M a r e k ' s . S t o r y

Somewhere on a planet far, far, far away a clutch lay nestled in the warm white sands of an alien beach. It was a strange clutch with no mother beast watching it closely and protectively. But it was not just that. Some eggs were the size of small boulders others no bigger than a human hand. Some where plain white with creamy swirls others a deep red. Obviously they were not of the same species. Right now they were not ready to hatch. Soon though, soon. But the clutch would have no observers, no one to bond. Its creatures would have to scatter far across the galaxy to find their chosens.

~ Kless' Mystery Sponsorship Clutch

~ ~ ~

The sands were emptying fast, but the hatchling flame drak did not vacate his place of birth at first. Shaking the littering of shell shards from his hide and fur (and showering several clutchmates with wet goo), he crawled on wobbly legs up a small incline and sat on a dune. A small breeze picked up, tousling the fuzz on his head and neck that might one day pass for a mane. He shivered, still wet from the shell.

As time passed, sibling after sibling took flight -- or slithered away. A plethora of creatures were hatched that day, from hippogryphs and gryphons, to basilisks, wyverns, and dragons of all sizes. For these, the young drak had no name come to mind. To him, they were all his siblings, though none really bothered to bond with him, or simply communicate, in any way.

What is a parent? This too he had no knowledge of. There had never been a sire or dam to care for these eggs. As far as anyone could tell, mothers had lain their eggs and promptly vacated the area, as if they had been shamed by the mere sight of them. Since no one was there to watch besides the hatchlings themselves, there was no one to wonder about it.

Finally, there were only a few of his clutchmates left in the area. Most were either tardy in hatching, or were simply in no hurry to leave. The flame drak was of this latter group: he knew of nowhere to go, why should he have any reason to leave? At least for now…

He had been napping, curled up in a ball with the tuft of his tail draped across his face, four wings -- two pairs -- folded rather awkwardly at his sides. Nearby sat another winged creature, strangely similar to himself, though profoundly different. Both creatures had wings and fur, beaks and claws, but where the drak had fur his sister had feathers.

"That was quite rrude, you know," she said to him while licking a paw.

The drak blinked his golden-yellow eyes in surprise. "I'm ssorry? Whatever do you mean?"

"Earrlierr, when you brroke shell. You shook yourrself all overr me." The creature, a black and frosty-blue gryphon, paused in her grooming to glare almost apathetically at him.

"Oh! Pleasse forgive me! I had no idea!"

"Of courrse not. Nobody had anyone on theirr minds but themselves when they hatched. Myself included. So, apology accepted." And with that, the gryphon returned to her grooming and in her own time, walked away.

And yet again, the young drak was alone, though he felt no loneliness and was contented to stay where he was. He shook his fuzz, now dry but distinctly stiff. He looked around, now keenly conscientious of others, before rolling over onto his back and kicking his legs into the air. He left no inch of hide or hair alone as he rolled around in the sand, taking a bath in his own dusty way.

~ ~ ~

There came a day when the drak felt a pulling at his chest. It was a miraculous and troubling feeling all at once. It was a feeling that encouraged him to practice flight, to learn to fend for himself, and to become exceptional at both. Ah, yes, instinct is the word. Not only that, but as his skills improved, he began to feel something more, that which really yanked and pulled.

A word came to mind: Wanderlust...

And so, while it may seem very delayed compared to his siblings, the young flame drake was really very accelerated for many of dragonkind. When he was what one might consider a pre-adolescent, he was hunting with stealth and wile, and he was flying somersaults and other aerial acrobatics.

By the time he was a teenager, he was itching to explore. It was not just the world he wished to explore, but everything. He wanted to experience every feeling, do everything, and to go everywhere.

~ ~ ~

In his travels, the young drak found himself drawn to two things: fire and humanity.

Once, in the wilderness he had seen lightning strike a tall fir tree. A strange odor filled the air, that of ozone. Soon followed another which tickled his nose. He sneezed, and suddenly the tree burst into flames. Did I do that? he thought in wonder. Not the lightning, that whitish snake of light, but the flame.

It was brilliant, like his own red-orange fur. He watched the fire consume the tree and the drak was not afraid. In fact, he came nearer to the sight without realizing it. He saw how the flames would spread out over a branch and light up whatever happened to touch it.

Picking up a dry stick with a taloned black forepaw, he held it out to the flames. It caught fire. The drak laughed with glee, feeling the heat blow across his face with it's own breath of wind. It ruffled his mane and his yellow eyes began to tear with the acid in the air.

That day was never far from his mind. In fact, he began to look for fire, which inevitably lead him to human civilization. The humans, scrawny pale little creatures though they were, were always putting its power to use. But the drak understood something about the flame by this time. He felt something akin to fire that he could not describe. All he knew was that fire needs to be free. Fire wanted to play, to roam free, consuming everything it touched, essentially sharing its glow and heat and passion.

The humans that fled in terror as a fire rampaged across a tinderbox village didn't understand their glowing prisoner at all. Why wouldn't they share its joy, its love of life, like he did? Did they not build small fires to warm their hands and reminisce? Why not now, when the flames reached longingly toward the sky?

The drak, in his travels, left a path of destruction in his wake. He did not seem to notice, for he was too wrapped up in the here-and-now. The mist-enshrouded future, and the consequence of past actions were alien concepts to him. One consequence he did understand however, what that of his very presence. He had, with a little time, developed a reputation. Whenever they saw the char-black dragon with the fiery mane, it was time to flee.

Humans feared the drak. They looked at him and screamed, so he roared back. It was a terrifying sound, grating on the ear like the screeching of metal-on-metal, and sending sharp convulsions down the spine. Then they ran away, and he danced where he stood, reveling in the smell of burning wood and intermingled with that sharp but comforting smell, a sharp sweetness: the odor of sweat and fear.

They cried things like, "monster," and "evil," and he wondered what they meant. Was he a monster, was he evil? What were those things? They yelled at him and he grinned. They pointed, he pointed, and they paled (if that was possible) and ran away. What a silly game. Sometimes he gave chase if he felt like it, waving his tail wildly like an overgrown cat. It was a wonderful game, filled with shouts, flailing limbs, and a glorious rush of adrenalin.

Today he was chasing a pair of humans, male and female. The female in particular had a pleasantly shrill voice that reminded him of snapping tree branches. But the male was particularly fun, because he knew how to weave and dodge, and had excellent stamina; the female was more inclined to run in straight lines unless her companion pulled on her arm.

But he didn't want that. The girl was slowing them down, so he decided to break the pair up. Houses, like heads with their heads aflame, whooshed past as they galloped down the street. The village-wide fire hummed and whistled with a whirling of firestorm. The drak reached forward with a lunge, and caught the pair where they held on, hand-in-hand. The woman shrieked and the man gasped as they stumbled apart. The young drak butted the man in the rump, propelling him forward. This continued for several feet before he finally lost his balance and fell forward on his face.

The man rolled over to see death coming. Terror filled his pale blue eyes as the montster loomed over him. Though naturally tanned, his skin was pale and flushed from the exertion. His light brown hair was streaked with sweat, dirt, and soot. He saw movement from the corner of his eye and saw his companion huddled nearby, watching. He tried to signal her to run without alerting the creature, but she could not move.