The Dragon of Charred Scales

Oita's Depths

Jheecu

Hatchlings barely a year old try to climb my legs, their tiny claws trying to find purchase on my scales. Their mother is currently out hunting and asked me to watch her nest.

Hernat told me a week ago that some dragons here went ahead without me and found one of my stolen hatchlings, and they would be bringing her here. By his reckoning then she would be here by tomorrow or the day after, but maybe earlier. A strength dragon he said, but with no knowledge at all of what she is until she was found. At least Novayar had some training. This will be a true test of how humanized they are.

These poor hatchlings are used to climbing their mother, a fortune dragon by the name of Zedara daughter of Weyur, and of course they are used to climbing onto their mother's back. They do not know that strength dragons carry their young, if they must, in their paws. Or they are picked up and placed on a strength dragon's back. They do not get there on their own.

They must see me standing and stretching. It must be a sign to them that there are places to go. I hum at them, a soothing tune that should hopefully make them drowsy. Sitting in one spot for long periods has made me oddly stiff lately and I must stretch more often to feel better. I must remember how this will make hatchlings react when I am asked to watch them.

Most of them settle down. One does not. The little hatchling, likely the runt of this nest, continues to try to climb one of my front legs. He managed to get higher than the rest ever did, now unhindered by competition, but even he takes a tumble to the ground.

With stretching out of the way, I lay back down and observe the runt closer. He moves normally after his fall, likely because hatchlings are tough. Their young bodies are built for trial and error. With a gentle tap from my snout, he almost joins his nest mates on the bed of straw, curling up and laying somewhat away from them. After I counted to make sure everyone was there, I sigh. Poor thing.

I understand how our nature, and the nature of all living things, makes us shun the weak ones, the small ones, the incapable ones. They take resources from the strong, the ones most likely to survive, from those who do the shunning. I am not immune to it. But I did my best to ignore that instinct with all my broods, making sure the runts got to eat as much as the others, got to play as much, and watched over any playful wrestling matches to make sure they were not bullied. These runts usually grew up to be just as capable as the others, and being so young, they had no idea why they were inferior or how to fix it.

If this were my nest, this little guy would have little to worry about. At least he has fire in his belly, resisting my melodies and climbing me after the others settled down.

A hazy memory surfaces from deep in my mind. When I was a youngling, the nest mate I played with the most was the runt of our nest. I was his only friend, especially after he morphed. Not being able to compete for food led to malnutrition and serious physical defects as he morphed. He never flew, but at least I was able, at least unknowingly, to help him improve his speed and strength on the ground. He cried when I left the clan, and I never found out how his life went.

I nuzzled the hatchling again, trying to convince him to join his nest mates. He refuses to budge, especially when one of the other hatchlings opens her eyes to stare. So, I just let them be. It is their nature, and it will hopefully fade as they grow older and more intelligent. It usually does to some degree.

They all descend into sleep by the time Zedara returns. I uncurl my tail and lift my wing to show her the nest and the little ones sound asleep.

"Thank you, Jheecu. You always do such a good job," she says.

"Hatchlings will always be a soft spot for me. Especially the smallest ones."