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The bitter month of January was once again upon the land, and a frigid rain fell over the old forest of Paimpont. It was an ancient wood, storied and venerable. Broadleaved oaks and towering, red-dressed beeches stood in quiet sentinel over the forest's valleys, knight-like, while scrawny conifers acted as their squires and pages in the groves between. The vast, damp spread of the forest floor was carpeted in a rich blanket of crimson leaves: a bloodbath of riotous color shrouded in a veil of frosty mist. Gentle rivers flowed beneath the watch of the high, rolling hills, flanked by beds of dark mud and mossy rock banks. It was a peaceful place, silent and serene.

Two hill dragons - an adult and a maturing adolescent - paused by the riverside to take in the sight. The rain fell from their leathery hides in thin, icy rivulets, and although shivers occasionally rocked through their hungry frames, they otherwise stood stock still beneath the frigid downpour, paralyzed by disbelief. Their eyes were wide and fearful as they looked down upon the scene which stood before them. It was clear that the forest had changed greatly since their last visit, and not for the better.

Scattered across the wooded valley, half-buried in the rich, dark mud that lined the riverbank, dotting the moss-ridden stones, and strewn among the bases of the knightly oaks, were bodies. Human bodies, clumped in piles or lying alone, numbering in the dozens. Men in gleaming suits of armor, men in peasant's rags, men slain by the arrow or the lance, large men, small men, some with missing limbs and some with missing heads. Dead men.

The older dragon was the first to recover from his surprise. He knew that there were not supposed to be men so deep in Paimpont, living or dead, and that the bodies here could only mean that there were more still about. Turning to his son, he rumbled a quiet word of warning and hurried along, swiftly ushering the younger drake forward and away from the riverbank. The smaller one lingered there for only a moment - his eyes swimming with fear and pity - before following his father into the woods. Together they ran off into the misty safety of the deeper forest. They hoped that they could outrun the death which had come to these humans.

Although they did not know it, the year was 1424. The Hundred Year War closed in upon Paimpont.

"I've never seen anything like it," the dragon later said, shaking the rain off from his dark blue hide. Beside him, his son Berle did much the same, sending little showers of frigid droplets spattering upon the cavern's mossy floor. They were both exhausted and cold; they'd been running through the downpour ever since the river crossing. It'd been days since they'd had a decent meal.

"Humans... dead humans... as far as the eye could see. There must have been at least a hundred of them, Gervaise. Maybe even more. They hadn't been there for long either. The crows weren't yet upon them." The dragon paused to take in a long, shuddering breath, holding it as though he were afraid it might be his last. Then a slow exhale, with a cloud of warm mist hissing out from between his fangs.

"It seems that they've brought the war here as well."

Gervaise Feudeterre listened patiently to his brother's story while the other dragon dried himself off in the entrance foyer of his cave. He was both taller and longer than his old nestmate by a good three feet, and his scarred, weathered hide was colored in mottled splotches of red and orange, contrasting with his brother's blue. A human observer might never have even known that they were kin, were they not aware that hill dragons could gradually change the color of their hides to suit their environments. At his side, Gervaise's own son Alois watched the two visitors with wide, worrisome eyes. He had good reason to be nervous.

This was not the first time that family had stopped by their cave for the night, journeying across France in search of safer abodes. It seemed that there were always visitors these days, cold, weary, and carrying stories about the humans and their wars. The loathsome little creatures had spread to every corner of the land in their quest for bloodshed, and many flightless dragons such as themselves - the rois de la saleté - were on the move to avoid the flames, famine, and disease that human armies carried with them. His brother and nephew were only the latest unfortunates forced to flee from their nests, and likely not the last.

"It was a miracle that we even made it here," his brother continued. "There were men at the bog crossing near the Montes d'Arrée. Men with longbows... not the native kind. They shot at me and Berle during the crossing." Here he turned his flank aside, showing Gervaise the pock-marked spots where their arrows had pierced through his indigo hide. The flesh there was dimpled and scabbed, still healing. From the shadows, young Alois looked on at his uncle's injuries with particular concern. Too many of their relatives had fallen prey to such weapons as of late. Many years earlier, Alois's mother had been one such victim.

"If you don't get out of the forest now, Gervaise... it'll be the death of you." The look that the blue dragon gave his older brother then was severe. Hollow bags hung from beneath his bloodshot eyes, with few traces of the fierceness and nobility that were once so evident there. His lips were pale and drawn. He looked tired: tired of running, tired of being hungry and afraid. Beside him, his son Berle hardly looked any better.

"You _and_Alois," he continued. "They surround Paimpont now from every angle. There's no end to them. You must flee."

Despite the patience that he'd shown his guests until that moment, Gervaise couldn't help but snort humorously at that last suggestion. He was older than his seafaring brother by nearly a decade, and he'd been around men and their wars for far longer. He knew that humans preferred to battle each other in open places, upon plains or plateaus where they could amass in greater numbers. The forests of Paimpont were small, remote, and more importantly, far away from the major cities where humans congregated. The battle that his brother had seen was just an outlier, surely. He and Alois would be safe here.

Taking a step forward, Gervaise gave the other dragon a playful nip on the shoulder and did his best to smile. The sharp, narrow ivory of his fangs glinted in the darkness. He had to look strong for Alois.

"Men have always had their wars and their bows, Challon," he said amicably. His baritone voice was deep and soothing, a parallel to the low, rumbling thunder which boomed outside their cave. "This war is no different. Now... their bows might shoot a bit farther these days, but the arrows are no sharper, and their aim no more true. Come along with me now. You'll catch the auge if you stay out here in the cold. Rest with me in the nest, and we'll speak of lighter affairs."

Gesturing with a nod towards the deeper hollows of the cave, Gervaise helped his brother clamber out of the rain-slicked entrance so that he could be led down into the warm interior of the cavern. There, animal pelts and luxurious furs lined the rough stone walls, trapping warmth between their layers. Beds of soft, green pine branches had been laid out and flattened along the floor, giving the cavern a pleasant, welcoming fragrance. Paimpont might have lacked the sea-salt air and plentiful fish of Challon's former abode, but it made up for those losses with other delights.

Of course, as much as Gervaise cared for his younger brother's well-being, taking him away now was just as much for Alois and Berle's sake as his own; all of Challon's talk of doom and ill-tidings was having a negative effect on the poor young drakes. They'd been through enough hardship as it was, and they needed no reminders of the dangers which waited outside the forest. As he led his brother along towards the comforts of the interior, Gervaise turned his head back towards his son. Alois stood there in the darkness, watching pensively, he and Berle left as afterthoughts in the wake of Challon's fear.

"Alois," he said sternly. "Your cousin Berle has been travelling along the roads now for several days. See that he's warmed, and give him some of that deer you caught earlier. Your uncle and I will be in the nest should you need us."

Alois nodded solemnly at his father's command, turning aside to look over at Berle's sopping, huddled form. His younger cousin still lingered by the entrance of the cavern, and icy droplets of rain still dripped sadly from his narrow chin. The drake looked positively miserable, undoubtably hungry and cold from his long journey. Seeing that Alois had heard him, Gervaise felt assured enough that he'd handle things properly from there. He had no doubt that his son would play the good host.

"Come along, Challon," he said then, turning back to guide his brother through the warm darkness. He waited until they were deeper within the cavern before continuing. "I swear, they look more like their mothers every day."

It was only when he was certain that they were out of earshot from Alois and Berle that Challon replied. His voice was a low, coarse whisper, exhausted and ragged from the cold.

"I know, I know... and by God... we can't let them be taken like their mothers. Something has to be done..."

With Gervaise and Challon retreating to the inner caverns, Alois and Berle were left to their own devices in the frigid chamber of the entrance foyer. Freed from the stewardship of their overbearing fathers, the two youths first took a moment to wordlessly regard one another; it had, after all, been years since they'd last met. Their gazes flicked across scales, horns, and claws, evaluating the other, with the silence broken only by the patter of rain and the occasional peal of thunder from outside. The scent of lightning hung in the air.

Berle was smaller than his forest-dwelling cousin by a good few inches - being a fair bit younger - and he was covered in a leathery, indigo hide much like his father. Frosty droplets of water still clung stubbornly to his skin, glistening brightly in the dark like little gems. A row of pale, armored plates lined the smooth curves of his belly, and two proud horns weighed down his angular head. Unlike Alois, he still had a sizeable bit of padding along his rump and sides from his hatchling years, giving his form a soft, rounded appearance. It would take another decade or two before that plush exterior wore off into the lean muscles that his father carried. Given a few more years, he'd soon have a swimmer's body that other dragons would envy.

Besides the obvious differences in his coloration, Alois himself wasn't terribly dissimilar to his seafaring cousin. His horns were a bit sharper and darker, and his limbs were longer and more muscular, but such things were to be expected when considering the slight differences in their age and environment. They were still both hill dragons of the same family, and much similarity could be seen amongst the features of their faces, even in the darkness of the cave. Sure enough, they were kin.

After only a moment or two of tenuous silence, shy smiles began to slowly creep across both drakes' faces. Memories unfolded in their minds of past encounters, of warm romps in the forest and childish explorations along the seashore; they'd forgotten how dearly they'd missed one another. Alois was the first to act. Restraining his excitement behind a dignified mask, he carefully stood from his respective spot upon the floor, moving to formally greet his cousin in the way that he'd been taught by his father. First a few careful sniffs on the other's flank... the scent of sand and salt, warmth... and then the Exchange.

The Échange du Trésor was a polite ritual that allowed French dragons to remain civil with one another, even when they were in the territories of potential rivals. It was a customary tradition that allowed two males to meet as equals, to evaluate each other's wealth, and to learn new things about the world through the sharing of materials. The process was simple. Each dragon offered bits of their hoard to the other as a show of generosity and good faith. It was the first thing that Challon had done after stepping into his brother's cave, and even Berle - young and inexperienced though he was - had been thoughtful enough to bring some small treasures along from his home as offerings: the shiny buckle of a knight's saddle, a few gleaming coins, and the broken sword of a nobleman with small, fierce gems embedded into the bladeless hilt. Berle gently rolled each of these items out from his gums, spitting them onto the floor of the cave for Alois's approval. Now Alois could see why he'd been silent thus far.

For his own part, Alois offered his cousin the last bits of leftover meat from a doe he'd hunted earlier - which Berle swallowed without hesitation - and an interesting rock that he'd found in the nearby river, starkly crimson and shaped like a heart. Alois couldn't help but frown inwardly as he looked over the assembled items, comparing Berle's gifts to his own. It was clear to him that there was a serious imbalance in the offerings, and yet Berle shrugged the matter aside when the issue was brought up. The blue drake looked up fawningly at his older cousin, smiling happily now that he was warm and fed. For the first time since he'd entered their cave, he spoke.

"You've offered us your home," he said. His voice was soft and sonorous, almost like a female's. "And besides, treasure is difficult to carry. If you'd offered me more, I likely wouldn't be able to take it with me on the road. No, I'm most grateful for this."

Tucking aside the rock for later retrieval, Berle and Alois then curled up alongside each other to watch the rain fall outside of the cavern's entrance. The soft, smooth moss beneath their paws was a pleasant bed to rest upon, and Berle happily curled his head upon his cousin's shoulder, purring gently. Alois didn't complain about the proximity; Berle and his father had been through a great deal in order to reach them, and the younger drake clearly needed the warmth. At their backs, from deeper within the cave, the two drakes could hear their fathers speaking in hushed, rumbling tones about the goings-on of the countryside.

"Was it really as bad as Uncle Challon said?" Alois asked him after a while. "Have men really made the country impassable?"

Berle's eyes opened slowly as he considered the question, those soft blue irises lighting up as they reflected a brief flash of lightning from outside. A silent moment followed afterwards, before eventually the low growl of thunder rolled across them. Alois felt his cousin's tail twitch excitedly from the sound.

"It seems so," Berle finally replied. "You can scarcely imagine the things that these creatures do to each other out there. We passed by so many burning nests on the way here... fields of mounds where the men had buried their kin, scores of horses on the side of the road, bloated and covered in flies, inedible. It seems as though the whole world is covered in men running wild, like they've been maddened by some sort of disease. It's beyond reasoning."

Alois snorted in disdain. "They're monsters," he said with finality. "They kill every living thing around them, tearing up everything, even things they can't eat like the trees and the dirt. And it's always been like this. There's just more of them now, so we notice it more easily."

Berle made a sad face at that statement. The corners of his lips curved down just slightly, and his eyes softened as though he were recalling a distant, tragic memory. He pulled his head up from Alois's shoulder so that he could look at him.

"Not so," he said quietly. At this range - with the gentle light of the cave's entrance illuminating him - Alois could get a much clearer view of his cousin's face. He looked very much like Challon: handsome, proud features, swiftly maturing into the aspect of a noble dragon as the years went on. The deep blue of his hide was wonderfully exotic, since Alois so often only saw red dragons such as himself and Gervaise in Paimpont. He recalled fawning over the color when he was a hatchling, imagining how he himself might look in such a shade.

"I'm sure that it hasn't always been this way," Berle continued. "Father told me about what it was like when he was a young hatchling, when men didn't wage war like this. He said that they can be peaceful, at times."

Alois scowled. Peaceful indeed. They nearly killed you both.

"Challon should be the last dragon to defend those things after what they did to him," he said in response. He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but found it nearly impossible. "They tried to kill him. He lost his mate to them. He nearly lost you."

Berle had no counter to that. The humans would've doubtlessly killed him at the crossing if they could; he'd likely only avoided injury due to his father's presence. Humans tended to aim for the larger, more intimidating dragons when offered a choice, allowing a drake like Berle to slip through the muddy waters unnoticed. Alois could clearly imagine what happened afterwards, and he fumed at the thought of Berle pulling the shafts out from his father's hide, lapping at the wounds, fearful that infection would take hold in the bloody holes. The more he thought about it, the more he hated humans. Looking down at Berle, Alois almost envied the younger drake for his simplistic view of them.

Bad enough they took our mothers.

He'd never said as much to anyone, but Alois dearly loved his cousin. Some of his earliest memories were of visiting him and Challon, travelling atop his father's broad back as they made the long trip from Paimpont to the coast. He recalled playing games of hiding and chasing with Alois along the sunlit beaches during the summer, and of huddling together in the cold dunes, just like this, in the winter. He smelled like warm sand and the salty breeze of the ocean, and Alois felt no shame in taking pleasure from the scent. The thought of him being hunted by men made him terribly furious... and anxious. So anxious.

"I just worry about you and Uncle," Alois finally said. He didn't look down at Berle as he spoke. Instead, he kept his fretful gaze pointed towards the forest outside. "I worry what will happen to the land, and to what kin we have left. This war of theirs has gone on for so long now... I fear that nothing can survive it."

Behind them, from deeper within the cave, they could both still overhear Challon and Gervaise speaking in hushed tones amongst themselves. They discussed the safety of the roads, the shortages of available game, and memories of a time when things were simpler. The young dragons listened intently, letting the soothing whisper of the rain fill the silence between them. It was some time before Berle spoke again.

"I saw something while we were on the roads, Alois. Something strange."

"A killing?"

Berle shook his head gently at the suggestion. "No. Something else. Something that proves, I think, that there's more to men than just death... it's something I have to believe, since men seem to be taking over this world. There has to be more to them than that."

"Well... what was it?"

Berle's eyes took on a faraway, dreamy look as he tried to recall the scene. "It was on the road near Patay. They were gathering there like they always do before a big battle. Great hordes of them, both the kind that have metal shells and the ones without. They had horses too, and wagons full of shiny things like swords and cannons. They were leaving the city as a single herd, moving north, and we were watching them from the trees as they left. If they'd seen us, I'm sure that we would have been overrun.

"As they left, I saw one of the armored humans sitting atop a horse. He was stopping to speak with a female... you know, one of those small, soft things. Of course, they were much too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but that's not what caught my attention anyway. After a moment of speaking to the female, the armored one bent down towards her and..."

Here Berle stopped as though he wasn't sure how to describe what he saw. He flicked a pebble on the floor, suddenly awkward and hesitant. His tail-tip flicked erratically behind him.

"He did something with his mouth... to her."

Alois's eyes widened in shock. "Did he eat her?"

Berle shook his head again. A smile touched his lips. "No, nothing like that. It was more like-"

He looked up at Alois then, and suddenly a purplish blush crept across his muzzle. His eyes had dilated in the darkness. Two great pools of black, rimmed with cerulean, looked up at him.

"Can I show you?"

Alois blinked, surprised, but he nodded. "It isn't bad, is it?"

Berle's smile widened just slightly. It meant the world to see him smiling again.

"Here. Turn your head towards me."

"Oh. Alright then."

Alois wasn't sure what it was exactly that his cousin had planned, but he knew instinctively that Berle would never try to hurt him. Looking back into those gentle blue eyes, he felt assured that - whatever this human fancy might've been - they'd both be perfectly safe trying it so long as their fathers were nearby. And besides... after everything that Berle and Challon had been through, the least he could do was play along and be a good host. Following the younger drake's instructions, he allowed Berle to turn his head aside so that their muzzles lined up in front of each other. They were close now. At this distance, he could taste his cousin's breath in the air.

"Like this?" he asked. Berle gave him a brief nod of his head, slowly, as though the movement was only a second thought. Even though Alois had been pushed into the proper position, his cousin didn't immediately do anything with him. Instead, Berle just stood there for a brief moment, looking back into Alois's eyes as though there were a trout swimming in there that he wanted to catch. His cheeks were still flushed darkly. Whatever it was that he was embarrassed about, Alois couldn't possibly fathom; perhaps he was beginning to realize how silly this human game was.

"Now what?" Alois finally asked, eager to see what it was that Berle had witnessed. He found it impossible to believe that the humans could have contrived of anything that didn't involve murder or mayhem, let alone a thing that Berle would want to try with him. He snorted impatiently, watching as those curious, fawning blue eyes snapped back into focus in front of him. His eagerness seemed to wake Berle out of whatever trance he'd fallen into. The younger drake shook his head, setting the last little droplets of water free from his horns.

"Ah, yes. Apologies. So, he had her facing him just like this... only, she was a bit shorter than him because of the horse. So, if you would..."

Taking the hint, Alois straightened himself up where he sat, stretching his neck out just slightly so that he looked down at Berle. It must've been the correct movement, since Berle's eyes widened happily. It might've just been Alois imagining things, but his cousin's breath seemed to be quickening as well. He couldn't help but begin to feel excited himself; there was definitely something interesting about this 'game'.

"Then what did they do?" he asked eagerly.

Berle seemed just as keen to proceed. His voice was a bit breathy as he continued his explanation. "So, he was higher than her, and sitting upon his horse. Of course, we don't have one of those, but we'll make do. He leaned down towards her..."

Alois did as he was told, bringing the tip of his muzzle down just slightly towards his cousin. In turn, Berle did just the opposite, closing his eyes and raising his snout so that it crossed the scant few inches they still had between them.

"And s-she... she went up to him, like so..."

He felt Berle's breath long before any actual contact was made. Warm and sweet, it danced upon his lips for a single, tantalizing moment before the younger drake suddenly leaned forward, connecting them with a soft peck. Electricity danced between them, nerves triggering along lips and snouts that'd never been teased in such a way before. Hypnotized by the sensation, Alois held that tenuous contact for several seconds, with Berle all the while keeping his eyes squeezed shut like the maid he'd seen at Patay. Then pressure followed as Berle leaned forward even more, pressing the soft firmness of his lips up against his cousin's. Alois didn't know whether to retreat or push back, and so he merely stood still, watching enraptured as Berle's blushing face pressed close against his own. He could practically hear Berle's heart thumping in his chest.

Then - just as soon as it'd started - Berle pulled back. The seafaring drake may as well have lived in Paimpont for years, considering how red his muzzle was in that moment. Alois wouldn't have been surprised if he was turning darker shades of purple himself; by that point, he was thoroughly blushing as well. They stared at each other in the aftermath, amazed at what they'd just done.

"Whoa," Alois finally said. His chest was heaving, and great, gusty sighs rolled out from his lungs. His heart thundered against his ribs nearly as loud as the thunder from outside. "What was that?"

If anything, Berle was even more breathless than himself. "I don't know what they call it," he said softly, puffing warm clouds of air. The younger drake had a starry look in his eyes as he gazed up at him, and in that moment, Alois was certain that he'd never seen another dragon quite so lovely. He didn't have time to consider the strangeness of the thought further, for suddenly Berle squeezed his eyes shut again and pushed himself forward. Their muzzles connected once more with a soft sound, and then they were back in it all over again.

How long he spent in that tender, tenuous connection with Berle was a mystery to Alois. Occasionally his cousin would make delicate, weak noises, and Alois would pull back, afraid that he'd done it wrong or hurt him somehow. But then he'd see that his cousin was fine, that his eyes still looked desperate and frightened and beautiful, and he was drawn back into him again. Most times it was Berle that initiated the contact, and at other times it was Alois. Sometimes they both moved to do it at once, surprising one another as their lips pressed together, jumping slightly in their place as a sudden breath or movement startled them from their trance. All Alois knew was that this thing they were doing was magical. Humans couldn't have made it. It was too perfect. Too lovely.

It was the unexpected voices of their fathers - coming in loudly from the other chamber - that eventually drew them from the act. Challon had raised his voice for a brief moment, laughing at something Gervaise had said, and suddenly Berle pulled away from him in fear. They both stared down the tunnel then, expecting their fathers to step out from the darkness and interrupt them. For some reason, they both had an instinctual feeling that what they were doing was wrong somehow. Perhaps because it was a human customs. All Alois knew as he sat there in the wet, rainy dark with his cousin, breathless and excited, was that they couldn't let their fathers see them doing it.

Turning back to look at Berle, he saw that his cousin was equally frightened. His eyes were wet and wide, filled with some unrecognizable emotion that he wasn't experienced enough to understand. The look was just too much for him to bear. Swooping down, he took their transgression further, opening his jaws and locking them with Berle's in an arresting motion. Their tongues met then, tentative at first, and then explorative, eager, with both dragons crooning softly as they allowed this strange human action to sweep them away. The thunder roared outside. They ignored it.

Alois wasn't sure who moved next. Whether it was his decision to stand up and position himself atop his cousin, or whether it was Berle's claws that reached up and pulled him down over him. All he knew was that when he next opened his eyes, he was crouched over his cousin's upturned belly. Their bodies were close. Behind them, their tails writhed outside of the lip of the cavern, wetly twisting together in the rain. The chill didn't bother him; Alois's entire body felt alive with fire. The fear was still there - the fear of the unknown, the fear of being caught, fear of doing something human - but he mastered it. Berle had been through so much fear salready. He couldn't let it show on his face.

"Alois," his cousin said softly against his muzzle. "What is this... what is happening?"

Down below, jutting out from between his legs, Alois could feel a slick warmth pressing up against his belly. He knew what it was without looking. He could smell it in the air, smell it growing on both of them. It made no sense, since there were no females in heat nearby, and yet there it was all the same. He was achingly aroused.

"I think," he finally said after a moment, the fear growing in his eyes despite himself. "I think this is a mating thing."

His voice was hardly a whisper. Both dragons were old enough to know what mating was. In fact, they were both old enough to begin the search for mates themselves. It was their fathers that'd kept them home for reasons of safety. Too many young, hot-blooded drakes had been killed in the wider wandering required these days to find a female. Gervaise had told him that he needed to wait until this war was over. Wait, even though the war had raged for nearly a lifetime. Wait, even though a female hadn't been seen in Paimpont since the death of his mother.

But the hot, pressing need that jutted up against his belly now didn't want to wait. It wanted Berle, wanted him in a way that was sudden and terrifying and absolutely undeniable. Berle was growing hard as well, and the rigid, bumpy length of his shaft was already beginning to push its way out of his sheath. The scent of sex was heavy upon them both now. If their fathers left the deeper caves to check on them or catch a breath of fresh air, they'd know what was happening.

Both of them knew this. It was written on their faces as they stared up at each other, illuminated in flashes of lightning and forewarned by thunder. That the human thing had done this to them lingered in the back of their minds. It'd _poisoned_them, somehow, wondrously and fantastically, and it poisoned them still. Doubt and confusion swarmed over every thought that crossed them.

"We need to stop," Alois said at last. It had to have been him. Berle was younger, and he had less control over himself. It was Alois's responsibility to put an end to this, whatever this was. As much as he cared for his cousin, it had to stop before they went too far. "If we keep going, we're going to... we could-"

He never had the power to finish his sentence. Berle leapt up and took his mouth against his own, locking jaws with him once again, and suddenly Alois found no more heart to resist. Bending down, he ground his rigid shaft up against his cousin's, bringing rich shudders to them both as a new, powerful pleasure rippled outwards and through them from that single point of contact. Soon there were others, not as pleasurable but just as exciting: the exploration of tongues, the gentle clatter of teeth, the grasping of claws and paws, the soft movements of trembling. Neither of them had mated before, but they knew instinctively that this was somehow a parallel. For all they knew, this was mating.

Hill dragons mated for life. Alois and Berle had both lost mothers to this war that the humans waged, and their fathers would never mate again. Neither dragon could know that the act they were committing there in the cave - an act of curiosity and indulgence - would connect them permanently, as intrinsically as life and breath. All they knew was how good it felt to writhe in the other's embrace, to press their bodies together and feel the delicious pleasure which emanated from between their legs, sopping wet, with hard lengths pressed close.

Their jaws parted only for deep, shuddering breaths or words of desperate affection. Alois - in a sudden inspiration - drew his tongue down along Berle's slender neck, pressing his lips against his cousin's leathery blue hide and whispering promises to him. Promises that he'd never let Berle be hurt by an arrow, promises that he'd do anything to keep him safe, anything to care for him. These emotions were induced by chemicals which didn't yet have names, summoned by the wild intimacy of their union. Suddenly Alois snarled, a noise that he'd never made before, and thrust himself forward between Berle's legs. His tail curled violently.

They came together, clutching each other close as wave after wave of thunderous bliss washed over their unprepared bodies. They didn't know what was happening to them. Berle whimpered pitifully into the soft hide of Alois's chest, and Alois himself only stared ahead, his gaping jaws and wide eyes forming a mask of shock. Between them, the space of their bellies and chests quickly grew hot and damp as both dragons surrendered their bodies to each other. Any illusions that they may have held about their actions dissolved as they felt their sheaths begin to grow warm from the fluid. They'd mated, impossible as it may have been.

I'm mated.

Alois's head cleared almost immediately. With a startled sound, he quickly backed off of his cousin's body, stepping back into the shocking cold of the rain. His skin still felt hot and flushed despite the sudden chill; he felt as though the rain could never be cold enough again. Back in the cave, Berle was still lying weakly upon the ground, panting, exhausted from their exertions. It took a few moments before he found the strength to raise his head. The two young dragons stared at each other.

The reality of their situation was plain to them then, as they looked into each other's eyes. They were mated. The fact was engrained upon their faces. Even looking at him, Alois realized that he would never want a female for the rest of his life. It was as undeniable as the rising of the sun, as indisputable as the cruelty of man.

Then, as if things couldn't possibly get any worse, Berle suddenly yelped in fear and hurried back up onto his shaky paws. Challon and Gervaise stepped out from the shadows of the deeper cave. A look of horror was written upon their faces. They could no doubt smell what had occurred in their absence. From behind the veil of rain which poured out over the lip of the cave, Gervaise looked at his son. The emotion he wore was distorted by the falling water: rage, pity, fear, all coalesced into an alien visage, one that Alois had always looked to for strength and guidance. He knew that he'd done something he could never take back.

The decision to turn and flee into the forest had been instinctual, just as his mating with Berle had been. It was a visceral reaction to his fear and self-loathing. He dashed off into the rain without a second thought, ignoring the roaring calls of his father and uncle, and the pleas of his mate. His mate. He ran into narrow valleys, crossed the frigid river - the bodies were there, just as Challon had said they would be - and darted through groves of pines. And he hated, hated man for what they'd done to the land, and to him and Berle.

He ran until the cold sapped the strength from his lungs, until every breath was a misery. He'd hoped that he could outrun the world, and that when he stopped, there would be no men or dragons in any direction for thousands of leagues. But in reality, he collapsed in a wheat field outside of Paimpont. The hamlet of Pardon stood not a hundred meters from his body as he slumped to the ground, frothing at the mouth.

The cold overtook him then. His fate would be left to the humans, as the world was.