominika's conditioning was. If an Umny or Mora had a suggestion, there would always be a Lira or Ryn who would argue. In return, the Mora sequestered themselves away and the Umny simply refused to work.
"I'm sorry, Masya," I said, turning to the wyk. She was busy inspecting the rough patchwork of the house, but I could see the disappointment in the way her tail drooped.
"It's not your fault," Masya replied quietly. "They've always treated us like that." She pulled out a nail that wasn't placed to her liking. "Liras... always with their tail up their own asses."
I snorted and walked over to look over the house. "At least they're not complaining about working anymore."
"Aye," Masya nodded. She turned towards me, her eyes becoming more serious. "The house is fine for now, but it won't withstand a storm. We need access to a mine or at the very least trading route with plenty of metals."
