The rain poured down in torrents, flooding the nearby river with an unbridled rage. Anything that dared to come into contact with the furious waters was carried away by the sheer force that the river now possessed. Lightning flashed across the sky, blinding any who were unfortunate enough to let their gaze linger upon the sky. The small scurrying creatures hid under stones upon high ground wherever they could, and even the great dragons had hidden themselves away from the disastrous weather.
The larger dragons hid themselves deep within their dens, long since carved into the stone of the mountainside. Those of lesser size hid far closer to the entrance to the dens, lacking the sense to stay away from where water may pour into the den. They would often spend the duration of the storm laughing amongst themselves, chuckling at the elders for their concern.
This stormy eve’ harbored an uncommon occurrence, as upon this moonless night a single egg quivered among the shards of the rest of the nest. The hulking drakelings loomed over the undersized egg, watching intently as it showed signs of life. Yet no smiling faces were present as the tiny shell cracked, they all knew that a late hatch was bound to be trouble.
“Why don’t we just throw the whelp into the storm?” An adolescent dragon of deep crimson groaned.
“Yeah,” another dragon echoed from within the dark. “Every late hatcher doesn’t last more than a few months, anyway.”
“It matters not,” a deep voice boomed from the shadows, seemingly rocking the cavern walls. “If the hatchling dies after it hatches, then so be it, but I will not condone the slaughter of an unhatched egg.”
“Yeah, yeah,” The first dragon groaned, too young to display proper respect. “We will see how long the whelp lasts.”!!CRACK!!
The sound of a vicious crack was followed by a light thud as a section of the egg fell upon the cave floor. Fragment after fragment began breaking away from the tiny dragon within. In mere moments, all that remained of the egg was a minuscule portion of the very bottom. A pair of deep blue eyes started looking about the cavern, darting from each of the dragons towering over him.
“The whelp is hardly the size of my hand!” The crimson juvenile barked.
All eyes in the cavern directed themselves towards the remark, even the resting Elders awoke to investigate the disruption. The cave began to echo with the laughter of juveniles as they stared upon a drake they already counted as dead. Some of those unable to contain their amusement fell to the floor and gasped for breath as they rolled on the cold stone. Several even began to spit out small jets of flame, marking the ground around the hatchling with charred circles.
As the Elders stared down at a creature that could hide in their nostrils, they couldn’t help but wonder how long the hatchling had to live. While they said nothing they hardly needed to in order to communicate with one another. The two had lived together for far too long for any to remember when they had first become mates, or how many years had passed since their hatching. They had practically created the cave system that the clan called home with their very claws and flames.
The larger of the Elders, a maroon male with enormous wings, lowered his head to the hatchling. He took care not to inhale the tiny creature as he moved his head around ensuring him a complete analysis of the hatchling.
The hatchling was indeed a male, his scales glimmering even in the dullest light of the cave. Between the flashes of the storm the Elder Male could make out the deep blue scales that shimmered like a starry night sky with any light. The deep blue eyes of the hatchling began to pale before the Elder, bewildering the massive reptile. His eyes continued to lose color becoming a glistening pale shade of silver as he continued to listen to the hushed jeering and scrutiny of the juveniles and endured the silent criticism of the Elder.
After several more moments of observation, the Elder backed away and his powerful voice echoed through the cave as he spoke, “This drake shall not survive, but none of you are to kill him.” He paused, allowing the more disrespectful drakes to boo at the notion. “We don’t kill our own clan, no matter how little time those less fortunate have.” And with his decree given, the Elder moved back with his mate into the bowels of the cavern, and the horde they had collected together.
A green dragon had her head lowered to the floor as her mate glared daggers at the hatchling. Her mate, a black dragon whose scales were decorated with marks from battle, hissed as he turned to his mate. “We won’t concern ourselves with this whelp,” as he spoke his mate’s head rose, hope shining in her eyes. “Our lives are of far greater value than. . .” He turned his head so that he was once more facing the hatchling, hissing as he continued to speak, “His.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” The dragoness spoke up, “Let us leave this disgrace behind us, Quake,” Quake turned and smiled walking away with his mate, not even turning back to look at the hatchling on the floor.
This left the hatchling surrounded by the juveniles, who were only now recovering from their roars of laughter. The hatchling began to shiver, unsure of what was happening. He had identified his parents by their scent before they had left, but now they had left him, unsure, and afraid. He began to do the only thing he could to cope with the mocking laughter and hating glances, he began to cry. He didn’t cry loudly, like most infants of other races would, he muffled his cries as to avoid conjuring forth more hatred from those that surrounded him.
Yet one noticed the tears, no matter how the hatchling tried to hide them. The crimson juvenile, known by the name of Crag, strutted over to the hatchling with murder dancing in his eyes. Crag was the claimed first born of Quake and his mate, Claw, making him the elder brother of the weeping hatchling.
Crag slowly lifted his younger brother off of the cave floor, his clawed hand easily going around the hatchlings waistline. His arm ceased its motions once it had reached the height of his shoulder. He rotated his head around, scanning the sea of faces that now stared at him. After several moments of dead silence Crag began to chuckle at what his plan. Within seconds, Crag moved his arm back, and with snapped it forward, releasing his grip at the peak of his arm’s arc. “Hey guys,” Crag shouted as his baby brother cartwheeled through the air. “let’s see if the whelp can use his wings!”
Dragons began surging away from the inevitable crash site of the hatchling, laughing hysterically as they fled. Some starting slapping their tails on the cave floor, and many began to chant, “Whelp! Whelp! Whelp!” Their roars growing louder as the hatchling began to plummet towards the unforgiving stone.
All the while, the hatchling continued to let his tears flow, and his sobs growl louder and louder. He hadn’t even spent an hour out of his egg, yet now he was going to die. Yet the worst part was that the hatchling had recognized the scent of the one who had thrown him; he had recognized the scent of his brother. He sobbed in realization of the facts now presented to him; his parents had left him, they didn’t care what happened to him, everyone in the cave wanted him dead and gone, and that his brother was the one that had brought about his death.
The hatchling stared at the cave floor, waiting for it to come, waiting for the pain, waiting for this nightmare to end. He couldn’t help but wonder what dying would actually feel like; he had guessed that it would hurt, but only for a second or two. The last thing he saw was a flash of bright red as something encased his small body. It wasn’t the pain that the hatchling had thought would come, instead it was something gentle. He didn’t care, he allowed his eyes to close, hoping to awake to a better life.