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Mirabet, Sylabeth and the Gold

By Strega

Mirabet was a hundred years older than he was, and larger, and a different color, but the Gold did not care. He had first met her five years before, scenting the unmistakable trace of a dragoness when flying by her mountain aerie. Upon discovering a Silver dragoness much his superior in age, size and power he greeted her very respectfully and went on his way.

Dragons are not plentiful beasts, particularly the greater metallics like the Silver and Gold, and he found his thoughts consumed by her. Eventually the need to see her again, even if only to once more say hello, was overpowering, and he stopped by her mountaintop with a gift of a freshly killed griffon and a few choice gems from his hoard.

So it went with dragons. If it was not a sudden, impulsive mating, often within minutes of meeting, courtship could take years and dozens of meetings to consummate. He did not press the issue. She knew from his scent that he was interested but she was forty feet longer nose to tail and could overpower him with ease. There would come a time when he was larger, Golds being the largest breed of Oerth dragons, but as he was now, and especially in her own den, she was firmly in charge. He could try the aggressive approach and simply mount her, but if he misjudged her mood it might forever spoil their relationship.

Among the evil flavors of dragons it was not unheard of for a larger female to simply devour a suitor she found displeasing, but there was no risk of that here. He could still get mauled and dragons can wait a long time if they must. So each time he flew by her mountain he brought her another gift or two and perhaps nibbled affectionately at the tough scales of her nape. He'd step a foreleg over her and she would coyly move away, letting him know without words that today would not be the day.

Maybe she didn't like the idea of mating with something other than another Silver. Or maybe she disproved of his habits. Though they rarely spoke and he never visited her when gorged, she must have heard that he had eaten close to a dozen other dragons. His mother had taught him that it was the duty of the great dragons to trim the numbers of the smaller, evil-natured ones. When he found a Green, or a blue or white or red or black, he would study them briefly to make sure they were as ill-natured as the others of their kind he had met.

Then by strategem or subterfuge he would get close enough to pounce. He'd cast half a dozen protective spells to shield himself from claw and fang and especially the other dragon's breath, if it wasn't something he was naturally immune to. If all went well he'd get his snakey jaws around the other dragon's head and when the long gulp was done there would be nothing left of them but a ponderous bulge in his gold-scaled body and a new collection of treasures from their hoard to add to his own.

Some would say it was wrong to eat one's own cousins, much less to swallow them whole and alive, but that had been his mother's habit and it was his as well. Removing the other dragon entirely prevented opportunistic lesser creatures from picking over the body and not incidentally provided him with a very good meal.

Maybe Mirabet didn't approve. He didn't know and he'd learned not to raise delicate issues with females.

In the meantime, like most young dragons, he relieved his urges with the help of lesser creatures. The Khardaki lion-people in the region saw him as a larger, gold-scaled equivalent of their own feline forms and their females thought him very handsome indeed. Even when he was younger there was no question of actual intercourse and these days his penis was roughly the shape and size of an adult khardaki standing on its head, but he had still fathered at least two half-dragons on sleek lioness ladies. One might not fit inside the other, but having his shaft pinned between two enthusiastic lionesses eventually did the trick and dragon semen got into everything. Other times the lionesses asked he assume another form, for Golds are natural shape changes, and variety is good, too.

He knew a female brass dragon in the desert to the south who had borne several dragonnes - feral dragon/lion hybrids - due to her liking for the enormous dire lions who inhabited the area. He prefered lovers who could at least speak, himself. He had inopportunely said exactly that during their one meeting and she had never forgiven him, so she kept to her feral lions and he carried on visiting his lion-folk ladies.

Relaxed as his meetings with playful lionfolk left him his thoughts would inevitably return to Mirabet. Five years after he first met her she broached the subject of her daughter.

"Her name is Sylabeth," she hissed. "So I named her, and she was sharp-tempered and cruel right out of the egg. She felt, and feels, that we should be rulers of this world. Few as we are in number it would never work and I was sure she would grow out of it. I learned she eventually went to the temple of Tiamat and conferred with the wyrms there. Now we do not speak."

"Are you saying she has turned," he replied, inwardly happy to get more than a dozen words out of her even as he was saddened to hear of her daughter. It was rare, but not unheard-of, for a metallic dragon to turn to the ways of their evil kin. Occasionally the opposite happened, which was why he always studied his prey lest he learn too late that the dragon tail hanging from his muzzle belonged to a good person.

"Fully," she hissed, and looked into the distance. "She has taken to luring in bands of heroes by claiming an evil dragon needs to be dealt with. They prepare for entirely the wrong sort of dragon and she has a meal of them, gathering their trinkets to add to her hoard. She has attacked at least one village that provisioned the adventurers, too. To her, all heroes are potential dragon hunters, and if you supply those heroes even with food...."

"Not good for our reputation if people realize what is going on," he rumbled. "Tiamat must be pleased, down in her hell."

"And Bahamut displeased, in his heaven," she hissed. "But the great powers will not intervene. It falls to us, or other mortal agencies, to do what must be done."

Though she turned half away as she muttered that last her nearer eye fixed on him. There was something about her posture, a reluctance not at all like her usual playful coyness. There was something she wanted, but she did not want to say the words, and the Gold had an idea what it might be.

"There are no laws that govern dragons," he rumbled, "Save for the ones we impose on ourselves. We must take care of our own problems." He lifted his head, knowning what was being asked of him might forever spoil the friendship they had.

"Sylabeth is powerful, and strong," she hissed, not meeting his gaze. "Perhaps stronger than you are. You will need to know certain things...."

*****

It was the second band of heroes she had tricked this year. Living amongst the villagers in human form had real advantages, chief among them learning the ways and plans of the enemy. No one cast a second glance at the old woman sweeping the floor at the alchemist's, and mages poking through the jars of components or burly warriors buying healing potions might let slip something interesting. In this case, the mere existence of a wandering band of adventurers interested her greatly. Adventurers all too readily became dragon hunters, and those were first on her list. If she could not crush the lesser races wholesale, she could start with the more dangerous ones.

After hours she drank watered wine in a corner table, not too close to the heroes. Even in this weak form her hearing was keener than an elf's or hestan's, and she listened as they talked of the red dragon sighted landing on a nearby mountain. It was not the first time it'd been seen and the villagers were sure it was setting up a den there, no doubt making a place to consume the cattle and travelers it had carried off.

It was necessary to set the proper bait, after all, and she did need to eat. She'd spent months crafting the lure that would draw these heroes in and the humans, livestock and horses who had made their way through her true form's digestive system had served a double purpose. The village knew that a dangerous dragon was there, and sure enough the major of the little town approached the heroes at their table.

Sylabeth hid her smile in her cup. When it was over and the adventurers had found a new home in her stomach she would stoop down on the village, to every eye a fiery Red, and add the villagers to her meal. It'd been a long while since she gorged.

It would take the heroes a day to prepare and another to scale the mountain. Plenty of time to beg time off from her human job and fly home to meet them.

*****

Five of them made their way into the mountain, picking their way past slick ice and lethal drops. Despite the chill the very stones were scorched in places, some even half-melted and reformed.

The mage nodded sagely and the ranger ran a hand wonderingly down a claw-cut that had scraped through solid rock. The sheer might of dragons was always terrifying and the little band paused as the priest expended almost his entire reservoir of spells to prepare them for the coming fight. One of the two warriors drank a ruby-red potion to seal the last chink in his defenses. The priest had not quite enough spells to double-layer fire protection spells over everyone even though their new rogue, who they of course didn't trust as far as they could throw him, said he didn't plan to be standing where that fire would land.

Their leader hefted his greatsword. He had found it in the hoard of the other Red dragon they'd slain and it was specially enchanted to kill that very beast. No doubt the Red had hidden it away to keep it out of lesser hands but now it was his, and he expected it would be a very nasty surprise to this new Red.

The ranger checked the string on his bow, which even now was coated in frost. It was another weapon they expected to be of great use shortly. His two shortswords as well, though he'd rather not get that close, and the priest had gotten out a mace whose head was a lump of magically hardened ice. Though they had fought only a few dragons they were a very experienced band and knew how to prepare for such an enemy.

The rogue just frowned and tested the edge on his dagger. The newest member of the group, and one they expected wouldn't be of much use tonight. They had to test his skills sometime, though.

The mage finished his last incantation, stacking yet another layer of magical defense atop what the priest, potions and the inbuilt enchantments of their equipment provided, and with a nod from the rogue, who'd scouted ahead, they filed down the crevice and beheld the dragon.

They'd not had much hope of catching it asleep and sure enough it reared up with a fearsome roar the instant the greatswordsman ran out into the cavern. The two spellcasters were halfway into their casts when it breathed.

But not fire. Oh, they were prepared for fire, even dragonfire. What they were not prepared for was the cone of sparkling frost that sprang from the jaws of the dragon. The mage was completely unready for that and froze into an icy corpse in mid-gesture. The others weathered it as best they could as they slid on suddenly glass-slick icy rock and wondered what they had walked into. It was a Red dragon, sure as hell, and no bigger than the other they had fought. Might it be some sort of dragon hybrid?

It was not entirely a surprise, but nevertheless fatally disappointing when the Red-dragon-slaying greatsword barely drew blood upon the first slash. It was a powerful and very specifically enchanted weapon and obviously this dragon wasn't as red as it looked. Still, they were seasoned heroes and the ranger and warrior hacked away, dodging the clawed swipes as the priest pounded on the thing's tail with his mace.

It had started very badly and it got worse. They weren't the only ones with protective spells and theirs were largely of the wrong sort. A fair fight with a dragon is anything but and their efforts to unbalance the combat in their favor had entirely failed. When it breathed a second time only the tall warrior was left and soon even he fell, pinned beneath a mighty claw he had merely scratched with the Red Dragonslayer sword.

"Dragon hunters," the wyrm hissed at the man beneath her claw, "Are one of my favorite meals, you know. I only regret that I must kill you first. That magical armor of yours won't be of much use to my hoard if I digest it." Over the course of seconds the illusion faded, and the silver scales beneath the red appeared.

The warrior's eyes went wide. "A Silver! But why -" and his words were cut short by a claw.

"And don't think I have forgotten you, thief," hissed the Silver, who lifted her head and surveyed his lair. Carefully she looked over the four dead adventurers, making sure none were merely hurt. The mage and priest were icy statues now, which she would have to let thaw before she stripped and ate them. The ranger was flat as a haddock from a well-placed stomp and the greatswordman was now extremely dead, but that left the weaselly snatch-purse.

"If you come out I will kill you mercifully," the wyrm hissed. "If you make me hunt, it will go much worse."

"No reply?", she said a moment later, and turned where she stood. Her keen senses would pick out even a camouflaged or invisible foe, and she was sure he hadn't fled back out the crevice. Maybe he had magically Flown out of the cavern while she was distracted, but the smell of him was still fresh. He was here somewhere.

There was only one likely hiding place and with an arrogant toss of her head she simply stepped over the pile of barrels and crates from the caravan she'd looted. Let him get in what strikes he could by surprise, this was only going to end one way.

She was astonished when her claw came down behind the crates and triggered some sort of magical rune scribed on the floor. Her muscles locked up as an amazingly powerful binding-spell took ahold of her. Only a very experienced wizard could lay such a rune, and that meant the 'thief' was really -

But it was even worse than that. As she struggled to throw off the spell, which could hold her only for moments, a mighty voice intoned an even more powerful spell.

"Sylabeth Silverscale," thundered the voice, which could come from no mere human, "Daughter of Mirabet, daughter of Aanateth, of the lineage of Silkenhorn the Great, I do bind and constrain you. By the King Platinum and by the Queen Chromatic, by the lords of the dragons material and ethereal I do bind you."

It was a demon-trapping spell adapted by dragons to work on dragons, enormously powerful when properly employed. Only by knowing her full name and lineage could it be made to work on her at all and it went through her innate resistance to magic as though it were not there at all. It locked her muscles like the rigor that follows death and even so it might have been even worse. She could feel the least twitch in her limbs still, which meant the wizard who had cast it was not of the most powerful. It would hold her, but not for very long.

"Your mother is disappointed in you," whispered a voice in her ear, and a sharp claw caressed her shoulder. She could move only her eyes but out of the corner of the left one she saw the thief transform. He had used dragon magic to bind her so it was no surprise when frail human flesh gave way to golden scales and a much, much larger form as the Gold dragon revealed himself. Not much, if any, bigger than herself, but he had known exactly how to get to her. Her plan to trick and defeat the heroes had rebounded on her since one of them had played her as cleverly as she played them.

"You used them as bait," Sylabeth hissed wonderingly. "You used them to get to me."

"I will bring them back to town in time," the Gold rumbled. "And have them restored to life. A necessary strategem, to avoid a fight I might not win."

"How beautifully devious," Sylabeth hissed, and tested her muscles. She could still move only her eyes and tongue. "My mother sent you, didn't she?"

"Your mother is wise, and very beautiful," the Gold rumbled. "I have courted her for years now, and I fear that what I must now do will spoil that for all time."

He stepped around in front of her, studying her carefully to make sure she was not merely feigning helplessness. He was going to kill her, she knew.

"You serve the lesser races when you do this, O Gold," Sylabeth hissed. "We by rights should be their masters."

"To be great does not mean we must rule," the Gold rumbled as he stepped forward. "If you had learned that, we might have been friends." And with that he fitted his jaws around her head.

She had heard that Golds, long and snakey, were more able to swallow prey whole than most dragons. She had even heard that they sometimes swallowed other dragons alive. What she had never expected was that a Gold, the noblest of dragons, would ever try to eat her, a Silver.

But that was what he was doing. Slick gullet expanded over her snout as he pushed forward, his jaws disjointing to widen his gape and inward-hooking teeth gliding over her scales. They would make it much, much harder to get back out of his throat than it was to get in, if she ever managed to resist at all. When the wet heat of his throat encompassed her entire head he swallowed for the first time.

A great rolling contraction of his throat muscles gripped her long skull, carrying her down his throat as the Gold eased himself forward. He was long and slender as a snake and she could feel the great bulge she made moving down his body. In just a few gulps he took her in to the shoulders and with her long neck and muzzle down his throat it was not long before wet flesh opened up over her nostrils and her snout emerged into the Gold's stomach.

A Gold is a fire dragon and it innards are a literal furnace that consumes its prey. The same is true of any dragon's stomach to some extent but a Gold's or a Red's is the hottest of all and a Silver in turns is by nature a cold dragon. She disliked heat and the Gold's smelter-like gut burned at her scales. He would have suffered the same clash of elements had she swallowed him but he was the one on the outside now and as his jaws worked their way over her shoulders and wing-roots more and more of her neck slid into the furnace that would consume her.

Nothing motivates resistance like the spectre of imminent death and with a desperate effort she began to throw off the binding. It had held her for several minutes and should by rights hold her immobile for another hour or more, but if it lasted that long she would be stretched out in the Gold's stomach when at last she was able to move. Now a tremor went through her muscles and her hindclaws scraped deep furrows in the hard stone floor as a lash of her tail smashed the crates.

But she was still weak and the Gold was taking advantage. The elastic skin between his upper and lower jaws was stretched around her midsection and great contractions of his swallowing muscles sent more and more of her down his throat. By the time her strength returned nearly to normal her wings and forelegs were pinned to her sides by the walls of his gullet and her nose had already reached the bottom of the Gold's lengthy stomach. The undulations of the muscular walls forced her snout to the side as he began to fold her double inside him.

Dragons can hold their breath a very long time but she had been in the Gold's gullet for ten minutes now and the fiery heat of its stomach added to her agony. Though her jaws were held shut by the walls of his stomach she snorted her icy breath into that furnace. That should hurt him as badly as the heat hurt her but there was scarcely a reaction. It was no surprise that the Gold, unlike the adventurers, had cast the correct protective spells. He had come to her lair expecting to eat her and he was ready. It probably still hurt but not a tenth as much as his fire hurt her.

And then there was the acid. Thanks to her particular nature she was nearly immune to having that splashed on her scales, but being immersed in it was another matter. Gallons of it sloshed around his belly, getting into her nostrils, ears, eyes and even into her mouth. Her tough scales would resist it but given enough time the hot acid would get under them and eat her away. A dragon can digest practically anything but her scales were immensely tough and it was no consolation that the Gold might have to eventually heave up a pellet of silvery scales.

Her strength was fully returned and she thrashed and struggled. The Gold wrapped around her moved with her, carried along by her efforts, and the two smashed into the stony walls and shattered what was left of the loot from the caravan. She lashed at him with her mighty tail and clawed with her hindpaws, and despite the Gold's tough scales and defensive spells she felt her claws dig into his flesh.

His snakey jaws were already to her haunches, though, and his long tail wrapped around hers as he grappled at her hindclaws with his smaller forelegs. Each time she mustered her strength his needle teeth sank into the gaps between her scales. It was much easier to go deeper past those inward-curving fangs than it was to pull back past them. Desperately she kicked her hindclaws from his grip but he seized them once more and as she struggled to once more free her claws his jaws were working their ways over her hips. Bit by bit her muscular thighs were taken in and when she did finally kick loose from his foreclaws she found that the grip of his maw had forced her legs out nearly straight. She could still claw at the floor and could almost reach the scales of his swollen neck, but as the muscular action of his gullet pulled even more of her in it grew hard to do even that.

She was bent nearly double in the Gold's long stomach now and the heat was appalling. The acid she could weather for a time but the fire of the dragon wrapped around her sapped her strength. Slowly she weakened, and though she finally got her claws into the muscle of his stomach and hurt him, soon enough the Gold stretched out his neck and let her hindclaws slip into his maw.

She could not stop him now. The Gold formed an ess in his long neck and pulled it slowly, laboriously down toward his body, forcing her hips and rump down his throat. The fraction of her tail in the blessed cool of the cavern grew less and less as her progress into his gullet pulled that part of her in, too. She was as large as the Gold and never in her life had she imagined that she might be swallowed whole by any creature.

There came a time, how long after he started she could not say, that she lay beneath the stretched plates of his belly. Only the very tip of her tail hung from his fangs and that only because the exhausted Gold lay panting. He could take his time now, knowing that he had her where he wanted her. She was firmly in his stomach and her weakened struggles could do little but discomfort him.

She felt the magic as he healed himself. She had hurt him, but he'd saved a fraction of his spell arsenal for healing. It had taken almost all his magic to bind her even using true-name spells, and he was still hurt after exhausting what was left. It was little comfort to Sylabeth. Folded double in the Gold's long belly and too weak to hurt him any more she could only squirm weakly as the long, slow but unstoppable process of digestion began. The only consolation was he would not have her hoard.

The Gold had lost track of time. Sylabeth was the largest, strongest dragon he had eaten and even weakened the struggle had exhausted him. He couldn't say how long it had taken to swallow her. He was just glad it was done.

In her effort to escape her awful digestive fate she had thrown them around the cavern. Unfortunately the frozen statues of the heroes had been smashed. It would take effort to piece enough of them together to even recognize who they were and he wasn't sure the more common sorts of Resurrection work work on such a mangled body. Worse still was the ranger, who had been flattened by the Silver and who they had rolled over in the midst of the struggle. He was little more than a leather-clad rug now.

If they had been disreputable sorts he would have gathered up the bits and added them to the already massive meal, but though wandering heroes usually had flexible morals these were of the better sort. His honor required him to make the effort to bring them back, and perhaps, reluctant as he was to part with any portion of his hidden hoard, even repay them for their suffering.

He had lost track of the party leader, though he quickly found the greatsword, and as he sniffed around for the hopefully not mangled body he was surprised to hear a moan. There among the fragments of crate and barrel lay the man, armor dented and with a bloody hole through his chest from Sylabeth's claw. The man's eyes flicked and went wide as he opened them to see the Gold's great head hovering over him.

"You are hurt," the Gold slurred. "But you are safe. Just a moment." The wide eyes went even wider as the Gold lifted his head and with a last few tosses of his jaws swallowed up the Silver's finned tailtip. With a great gulp he forced this last of Sylabeth down his throat, as far as it would go. He could sense that much of her tail lingered stubbornly in his throat as his stomach was simply as full as it could be. It would have to wait its turn to be digested.

"I am afraid my healing is spent," the Gold said, "And I cannot assume another form to help you until this wicked one is consumed." The man's eyes took in the enormous bulge in his long body, the skin exposed where his tough belly plates were stretched apart.

"Ring of Regeneration," the warrior groaned, and sat up with difficulty. "Or we would not be having this conversation. My companions?"

"Dead, I am afraid," the Gold rumbled. "Three of them can probably be Raised, and I will help finance that since had I not followed you to this corrupt Silver I could not have dealt with her. Your lockpick was swallowed by the Silver."

And he had swallowed the other dragon, he didn't have to say. There would be no recovering the rogue's body after two different dragons digested it. A small, but important lie to cover up his earlier deception.

"I didn't know Good dragons ate each other," the warrior said, and felt over his body for wounds. His leg was clearly broken but he bore it stoically as the magic of the Ring slowly healed him.

"I have never done so before," the Gold rumbled. "But the Silver had turned to Tiamat, and something had to be done."

He paused as a monumental belch made its way up his long gullet and escaped. Even now Sylabeth squirmed weakly beneath his belly plates, which drew the warrior's horrified glance, yet there was no escape for the Silver now. Too feeble to escape she would be dealt with as had any of his other draconian meals.

"There are no laws for dragons," he said, "Save those we impose on ourselves. When heroes cannot deal with one of our kind who has gone wicked, we must police ourselves."

He watched the warrior's eye wander and eventually rumbled, "There is no treasure here, or only a scattering. The Silver came here from some distant den to lure in heroes such as yourself. She was evil, but clever." He did not mention that he had a fair idea of the location of Sylabeth's true lair, because the disposition of the hoard there properly fell to another dragon, did it not?

The man sighed. "Well, you clearly aren't going anywhere," with a wave toward the Gold's massive and still moving gut, "But is there anything you can do to help me get my friends back together for healing?" And 'together' was the correct term given the state of the bodies.

"When I have rested I will have spells to preserve their remains, and perhaps put them partially back together. I can cast Flight on you so you can carry them back to town. The priest there can hopefully Raise your own and he in turn can Raise your other companions."

The warrior nodded. It was no surprise that a dragon would divine the method that cost the least.

The Gold lifted a foreclaw and dug sharp talons into the golden scales beneath one of his larger horns. There was a pop and he presented the warrior with a sapphire large as a hen's egg.

"I keep a gem or two around for unexpected expenses,", he rumbled. "There are places even dragons can trade for services." In the mountains to the east there was even a section of Greyston - Monstertown - called Dragon Court where wymns could buy healing or extravagances such as having precious metals inlaid into their horns. He could not go there himself, for one of the rulers of the city was a Red wyrm far more powerful than himself. Colonel Firewing had let him know from afar that though Monstertown was neutral territory for all, and no matter the political consequences, should he take his dragon-eating self there he would end up as a bulge in red bellyscales just as Sylabeth was now a bulge beneath gold ones.

"Thank you," said the man as he took the gem.

"When you go to town with your friends I will leave as well," rumbled the Gold. "As you might imagine, it behooves me to find a safe place to sleep off this meal."

"I understand," said the warrior, who had not missed the fact that his greatsword was on the other side of the room behind the Gold's mighty tail. With tender skin showing between his belly plates the wyrm was as vulnerable as he would ever be and you didn't live to be centuries old by being too trusting.

"I'm Eamon, by the way," the warrior said.

"A pleasure to meet you, Eamon," rumbled the gold, and dipped his head politely. "You'll forgive me for not introducing myself. It is not every day that a Gold eats a Silver and I am sure the word will spread. I'd rather certain people not be sure who did the deed."

The warrior, who had done a questionable thing or two in his time, smiled. "Well, what do you do when you aren't eating other dragons?"

"Well, I am a dragon. I could spend decades just counting the coins I collect, or talking to people. But there's the lion-folk race I rather like...."

*****

The Gold had been gone for months now, but Mirabet knew he was well. Two weeks after he left came a magical message on the winds: "The deed is done," and nothing more. Somehow, she had already known by then that her daughter was dead.

He waited to come back to her, and she knew why. He was waiting for the great bulge in his long body to be gone, for the last trace of what used to be a Silver dragoness to be consumed. Part of Sylabeth would stay with him as long as he lived, converted now into golden scales and hard draconic muscle. A meal this large would put weight on his frame.

There would be indigestibles too. Silver dragon scales are all but proof against acid, and though she had never eaten her kin - or a Black dragon, similarly tough - she guessed that somewhere there was a coughed-up mass of silver scales. He would bury it, she thought, and not be so crass as to add it to his hoard.

And highly efficient as a dragon's belly was, there would be other residue. Mirabet didn't like to think about that and thought rather that her daughter was part of the Gold, now. Her spirit had gone where it would go and he was now part of the family. A member by proxy, with hundreds of pounds or even a ton or two of his sleek scaly body now made of what used to be her daughter.

There came a day when the thunder of mighty wings came to her on the wind, and she lifted her head at the familiar sound. He flew in slowly, circling her mountain twice, for it was both polite and wise to not surprise a dragon mightier than oneself.

As he came to rest on the granite of her mountaintop she saw that he was indeed bigger than before. Still notably smaller than herself, for you don't grow forty feet in a few months, but bigger, stronger. There was no bulge in his middle; her daughter was gone now, entirely digested. He smelled of water, too. He must have bathed endlessly to make sure he didn't smell of his meal.

"It is all right," were her first words, for he was silent, almost cowed. In his heart he knew she might never forgive him for eating her daughter, for all that she had sent him to do it.

"When I taught you to bind her, I knew what would happen. Some things simply need to be done, as little as we like to to them," Mirabet hissed. He dipped his head in acknowedgement, but still he was silent.

He must not be sure of his reception, but he was still a dragon, and when she turned away - not coyly, as before, but deliberately, her tail brushing his flank as she moved it aside - he did not hesitate. Sharp fangs scraped her nape as he mounted her.

He was smaller than she was still, but very enthusiastic, and he had waited a long time for this. And though he did not speak, he was not silent any more, and neither was Mirabet.