Creative Corner

[center][b]Chapter 2: Bad Luck Comes In Threes @LagMonster @Khoshekh @Twelvewishes[/b][/center] [i]“What’s a mirror that hunts alone?” “A dead mirror!”[/i] It was one of the first things hatchlings were taught, and yet here she was heading off to look for food by herself. It wasn’t really as if she had a choice – her insect stores were completely gone, and she was feeling faint from hunger. It had only been half a day since she’d last eaten, but clearly her new metabolism worked a little more quickly than she was used to. The hatchling was faring a little better; it had happily munched on the old grasses she’d found in the lair and gone straight to sleep, but it would grow and grow fast, and for that it would need plenty of food. Gods, what had she gotten herself into? It was evening on the ice-plains, and she skittered from shadow to shadow as she went, moving a good distance from the lair to some more promising hunting grounds. As hungry as she was, she was half-dreading running into any prey, since she was a little concerned about the predator/prey roles being unpleasantly reversed. She’d never hunted alone in her life, and certainly never looking the way that she did now. As ashamed as she was for running in panic when the egg hatched earlier today, she couldn’t shake the nasty seed of doubt: some part of her was still not sure if she’d made the right decision by going back. She was making little enough headway as it was by herself, and now she would be set back by who knew how many days until the hatchling was big enough to survive travel. The waiting was already killing her – she’d never liked staying more than a few days in one place, and the feeling was especially bad now that her family and friends were getting farther and farther ahead with each hour that passed. Lost in her own thoughts, Shrike nearly didn’t notice the flicker of movement from up ahead. She flattened herself against the ice, thankful all at once for her drab coloring. The creatures up ahead hadn’t noticed her yet; there were two of them, those odd-looking antelope moths, grazing on some enterprising algae they had discovered growing on the ice. Not very aggressive animals, and nothing she hadn’t handled before. No problem. She pounced out at them a few seconds before realizing she had absolutely no idea how to fight. [center][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah298/fr_cerastes/b2838794-3d79-4b91-aece-d9d3e6bc0706_zpsb60f2a8d.png[/img][/center] It was an awkward moment; the creatures stared at her, clearly not very intimidated by a butterfly dragon no larger than them. Shrike felt frozen. [i]Think. Think! How do fae fight? Something to do with magic, right?[/i] She’d always had next to zero magical talent, but she hummed in place for a minute, hoping that had changed along with her appearance. But nothing happened, even when she raised a hand quite commandingly and tried to conjure up some kind of violent energy. The creatures were still watching her almost mockingly, as if daring her to make a move. Shrike narrowed her eyes at them; no good mirror leaves a challenge unanswered. She ended up escaping with her life, fortunately, but it was a close thing. Breathing heavily and more weary now than she had been at the start, Shrike huddled in the hiding place she’d found and considered her options. Fae might have an affinity for magic, but she certainly didn’t. Her only choice was rely on tooth and claw, as she always had; given her size it was rather risky, but she thought – hoped, maybe – that it could still work. Rushing the enemy while relying on sheer brawn and force was clearly not going to cut it anymore, so she was just going to have to be faster and more agile. Difficult when she didn't really have use of her wings, but she badly needed food and this seemed her only option. [i]You have to go back out there and fight, Shrike. [/i] It was a terrifying night, and hard going – the creatures kept coming and she fought desperately, as much for her own survival as for gathering food. The world was very much larger than she was used to, and the prey animals were no exception; even the most trifling moths had turned into fearsome giants, and it was all she could do to keep her head above water. Morning found her bruised and scraped, utterly exhausted from fleeing impossible battles – but at least she had earned a paltry amount of food. Not much, but enough to get them through a day or two. [center][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah298/fr_cerastes/ee28914c-cd79-4db4-9398-ad0bd226f251_zpsc4cf9ad6.png[/img][/center] The walk back to the grisly lair where she’d left the tundra was a blur – it was amazing she found her way back at all, exhausted as she was, but she just let her feet carry her. Too tired to be bothered by the bloodstains, she trudged inside and made for the back room, where she curled herself around the sleeping hatchling for warmth. The tundra didn’t fully awaken, but it did make a happy sound and snuggle backwards against her, content. It was small for now, but soon the baby would be grown to adolescence. Maybe then it would be big enough to travel, and the two of them could follow the trail, catch up to Shrike’s family, and get this whole mess sorted out. In her sleepy state, the future seemed to be coming in a golden glow around her. Everything just might be all right. Shrike fell asleep with a smile on her lips. Many – it felt like [i]too[/i] many – hours later, she awoke groggy and disoriented. And even before she was fully conscious, she had the terrible, indeterminate sense that something was wrong. [i]Did I sleep for too long? Am I missing something? Maybe I can ask Splinter…she’ll know…[/i] The thought of her friend jolted her back into unpleasant wakefulness, and she blinked her eyes open to look around the small chamber. No immediately apparent enemies, that was good – but also not much else. There was no sign of the hatchling anywhere. “Hello?” she called out, the first chords of fear sounding in her heart. “Where are you?” She was on her feet at once, searching the room, and then the rest of the little lair, without much hope of finding the tiny tundra. With an increasing sense of dread, she emerged into the cold world outside, where she immediately noticed three things. One: the first big winter snow had come much too early this year. Two: the hatchling was nowhere to be seen. There were two little tracks at the cave entrance, and then nothing – all traces were buried under the snowfall. [i]Please, gods, don’t let that have happened to the one who left them.[/i] Three: all other tracks had disappeared along with the tundra’s. Shrike’s tracks from last night were lost under a foot of snow…and so were, farther out on the ice, the tracks of her pack. The trail was gone.

@LagMonster Hahaha, yes! A+ for effort there, Shrike.

@Stormsinger Added! :) Thank you so much for the interest!

[center][b]Chapter 3: Storm Seeking[/b] @LagMonster @Khoshekh @Twelvewishes @Stormsinger[/center] [i]No reason to panic yet,[/i] Shrike thought, panicking. Focus. She just had to focus on one problem at a time. [i]Ok. All right. Finding the baby. It couldn’t possibly have gone far. [/i] That was ignoring the very real possibility that it [i]could[/i] be quite far away by now, and worse, she had no idea which direction it had gone. There were so many reasons that hatchlings were never allowed to wander the ice unsupervised – even ignoring the many dangerous predators, the ice itself was a constant hazard. She’d known of strong adult dragons, veterans of this barren place, lost to a single misstep. Weak ice was everywhere, and it sent many to a watery grave at the bottom of the southern sea, or trapped inside labyrinthine fissures with no way out. But listing off bad scenarios in her head was helping nothing. If she could get enough altitude, the hatchling – with its bright golden fur – should be easy to spot. If only she could work these strange frilly wings, her chances would be better. Maybe a breed change was a gradual thing, and flight instincts would come more naturally to her now? [i]Only one way to find out,[/i] she thought grimly as she attempted a power takeoff, struggling madly to keep her wings beating fast enough to get her off the ground. And it worked – until she was about 15 feet up, when a sudden gust of wind sent her tumbling back to earth, where she landed with a [i]whump.[/i] Thankfully she landed in a snowdrift and nothing was broken, but it still took her a minute to regain her breath. She hadn’t gotten high up enough to see anything, but she wouldn’t be trying that again, not in these conditions. As if on cue, another cloud began to darken the horizon. It had a different hue and motion than the papery snow clouds, and Shrike watched it approach with curiosity. [i]What is that? Some kind of hailstorm blown in off the sea?[/i] All the more reason for trying to find and shelter the hatchling as soon as she could. If she could just find higher ground…scanning the horizon again, she noticed a peak of ice some distance ahead of her, nearly invisible against the howling white of the snow. That would let her gain some elevation and hopefully spot her small golden liability. She began her slog through the fresh powder, calling out for the young dragon with ears pricked in hopes of a response. All of her instincts were telling her to dash for the iceberg, but that would risk her plummeting through a snow-masked weak patch of ice, so she forced herself to go slowly. It was harder to control her thoughts in the same way, and they raced ahead of her. [i]What if I can’t spot it from there? What then? Do I go back and circle the lair, risking getting lost in this snowstorm…[/i] A glance upward informed her that the anomalous cloud had moved closer, and she paused for a moment to study it. It was much darker than the surrounding clouds, and moved with a strange rippling motion as if it had a mind of its own. As it advanced, Shrike could make out the individual flecks that made it up. It almost looked more like a flock of birds than a cloud… [i]Of course. Storm seekers.[/i] The predatory birds rarely ventured this far from the mainland, so she was surprised to see them. It didn’t bode well for the severity of the storm, as they typically flew alongside only the wildest of gales. The sound of their cawing carried over the howling wind – there were thousands, and the cacophony make her shudder and lower herself closer to the ground. She’d be told they didn’t attack when they were storm-flocking like this, but still. There had to be some reason that a group of them was called a murder. A sudden strangeness in their movement caught her attention. On the leading edge of the flock, a speck appeared to break away from the rest and fly closer to the ground, where it circled in ever-lower spirals. Just when it looked like it might touch down, it pulled up and started making a beeline towards something. Directly towards Shrike, actually. Wonderful. She considered flattening herself to the ground, but it could clearly already see her, so instead she spread her wings – all six or so feet of them – reared up on her hind legs, and hissed at the rapidly approaching creature. If it even noticed her display, it certainly didn’t feel very threatened, as it kept flying straight towards her without even a hitch in its flight. She braced herself and prepared for the worst, hands up in front of her face in the hopes that her claws might do some damage to the attacker as they collided. But at the last second the bird veered away – afraid? – and wheeled in the air around her, well out of reach. Shrike gave another hiss, and the thing landed neatly a little way in front of her, head cocked to one side. Not so afraid, then. She was still ready at any moment for the creature to lunge, but it just stared at her curiously, giving little flaps of its wings as if in agitation. [i]What are you doing?[/i] Unsure, she took a cautious step toward it; the bird only hopped back a bit and gave its feathers a quick preen. She took another step and the bird hopped a little more anxiously, a few hops away and a few back, turning its head in a rapid motion to look between her and something ahead of it. It was almost like… “You want me…to follow you?” Shrike said hesitantly. The bird’s hops became even more excited, and it leapt back into the air, where it turned in slow circles around her. She watched warily. Could this be a bad idea? She wasn’t sure birds that deliberately flew headlong into storms had enough reasoning power to lead her into a trap. And besides, in their numbers it wouldn’t be necessary: thousands of birds versus one bird-sized dragon would not be much of a contest. Impatient, the bird chirped at her and sped off a distance before circling back once more. “All right,” she buzzed at the odd creature before beginning to move in the direction it was herding her. It stayed close by for a short while, then went zipping off ahead. “Hey!” she yelled at it, totally ineffectually. “Wait up!” The storm seeker had disappeared over a small crest of ice, and she quickly spotted it again when she reached the top. It was perched in the snow, feathers puffed up and looking rather proud of itself. Next to it was something…gold? Hardly daring to believe it, Shrike bounded the rest of the way down the snowbank, almost tumbling over her own feet as she skidded to a stop beside the bird. The ball of golden fur was clearly rising and falling with breath, and she huffed out her own in relief. “Hey there, little one. You ok?” The tundra stirred and raised its head – [i]her head, I really should stop thinking of her as an “it”[/i] – and stared sleepily at Shrike for a moment before getting to her feet and squeaking happily at the sight of her. She was shivering a little but didn’t seem hurt or frostbitten. Thank the gods Shrike had found a tundra egg and not some less cold-tolerant breed. “Hey there,” she repeated more softly, unable to stop herself from shaking in relief as the hatchling nudged her with her big broad nose, nearly knocking her over. If anything, the tundra seemed to have grown during their separation. “I’m going to dig us out a den here,” she said mostly to herself, gesturing towards the embankment, and we’ll wait for the storm to pass, ok?” It wasn’t good for either of them to be without shelter for too long, and with the way the world had gone white around them Shrike didn’t trust herself to lead them back to the lair. It didn’t take too long to hollow out a little space for them; it would have taken forever with just Shrike’s little fae claws, but the hatchling seemed to catch on and helped dig beside her. Once they had cleared out a den big enough for the both of them, Shrike directed the tundra inside and moved to go in after her. There was a forlorn squawk from behind her – she’d almost forgotten about the bird, who was now looking at her rather petulantly. She made a shooing motion with her hand, but the creature made no move to go, hunched pitifully against the wind. “A storm seeker that doesn’t like storms?” she asked it, amused. It seemed keen on staying with them – Shrike wasn’t very enthused about letting it, knowing the damage the birds could do with beak and claws, but this one didn’t seem very dangerous. In the end, too tired to chase the bird away and not heartless enough to leave the hatchling’s savior out in the cold, she scrabbled out a bit of space for it. It gave a happy caw and hopped into the makeshift den, snuggling against the tundra in a way that was really rather cute. For a bird. [i]We’ll finally have something to do with the leftover meat scraps,[/i] she thought, relenting as she curled her body into the small space alongside them. [i]And it might be useful having a storm seeker that can seek out other things besides storms. [/i] [center][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah298/fr_cerastes/ScreenShot2015-01-16at94747AM_zps28730d3a.png[/img][/center] The three of them made an odd group – a bird, a day-old tundra, and the fae-formerly-known-as-a-mirror cuddled up in a hole in a snowbank – but it was cozy and warm, and for the first time in a long time Shrike felt herself truly relax. The little tundra was safe, and as Shrike’s eyelids began to droop, she realized that she didn’t have enough energy to worry about losing her pack’s trail. Later. Tomorrow, she’d make a plan, figure it all out. Right now…right now, she was going to go back to sleep.

@starslang Added! :) Glad you are enjoying it so far!

When she was very young, Shrike’s father had told her a fable about a hunting party that ventured very far away from their pack in search of prey. They hunted for a long time and were very successful, acquiring a huge mass of fresh meat for their family. In their very last fight, however, one of the dragons was injured trying to bring down a mauler. She would live, but she was limping badly and could not carry her share of the spoils. Not wanting to lose the results of their hard work, her two companions split the load and continued on walking home. They hadn’t gone far when one of them stepped in a hole and badly sprained his ankle, leaving him unable to carry any of the weight. The third dragon was a big, strong mirror who figured he could carry the food by himself, so he had his companions load it all onto his back. Again, they set off. The third dragon struggled on like this for a while, but he eventually collapsed under the immense weight. The party was forced to abandon their spoils and come home, injured and empty-handed. Moral being, of course, that they could have made it with fewer hardships and some of the food if they hadn’t refused to admit they were taking on too much.

Shrike was starting to feel a little like the third dragon, thought without the option of simply dumping her responsibilities in the snow. It had taken a day for the snowstorm to pass – a whole day cramped in a tiny space with a hungry tundra hatchling and aberrant storm seeker. In the days that followed, she had only slept in brief snatches, since she couldn’t bring herself to trust the creature very much. Of course she’d heard of tame familiars and pets that accompanied dragon clans before, but keeping familiars wasn’t a common practice in her old pack, simply because they travelled too far and too fast for most smaller animals to keep up.

Smaller animals like her, maybe. But she wasn’t going to think about that right now.

Despite her misgivings, the bird had given her no reason to distrust it. It had stayed calm and quiet the day they’d been snowbound, cuddling up with the hatchling and even gently preening the tundra’s downy fur. It hadn’t given her any reason to drive it away yet, and the younger dragon seemed already attached to it, so she’d just keep an eye on it for the time being.

Shrike could see it circling ahead of her now, a dark blotch against the blank white sky, presumably above the place she’d left the hatchling. She didn’t love the idea of leaving the young dragon alone with the animal, but her other option was bringing the two of them along on hunts, which was far too dangerous. Her close calls were frequent enough when she was alone; there was no way she could worry about guarding a defenseless hatching and a questionable bird at the same time.

As she approached, the bird spotted her and tipped its wings, angling toward her in a slow descent before lazily gliding alongside her. She might not be happy about the situation, but sometimes she couldn’t help but be grateful for the storm seeker’s presence – she always knew where the tundra was with the bird circling above like a beacon. At least there wouldn’t be another wandering-off incident.

Today, remarkably, the little tundra had stayed where Shrike had left her, in a shallow valley that protected her a bit from the wind. “Little” was definitely starting to be an overstatement – the natureborn was growing like a weed. Her wingspan didn’t quite match Shrike’s yet, but she had passed her in height and exceeded her in weight many times over. And for that much growing, she required a ton of food.

“Sike!” The tundra’s eyes lit up as Shrike wearily pulled herself over the crest of snow. “Hi, you!”

Her vocabulary had been growing by leaps and bounds as well (she’d said her first word about three days ago, when she tried to call Shrike “mama”. Shrike may have blanched a little in fear at the word, and had tried to teach the young dragon her name instead, with moderate success).

“Sike! Hi!” The tundra was pattering over to her with enthusiasm, but slowed down when she got closer, perhaps noticing the way Shrike was wincing as she braced for impact. Instead of bowling her over, the tundra nosed her hand in greeting. “Hi,” she repeated in a softer voice, smiling sweetly. Shrike couldn’t help but smile back. The young dragon was as lovely as she was problematic; her soft golden fur was growing into a thick winter coat, and her wings were lightening in green to nearly match her eyes. Shrike hadn’t known any mirror hatchlings to be so gentle and sweet and just…good, but maybe that was just the difference between predators and herbivores.

Speaking of.

“Got some food for you guys,” she said in greeting, reaching into the now-tattered satchel to pull out some plantfood for the tundra and meat scraps for the bird. She watched it eat with a little envy – even knowing from experience that meat made her violently ill now, it still looked much more appetizing than insect parts.

Her charge wolfed down the scant offering of clover and ivy, and turned to look at her hopefully. “More?”

Shrike could only shake her head, nearly swaying on her feet from exhaustion. The growing dragon always seemed hungry, and even though Shrike was out hunting as often as physically possible, she just couldn’t get as much food as she needed. Suddenly overwhelmed, Shrike found herself blinking away tears of frustration. She was just so tired. Lucky if she got a few hours of sleep a day, between the time she spent hunting and the uneasiness with which she slept. Sleeping on the ice was not safe; sleeping on the ice with a hatchling to defend while she could barely defend herself seemed akin to suicide. She needed…she needed an adult, more than anything. “I have no idea how to take care of you,” she told the hatchling wearily. The young dragon cocked her head to one side, not understanding the words. “I have no idea. I’m not cut out for this.”

She wasn’t even old enough to have her own kids. Hell, she’d never wanted kids.

But it wouldn’t be forever. She’d come up with the plan several days ago – since she had no idea of which direction her pack had taken, she would take a gamble and head further inland. There were great tundra clans there with which she could leave the young dragon – no, not like discarding a sack of meat, that was just a story. They might have knowledge of where her pack had gone, too.

In the meantime, once the tundra grew up a little more, it might be nice to have some temporary company. Maybe even a hunting partner, some day, so Shrike could stop her perilous solitary battles.

It would be ok. Maybe it would take a little longer than she had planned, but she would find her family. She had to.