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An egg has been laid. It is not a good egg. It is a bad egg. It is shameful; it will bring disaster and regret. So it was given to a mysterious man who said that he would break it, so that good people wouldn't have to get their hands dirty.
The mysterious man has not broken the egg. Instead, he has placed it gently under a bush in a public park. It is warm and safe.
It hatches, and bad and shameful things happen.
The inhabitant of the egg, a bad and shameful creature, gnaws on a stick, unaware of her nature or her crimes. Her wings, bright red and still damp from her hatching, drag behind her over the ground like a bloody flag.
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And time passes. Almost a month. This is a milestone, for hideously unpleasant reasons which are, as a sort of silver lining, no longer relevant.
The milestone, however, is still relevant. Dragonets are to be named; shrens may not be dragons in any way, shape, or form, but they still need at least that much.
The silver shren, with much meeping and parent-climbing, graciously accepts the name Marrainvaila.
And, a few weeks later, with less meeping and more people-biting, the garnet shren ungraciously accepts the name Saandenalthra.
Right on schedule, the little garnet shren learns her first words, and then all of the rest of her words. Some of them are confusing, though.
One day, she runs up to Marrain (she never moves much slower than that, really) and flaps one limp, tissue-paper wing. "What are these? You're older. Why this?"
Right on schedule, the little garnet shren learns her first words, and then all of the rest of her words. Some of them are confusing, though.
One day, she runs up to Marrain (she never moves much slower than that, really) and flaps one limp, tissue-paper wing. "What are these? You're older. Why this?"
"Wings," diagnoses Marrain. "I dunno."
She gives her foster sister a look as withering as a very small reptile can manage, which is fairly. "I know they're wings, I'm not a stupid. But- they're supposed to be able to fly, right? You got that bit too, right? They're supposed to fly and they don't. And when I try and think about that part all I get is something in my head yelling at me an' I start burning stuff 'cause I'm mad."
She appears to remember something. "Also I burned my sticks. We need more sticks."
She appears to remember something. "Also I burned my sticks. We need more sticks."
"...Wait, which sticks," says Marrain.
"My sticks! I had a bunch of cool sticks. But I burned them. I was mad."
"Okay. We can get you more sticks. Mom or Dad can. Mom and Dad know things like where to find cool sticks," says Marrain.
"You're tryin' to distract me," accuses Saanden.
"What?" blinks Marrain.
"Wings! What's with that! What the heck is a shren and why- is that word- ggRAH!" She shakes her head violently and gnaws on the end of her tail. "Fuck!" she mutters around a mouthful of scales.
She subsides after a moment. "Gleh. That's a fun word though. But what's up with wings, seriously."
She subsides after a moment. "Gleh. That's a fun word though. But what's up with wings, seriously."
"I don't know," says Marrain. "They're just like that." She shakes hers out and prods one with her nose. "I could climb way more things if I could use them properly."
"But- the shren thing! Why that! Why is that word awful! Shren shren shren shren shren shren shren!" She hisses at nothing in particular.
"I don't know that either." She considers. "Maybe Mom and Dad know."
"Good point!"
She speeds off to find Mom, whom she regards as the appropriate parent to harass with uncomfortable and inappropriate questions.
"Hey! Hey! Mom! Shiny hair lady! Mom!"
She speeds off to find Mom, whom she regards as the appropriate parent to harass with uncomfortable and inappropriate questions.
"Hey! Hey! Mom! Shiny hair lady! Mom!"
"What's a shren and why do I hate that word and why don't my wings- wings! "
While asking these questions, Saan neglects to control her velocity and smashes herself into a doorframe. She rears herself back in mild alarm, pokes the door reprovingly, and turns to regard her namesake expectantly.
While asking these questions, Saan neglects to control her velocity and smashes herself into a doorframe. She rears herself back in mild alarm, pokes the door reprovingly, and turns to regard her namesake expectantly.
power-in-motion
"A shren is... similar to a dragon," says Althra, "except that, as you've observed, your wings don't wings." She crouches down to scoop up Saanden for transport.
"I got that, thanks," Saan grumbles. "But it's- I can poke at all these words and learn about them and it's interesting, and then I poke at shren shren shren and it- just, it's garbage!" She squirms uncomfortably, stymied from her standard coping mechanisms of "burn things" and "start biting" by the fact she doesn't want to hurt Mom.
power-in-motion
"That part I'm afraid I can't explain."
She carries Saanden to Karindal's office.
She carries Saanden to Karindal's office.
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