He's inherited few visible traits from his parents, but he is nonetheless their only child and the one for whom his mother rejoiced. He remembers this with the clarity that everything from his hatching is recalled - and he wonders if this undraconic memory is something else that was changed by the blast that switched wings for a long, lithe, sinuous body and a slim head crested in short, blunt spikes. This he didn't get from sire or dam, surely - not when his mother has the strong sure wings of the Kjanli'eyr-born, not even from his father who's suited better to swimming than flight but does at least glide on stormy wings.

He thinks about it often, consideringly rainbow-jeweled shimmery paws objectively. He hasn't, after all, much else to do.

They've told him that a dozen eggs were touched before their hatching by a magic-wild burst that left the shells cold and their occupants all bright slim creatures of long bodies and longer tails, and he takes this on belief - the time before his hatching is the one piece lost to him. Maybe that's to be mourned, maybe that's a good thing - he'd no desire at hatching for a human bond and has missed out on an outside perspective since.

Maybe he's been brooding too long, and that seems, upon consideration, far the most likely.

He seeks on the spur of the moment a change of scenery, and sticks to the choice later simply because of its spontaneity. Jeyann, when he asks her, agrees to let him go - he might do well to choose to go with one of the hatching visitors who still linger, she suggests. He didn't learn teleportation with his snowy clutchmates.

Naphredeari of Ryslen finds himself at Nidus Abri mere days later and is quietly pleased because he's not sure why he's here and hasn't thought about it.

But he's gotten somewhere.