FSE

Furry search engine

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---

At a certain point in their development, all dragon warrens invariably take on the scent of rot.

It's a subtle thing, at first: a combination of elements that don't mingle too quickly or all at once. The strongest and most immediate of these is the meat. Tapa meat, left behind in the shallow, earthen burrows dug out to store it. Unless it's consumed quickly, the bloody flesh slowly sours in the cool, humid air of the caves, until some dragoness or another finds the will to haul it back out again. Then there's the matter of the dung.

Typically, the latter is the fault of hatchlings or dragonets who haven't yet learned any better. These foul little piles linger in the dark corners of nest caves, here and there, adding a second layer of fetid pong to the abode. Between those two things, and the unique musk-odor of dozens of adult dragonesses, the stench of a warren tends to surprise first-time visitors, with each clan developing its own uniquely pungent brand.

Yurio could no longer smell theirs. As he crawled through the lower caverns of his own home, he sniffed in a desultory fashion at the heavy-laden air. His nostrils flared widely as he huffed, with his long, scarred nose just nudging at the low belly of the earthen ceiling.

There'd been a time when the stench of his own warren had bothered him; to alleviate the issue, he'd once ordered fresh flowers to be brought in from the mountainsides and pressed into the floors and walls. That was decades ago. Now, he could hardly even detect it. The rotting remnants of those same, old flowers could still be found in certain nooks as dried little bundles, now devoid of color.

My home must smell like the Alhetztandt by now, he thought sullenly to himself, recalling those old, storied caves where his clan had first originated. As he trudged through the fetid darkness, he tried to conjure up memories of his first time there.

I can still recall all of those strange, unfamiliar scents,_he thought. _The old aunts, and Yolh... these caves are not so very different now. How alike have I become to the old patriarch?

Thoughts such as these were a common occurrence for Yurio as he traversed through the winding, maze-like tunnels which constituted his warren. He often found himself comparing his home to that of others he'd visited, wondering if perhaps he'd failed somewhere along the line, or if his abode were somehow lesser than theirs in any regard. So often in his life, comparisons between himself and other males were the sole source of his anxieties. He was routinely told by Vera, his Second Mate, that such concerns were needless. That was sweeter than he deserved.

Their cave systems were, however, quite the prize. They'd expanded the tunnels exponentially over the last fifty winters, with each chamber painstakingly carved out by the weathered claws of his many daughters and mates. He still got lost in them every now and then, and would sometimes have to ask for guidance back to the sun-lit surface.

Even then he felt the need to search about for a familiar marker. Reaching out with an unsteady paw, he ran his worn claws against the cold, wet rock at his shoulder, identifying the scratch-marks which indicated his position in the tunnels. The smooth indentions told him that he was in the living quarters of one of his newer mates, a female named Vulna. He sniffed about for her presence and found nothing.

That was fine. He preferred being alone.

Like most of the females, Vulna was likely out flying, hunting, playing with the young dragonets, or sunning herself in the warm springtime air. Spring and summer were brief, fleeting seasons in the harsh Breran mountains, and the days when one could fly and feel the kiss of the sun upon their wings were rare.

Yurio, for his own part, wasn't particularly fond of the outdoors in such times. In more recent years, the warm, stirring mountain air simply reminded him of what he'd lost. As he continued down through the tunnel, he chose not to acknowledge the dead weight of his wings, which dragged helplessly, tattered and useless, at his sides. He voluntarily remained inside on such pleasant days.

There, in the warren's heart, he could contemplate in silence and solitude the ultimate meaning of his life. The meaning, he told himself out of habit, like a mantra. The meaning of any life is to make more life. Without life, there is only death. To avoid death, and to bring about life is the honored commitment of a father.

They weren't his words. It was an old Alhetzern saying, taught to him first by his father, Yorin, and then by Yolh the Greater, his grandfather. It was likewise parroted by every other male of the clan that he'd ever met. To the Alhetzern family, he had but one purpose in this world, and there in the caves, in the dark, he felt most connected to it. Inevitably, as he always did when he thought such things, he found himself wandering back into the nests of those females who were in heat. He snorted as the scent of their estrus washed over his unsuspecting nose. Without bidding, his dragonhood dropped from its sheath.

Highland dragons like themselves usually fell into rut in the colder seasons, when there was little to do but sulk in their caves, rest, and mate until the mountains warmed up once again. Occasionally however, there were always those few females which would suffer a late heat in the early spring. To ensure that they didn't cause undue harm to any of the other females or the hatchlings, they were accordingly kept in the outer reaches of the caverns, far from the nest caves and the dwellings of the younger females. As the stench of their need pooled into his lungs and loins, Yurio steeled himself with a cool, detached sense of resignation. Surely, his subconscious had guided him there for a reason.

The caves in this section of the warren were not so dark as the tunnels which preceded them. Here and there upon the rocky walls, bioluminescent lichen clung like little jewels of fading light, casting their soft, blue glow upon the earthen surroundings. In the dusky gloom, Yurio could see lines of scars upon the corridor walls: the anxious claw marks of dragonesses frustrated by their own heat.

There was a palpable tension hanging in the air, a sense of urgency, perhaps even despair. He announced his arrival with a low, rolling rumble in his chest, and then, four sets of dark, covetous eyes opened to regard him from the shadows. Dragonesses in heat were miserable, hateful creatures.

There were no words that needed to be shared between them. When in the midst of their estrus, highland dragon females were brusque and snappy at the best of times, and so conversation was usually a thing that Yurio avoided. Instead, he allowed his own body to speak for him. He knew from long experience that females in heat would react to his scent better than they would from any words of kindness, and so he merely approached them, crippled wings outstretched, trusting that their instincts would work out the purpose of his presence.

They observed him from the dark corners of the cavern, unmoving, until at last he stepped into the dim, bluish lichen-light. He could see them by that point, sulking bitterly amidst their recesses. There were four of them, and all younger than he. Their hides were still a brilliant, shimmering color of gold, with bright feathers of pink, scarlet, and lively green adorning their long, stately necks and predatorial limbs. A low, hateful hiss sounded collectively from their chests as he came near, but then quieted. Their nares widened. They recognized him.

After a moment, they descended as one from the shadowed ledges where they'd been lurking. Once they realized who - and more importantly, what - he was, an eagerness and energy slipped into their movements, and they quickly gathered around him in a wary circle. He was swift to select which female he would breed first; if he hesitated, they'd soon grow restless, and doubtless turn to fighting against one another. He'd learned that lesson the hard way, after the death of his Fifth Mate many years earlier. As the females descended, he proceeded towards the closest of them, cutting her off from the others with the bronze bulk of his own larger body. By the time he neared her, she'd already turned away from him, raising her long tail eagerly.

The meaning of any life is to make more life, he told himself.

Without thinking, he tucked his horned head down between the dragoness's muscular, golden-scaled thighs. His tongue ran out from between his tusks of its own accord, sliding at once into the thick, puffy folds of her sex to sample at the estrus-soaked flesh within. The female practically cooed in pleasure at his touch, and almost immediately, he could feel the effects of her heat upon his own body.

His dropped cock surged with hot, eager blood, almost angrily, and he drunk deeply from her depths to hasten its stirring. All the while, he made sure to keep an awareness of where the other three females were, using his tail as a bulwark. It was possible that they would become frustrated if he didn't hurry. Not for the first time, he bemoaned the functional lack of his wings, since they would have proven a useful tool for keeping them at distance.

Without life, there is only death.

It took him less than a minute to reach an adequate state of arousal for the task at hand. Objectively, he knew that this was supposed to be a natural thing. Male dragons such as himself had a biological response to the taste of a female's heat, and he no longer needed 'assistance' to call upon such instincts, as he did in his youth. Pulling his tongue free with a loud, wet sound, he then proceeded to mount her.

She huffed as the vast spread of his weight bore down upon her limbs, but she was a sturdy female, strong and in the prime of her youth. She bore him well. All the same, he felt her limbs tremble as he gave her that first, perfunctory thrust. When the wide, flat tip of his shaft spread open her body, she made a guttural sound in the back of her throat, echoed by bitter notes from the other females behind him.

To avoid death, and to bring about life is the honored commitment of a father.

With practice, breeding had become an easy affair for Yurio. Using his powerful hind legs to brace himself against the cold, rocky floor, he set his empty gaze forward and began pumping his hips, driving back and forth with mechanical efficiency into the body of the dragoness beneath him. He kept his front limbs gripped tight around her waist as he worked, tucked into the folds of her hindquarters for purchase. All the while, he did his best to keep his mind clear of thoughts. It was simpler to just focus on the feelings, to concentrate upon the slickness of her depths, the heat, and the pull of her muscles as she clenched upon him. She panted openly as he mated with her, that long-unsated itch finally getting scratched in the only way that it could.

His ejaculation came shortly. It was, all told, little more than a perfunctory gesture. He held himself still as he felt his body empty inside of her; were it not for the brief, disinterested grunt of pleasure that spilled out past his tusks, or the subtle flagging of his long, flat tail, one would never have even noticed it at all. He dismounted almost immediately afterwards, allowing a spill of fluids to rush out after his slick, half-flaccid penis. It would be enough to ease this particular female, he figured, and with luck, enough to give her an egg that would end her frustrations. He paused only long enough to glance upon the wet trail of semen that dripped out from between her thighs, noting its sheen in the blue lichen-light before turning to the others. Three sets of hungry, golden eyes regarded him. There was more work to be done.

As he gestured for the next dragoness to approach him, and mounted her in turn, his mind reeled back to the long-forgotten desires of his youth. Dully, he wondered if they were ever truly real, or if they had simply been a delusion. In the darkness of the caves, it was easier to imagine such fantasies.

---

The rest of the evening passed quickly in the pursuit of Yurio's other responsibilities. As it turned out, there was a great deal for him to do; the Alhetzern _Otcové_was set to occur the following day, and as host of the event, Yurio was expected to see to all of the little details of preparation. Once he'd ensured that the four rutting females were settled and satisfied, he attended to these in short order, and was glad to do so. He found that his wandering mind was easier to manage when he kept himself occupied.

First, and most importantly, he checked in with his mates-on-the-wing to confirm that the local tapa herds were strong and hardy. There would be a great many visitors during the Otcové, and it was necessary to ensure that there'd be ample game for their guests. His other duties were less pressing: a necessary grooming following his earlier exertions, a cursory examination of the cave's defenses, and then a brief council held with the eldest and most experienced of his many mates. Afterwards, long after the rest of his warren had gone to sleep, he finally settled into the great den at the center of the caves, and eventually allowed himself the same privilege. That night, he dreamt that he was back in the Alhetztandt.

It wasn't the first time that he'd dreamt of the place. Yurio suspected that it'd somehow become a mainstay in his unconscious mind; the old, acrid halls of his ancestors had become so similar to his own home as to be nearly interchangeable. As was common, the dream started with him getting lost in the dense network of its tunnels. An ugly pit of disgust bloomed within his guts as the rocky, claw-marked walls slowly formed around him, twisting into mazelike hollows. He recognized the feel of this particular nightmare before it even properly came upon him. He braced himself for it.

The Alhetztandt was one of the oldest and deepest warrens in all of Brera. It'd been dug centuries before his own hatching, and thousands of dragons had called the caves home over the long course of its storied history. In the few times that he'd visited, Yurio consistently found himself astounded by the enormity of its tunnel systems. The circumstances of this dream were no different. Blinded by the darkness, he roamed through its long, shadowy passageways, following alien scents and the vague traces of marks left in the stone. He was a stranger in these caves, always, even though it was a place of family.

Family, he reminded himself. I am not alone here.

Yurio could sense their presence all around him: aunts, cousins, nieces, sisters. The tunnels were crowded with their unfamiliar shapes, and every hall was stuffed to the brim with warm, scaly bodies. Each figure was little more than a silent shadow in the dark, a harsh new scent that he didn't recognize. They were more phantom than family.

Without light, he was forced to navigate through the earthen tunnels solely by his own perceptions of smell and touch. He knew each piece of stimuli by instinct, if not from long experience in such places. Here, the sharp, brittle pricks of broken eggshells beneath his paw, indicating a nest chamber. There, the scent-markings of a female who was in estrus not one month earlier. Further along, he felt the hesitant touch of a dragonet's tender snout upon his hip, trying to decipher his own scent from amidst the lot. There were thousands.

At times, as Yurio proceeded through the caves, the shadowy figures of dragons were clustered together so thickly that he was forced to press himself through the mass. On and on he pushed, quickly growing impatient, and then frantic as each tunnel became harder to access. The dream seemed to tune in to his fears. Almost at once, the rocky interior of the caves was replaced by warm, unknown dragon-flesh, surrounding him on all sides. Their bodies soon crowded the walls, the floors, and the ceilings, making him work for every inch of passage. He felt their unwelcome claws grasping against his hide, and their hot, silent breath washing upon his flanks.

Out, his instincts screamed at him. His eyes were wild in the darkness, roaming, and yet seeing nothing. I have to get out!

Pushing with all of his strength, crawling mutely, Yurio struggled against the unseen masses that now composed his whole world. Although there was no sense of sound in the dream, he was still certain that they were calling out, calling for him. He felt their wet, flagging tongues rasp against his ears. The vibrations of their words resounded and echoed within his chest. Soon, more and more unheard voices filled the tunnels, and more bodies gathered around him, until suddenly he was met with a solid wall of hide at his front. He'd found the end of the warren.

Out!

His movements turned desperate. Snarling, he bore his claws against the unfamiliar flesh that blocked his path. Blood flowed. Although he couldn't see it in the darkness, he could still smell it, metallic, reeking, and hot in his nostrils as he lashed out. Flesh, sinew, and scale parted under his claws, before suddenly giving way entirely. Then, from the mess, a faint light shone through. He dug his way in towards it, forward, feeling the press of bodies closing in behind his back.

Out!

It was as though Yurio were pushing himself free from the egg once more. There was one last burst of furious, desperate digging, and then he fell from the darkness, tumbling out into a wet, bloody pool. His body collapsed into the new-found space, where he then lay still, curled into a fetal position upon the soft, wet ground. The light was utterly blinding in this new place, wherever it was, forcing him to squint against the brilliance. Anything was preferrable over the cave.

He knew that he wasn't awake yet; the smells of the Alhetztandt were still vivid and vile in his nostrils, and his body still felt utterly drained from the effort of his exertions. Worse yet, he was still afraid. Breathtakingly so. However, as his eyes started to adjust to his new surroundings, he began to see just where it was that he'd arrived.

Ancestors... I made it out.

He was in a clearing of some sort. After a moment of weak, timid blinking, he recognized it as the landing perch just outside of the Alhetztandt's primary entrance. Before him, a stark cliff opened out into the vast stretch of the Breran mountains, with valleys of deep, dark pine shrouded by fog. Above him, the sky was a horrid, brilliant shade of red that pained his eyes. He dared not look at his back, however; he could only imagine the grotesque press of bodies that he'd just torn through, and he had no desire to see it. Instead he looked forward, and noticed for the first time that he wasn't alone.

Females. There were four of them upon the cliff with him. If their colors and sparse feathering was anything to go by, they were likely older creatures, the sort of den mothers who spent their later years tending to the young. Their faded scales were a dull, ruddy shade of bronze, and their wings sagged from a lack of exercise. Yurio didn't recognize their faces or scents, but judging by the tender way in which they looked back at him, he was certain that they knew who he was. One of them gingerly stepped forward, her mouth wagging silently in speech.

Why, just look at you, the jaws said. The old dragoness either didn't see, or chose not to acknowledge the scene of carnage from which he'd just entered. By the ancestors, what a pretty little thing you are now! I dare say that it's an improvement!

An improvement? Yurio didn't understand. He took a moment to wipe away any remaining blood and viscera from out of his eyes, before finally looking down at his own curled-up body. As the image before him slowly shifted from a blur to reality, a soundless breath of surprise fled from between his fangs. No matter how many times he'd endured the dream, this moment always took him off-guard.

There, atop his narrow, feathered shoulders, the pale expanse of his own folded wings caught upon the red glare of the sunlight. My wings, Yurio realized. He stared down at himself in shock, disbelieving, stricken dumb by the mere sight of them. Cautiously, he attempted to move one of his upper shoulder joints, which for so long had been crippled; despite his fears, the strong muscles and lively sinews of the wing flexed effortlessly at his command, opening like a fan. Speechless, he held the thing aloft, marveling at its beauty in the newfound light.

His wings were healed. How many years had it been since he could move them like this, he thought? How many decades had it been since his father had rendered him flightless? By his side, the old dragonesses all approached him in turn. Their soft, brown eyes regarded him approvingly as he opened and closed his wings. Yes, quite the fetching little dragoness, they said silently to one another.You'll make him quite happy, I imagine.

It was only while observing his newly-restored wings that Yurio began to notice the other changes in his body. Most were subtle: his limbs were now slender and thin, and his feathers had grown more prominent along the fine hinges of his joints. His muscles had also trimmed down substantially, and his scales had recovered that fine, youthful sheen of gold that he hadn't seen upon himself in decades. It took him several moments more before he realized what all of this meant. He was younger in this dream yes, but more importantly... he was a female now.

No, he thought.Not female.

From his curled-up position, Yurio could now observe the vacant, bloody space lying between his legs. To say that there was nothing there now would be inaccurate. There was, in fact, something. A gaping, crimson tear now sat in the midst of his thighs, where once there'd been a sheath and a set of testicles. There was no pain to the injury; in a surreal fashion, what Yurio felt there was more of an emptiness than any sort of discomfort. As he stared down between his legs in horror, the other females continued to gather around him, nodding and flapping their noiseless jaws at one another in errant conversation.

Have you ever seen such a lovely young creature?

Never, in all my years.

Certainly high time she mated, yes.

Mated? He wasn't given time to consider the meaning of their words. Suddenly, the wall of flesh trembled at his side. In the rush of discovering his restored wings, and in the horror which had soon followed, Yurio had very nearly forgotten about the entrance to the cave. He turned back towards it. There, an innumerable mass of scaly bodies plugged up the opening of the Alhetztandt, parted only by the morbid, bloody little tunnel that he'd dug for himself to escape. However, even as he watched, something else began to tear its way through, something far bigger than himself.

Don't just sit there, one of the old dragonesses at his side said. Stand and meet your mate properly, little one. He's come all this way to meet you! Otec!

Yurio couldn't stand. In fact, he found that he couldn't move at all. Fear had rooted him in his place. From inside of the hole that he'd carved earlier, another dragon now stared back out him, glaring at him with a furious look of lust and hatred so unnerving that it nearly shook him from his dream. His 'mate', they'd called him. Yurio knew very well who it was. He recognized his own father's eyes even before that brutal, overpowering scent found its way to him through the hole. Then the wall shifted again as the other dragon began to dig towards him, and suddenly Yurio found the strength to move in his fear.

Otec!

He struggled to pick himself up, scrambling as the wall of bodies began to come apart at his back. His bloody claws scrabbled helplessly against the rocks. Finally, he managed to throw himself forward, and all too soon the open air of the mountainside met him. He toppled from the cliff face, discovering that his newborn wings were just as useless now as they were in the waking world. A silent scream tore itself from his lips as he tumbled out into the empty air, as the ground rushed up to meet him, and then he was gone from it all. Darkness surrounded him once again, and the only sound he heard was a small, frail voice.

"Otec," it called again. Yurio blinked. He was awake now, he realized. His heart was still hammering painfully against his ribcage, and his breath felt too shallow in his lungs, but he was awake. He took a moment to recall himself and where he was. It was only a dream, he thought at last. With a conscious effort, he managed to slow down his breathing. It was nothing more than a dream. I'm still here. I am still myself.

"Otec," the voice insisted, frail and timid, and close to his ear. "Otec, are you alright?"

The darkness around Yurio slowly began to take on clarity and color, aided by the weak glow of phosphorescent moss that was tucked away in nooks and crevices. He recognized where he was now. This was his own nest-cave, buried deep within the heart of the warren. Beside him- resting in a loose pile of scaly coils and wings - were three of his mates: Vera, Vale, and Vrayne. It seemed as though his restless dreams hadn't disturbed them. They were still soundly asleep, hissing soft breaths with every rise and fall of their narrow chests. Next to his head, however, the voice piped up once again. It was a quiet, trembling thing.

"You were breathing very hard."

Lifting his head up from the ground, Yurio looked down at his side. There, tucked into the dense, swaddling mass of pine needles that composed their nest, was a tiny dragonet no bigger than his own paw. The little creature was nearly invisible amongst the fragrant swathes of needles, camouflaged as he was in a coat of vibrant, green feathers. His eyes gave him away, however: gold within gold, staring up at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

Little Yoj, Yurio's first and only son.

The stark disparity of emotions that he felt as he looked down at the dragonet, so soon after that awful nightmare, made him speechless for a moment. He must have made an awful face then, for Yoj's head nearly cocked sideways in surprise. Yurio swiftly mastered himself. Bending down, he nuzzled the smaller dragon affectionally with his snout-tip, pushing Yoj back into the pine needles where he had been sleeping.

"I am fine, little prince," he said softly. He didn't wish to wake the others. "It was only a dream. All is well... all is well."

Yoj was, like most dragonets at that precious young age, a creature of simple thoughts. He accepted his father's words implicitly, and soon settled back down into the pine needles, nudging his tiny, feathered body up against Yurio's warm neck. It was not typical for dragonets of his age to sleep in the primary nest of the warren, but Yoj was a special case. He was a male, and the first to be born so among dozens of other hatchlings. He was a prize more than a century in the making, and to Yurio, his value was inexpressible.

Once he was tucked up against his father's soft, scarred hide, the little dragonet's nose nudged at the long, loose flaps of his ear. His voice was so sweet and high that it nearly resembled a chirp. "Was it a bad dream?"

"Shhhhh," Yurio whispered back. "You'll wake your mothers."

"I'm sorry... I can't sleep now."

Yurio sympathized with his son's sentiment. Following a nightmare such as his, he imagined that he too would have some difficulties settling back down. He'd had that same dream more and more often of late; privately, he suspected that it was because of the Alhetzern Otcové. His father would be in attendance tomorrow, along with all the other males of the clan. There was more than one reason why such a gathering would put a dragon like himself on edge. Confidently, he pushed the thought from his mind, and instead lifted his head once more to look down at Yoj. The sight of his son made his heart lighter.

"Try, little prince," he said softly, pressing down upon the dragonet once more with his nose so that Yoj was very nearly swallowed by the warm, fragrant pine. "It was only a dream, and we have our waking lives to look forward to, tomorrow. You'll need all of your energy for the Otcové. Think of nothing but that, and sleep."

Yoj grumbled beneath the bed of needles, but said little else in argument. Soon enough, the weak sounds of his own snores could be heard from below the layer of pine, and Yurio allowed himself to rest at last. His eyes stayed open for a long while, however, fearful of what he would see if he allowed them to close once more.

---

Spring in the Breran ranges was an extraordinarily colorful event. From beneath the melting banks of snow, flowering plants in innumerable quantities sprung up among the pines, as though to take revenge upon the winter for humbling them earlier. For creatures as sensitive as dragons, the riotous scents and colors of so many flowers could be a dazzling spectacle. It was doubly more so for Yurio, as the Alhetzern Otcové was the first occasion that he'd left his warren in some months.

It was a rare event. The gathering included all the males of the clan, bringing them together to discuss the politics of the day, to go over the prospects of marriages, alliances, and wars, and to debate the merits of major actions which could affect the livelihood of the clan. Historically, it was usually held in the lauded, ancestral halls of the Alhetztandt, but Yurio's inability to fly there had made it impossible for him to attend. Considering that he was now one of the oldest males in the clan, and one of only three capable of breeding soundly, it was agreed that the location would be changed to his abode, for convenience if not for formality. Since his warren was also not yet large enough to accommodate the size of the gathered males, the meeting was held, unusually, outside. Around them, all the magnificence of spring was in full view. Yurio found it quite distracting.

They were all gathered a few dozen meters away from the entrance of his warren. His mates had prepared the meeting place several weeks earlier. Whole trees had been dug up to provide a suitable clearing, with their trunks skinned of bark and arranged in a semi-circle to provide an atrium for the meeting. To add to the decorum, he'd had his daughters collect colorful stones and flowers from the nearby valleys, which were placed carefully around the circle's edges to provide them with decoration. Yurio himself had made a personal effort to ensure that the appearance of the Otcové was agreeable. He'd allow no dragon to disparage his home or his attitude towards the gravity of such events, and he was proud of the outcome.

In that exact moment, however, he wasn't thinking about the decorations, or even the meeting itself. His head was craned upwards towards the bright, clear sky, where he watched one of his younger daughters at play, chasing an unfortunate eagle. The other males were discussing the rather dour news regarding the Wet Lung plague, which he didn't care to hear. As he watched the young dragoness follow the poor bird in swift circles, he called up towards her, raising his voice to a bellow so that it'd carry high into the air.

"Veela," he yelled, interrupting the other males. "Leave that poor thing about its business!"

Tucking her wings, the young dragoness acquiesced to his command, careening away to join the other females in flight nearby. The gathering of the Otcové was one of the most important events in their clan, and nearly every female in the family was present, with most of them remaining in the sky. The horizon was full to the brim with their number, humming with the sounds of their conjoined songs, accompanied by the beat of their wings. Their presence was a necessary precaution. With all of the males in one place, a precise attack from an enemy clan could wipe out their entire line.

"Why couldn't she play with the bird?" Yoj asked. The little dragonet had tucked himself between Yurio's massive forelegs, and while he'd ignored most of the meeting's proceedings, he raised his head to listen after his father had shouted. His bright, golden eyes squinted tightly as he watched his sister fly off. He was still a few months too young to join her.

"She was _not_playing," Yurio said sternly, using a claw to stroke at the dragonet's feathered head. "I won't have any of you bothering the birds. They're kin, sharing the sky with us, and they've no fondness for games of chase. To them, the matter is a deadly serious business."

Yoj nodded, but Yurio suspected he was only jealous that he couldn't be the one up there, chasing eagles. There'd be time enough for that, later, when he was older.

"If you're finished managing the affairs of your spawn, Yurio, perhaps we can continue?"

Yurio blinked, recalling himself. He hadn't meant to interrupt the meeting with that little outburst, and at the moment, the other three males were staring at him incredulously. "Apologies," he said simply, fluttering his jaw-fans in an attempt at a courteous gesture. "Do go on."

Besides himself and little Yoj, the Otcové held four other males, or three, depending on if you only counted the living. The sun-bleached skull of his uncle Yafex was propped up on some stones nearby, as was custom for the honored dead during an Otcové. He'd been killed three summers earlier during a fatal duel with the last patriarch, Yolh the Greater. It was a battle that'd tragically proved fatal for both dragons, and in one crushing evening, the clan had lost two of its most powerful and esteemed males. Even now, his skull was given a place of great honor in the clearing. To Yurio's knowledge, there wasn't enough of Yolh the Greater's skull to bring along for similar treatment.

The largest of their assemblage - and the current assumed patriarch - was Yolh the Lesser, Yurio's great-uncle and former brother to the Greater. He was a massive specimen, only slightly smaller than his colossal sibling, and that only due to deformity. He'd been stricken by an unfortunate pox of the scales in his youth, which had stripped him of both strength and vitality even as it caused the scales to bleed from his body. His survival was not a miracle anyone had expected. Now, he was a mass of scarred hide, with only a few dull, brown scales in odd patches across his vast form. His face, which was twisted by scars, nevertheless held about it a visage of pride. He was the eldest surviving Alhetzern, and he'd taken on the mantle of leadership despite the doubts that others had in him. Yurio, for his own part, felt a kinship with him; they'd both suffered from illnesses beyond their means to control.

His own father, Yorin, sat next to the patriarch. While undoubtably the eldest and healthiest of Yolh the Greater's brood, he was nonetheless considered too short-tempered to effectively rule the clan. The price of his aggression had cost Yurio his own wings, decades earlier, and the clan had not forgiven the incident even by the time that Yolh's death had forced a vote on the next patriarch. He was very much like Yurio himself in appearance, only lacking the full mane of bright, crimson feathers which his son had maintained despite the onset of years. Throughout the meeting, he'd glared at Yurio contemptibly, no doubt still resenting him. Yurio ignored him.

The last and youngest of the other dragons was Yasere, son of Yutezt the Wracked. He was junior to Yurio by several decades, and had only just himself acquired his first mate, who made anxious circles in the sky over the Otcové. Yasere was a calm and rational male, although he lacked the telling experience of his seniors. This showed in his conversational habits, where he tended to agree with whomever was in charge, disregarding his own feelings on the matter. Looking at him, all Yurio could think of was old Yutezt; Yasere's father had been killed by the Wet Lung plague some years prior, in the first outbreak. So it was that there were only five males present in the Otcové, a perilously small number.

"I find it agreeable that the gathering should take place here, in the warm currents of the mountains," Yolh said, shaking out his vast, leathery wings to better catch the sunlight. His booming voice carried a strange lisp with it, no doubt from the knotted scars along his torn lips. "The Wet Lung is spreading across the mountains once again, and it keeps better in the still air of the caves. When a meeting between warrens is necessary, such as this, it's better for us all to be outdoors."

Yorin scoffed, making a rude sound in his throat. "There's no security," he grumbled. "Every clan in Brera knows that we're gathered here... it's a disaster waiting to happen."

The comment was aimed at Yurio, but he didn't bother to take the bait. Yolh merely rolled his eyes in response, sticking out his wide, flat tongue and swiping it across his tusks in a dismissive gesture. "Let me remind you that it was your actions which led us to meet here, and not in the Alhetztandt," he stated flatly. "Your actions, and your lack of judgement."

"I like it out here," Yasere offered weakly, trying to change the subject. "Your warren is absolutely lovely, Yurio. I only hope that my own caves can be managed so neatly."

"He has much time to decorate, considering how little of it he spends attending to his _real_responsibilities." Another jab from his father. "His condition aside, a proper male would-"

Yolh slapped his massive tail down against the dry earth, and the resounding boom proved enough to temporarily silence Yorin. "That's enough of that," the older dragon rumbled, clearly on the cusp of annoyance. Yurio's 'condition' was well-known amongst the other males of the clan; his nature as a milovnik muži had been the primary reason why he himself hadn't been considered for the role of patriarch. Yolh, however, had made it clear to him that the illness would not affect his standing, so long as he provided the family with another male heir. Now that Yoj was a reality, the patriarch had proclaimed that the issue was no longer a concern. Yorin had clearly never gotten over the fact.

"We will move on now to more pressing matters," the patriarch continued. His gruff voice echoed out over the clearing. "The Wet Lung has struck every warren in the southern ranges. The clans of Borna, Naer, and Vurudia have lost thousands of females to the sickness, and we hear rumors that a number of males among their number have likewise perished. Considering this, it should go without saying that our family has gained a significant amount of leverage amongst the breeding pools." Here, he raised his heavy head up, carefully acknowledging each of the other males in turn. His blind, milky left eye stared out vacantly from its socket.

"I move now that we discuss the prospects of marriages which will further strengthen our position amongst the clans." One by one, each of them thumped their tails in agreement. An exception was made for little Yoj, who had fallen asleep between Yurio's forelegs. He was exempt from much of the subject matter, at any rate.

"Very well," the patriarch said. "I needn't remind you all that the procurement of another male to our family is of vital importance, considering the more recent loss of Yafex, and my honored brother." He took a moment there to close his eyes, paying due respects to the former patriarch. "However, in this perilous time, with disease rampant in the warrens, each clan is carefully taking pains to ensure that their males are secure."

"Except for ours, apparently," Yorin said under his breath. Yolh gave the other male an irritated look before continuing.

"We cannot risk the resources required to capture a male from another clan... in such a war, we are just as likely to bring back more of the Wet Lung into our own caves. With that effort an impossibility, we will instead focus on marriage prospects."

His scarred, haggard face took on a deadly serious look then, and he lowered his voice as he went on. "There is a rumor," he began. "Apparently, the Fien clan of the west has lost all of its breeding males, with the exception of one. I have been in talks with the widows of their former patriarch... it is possible that we can absorb their clan utterly, if we accept this male into our ranks by granting him a marriage bond."

Yurio found it difficult to hide his surprise at this proposal; despite his best efforts, his jaw-fan still twitched with nervous excitement. He knew, as they all did, that the Wet Lung had devastated many of the Breran clans, but to hear that a clan had lost all of their males but one? It was horrific, yes, but more importantly, it was a wonderful stroke of luck for their own designs. Absorbing a clan such as the Fien would make their own family significantly more formidable.

"Clan Fien is notoriously violent," Yurio said cautiously. "I don't suspect that their females would surrender a vulnerable breeding male alone, even considering the plague at large. However did you manage to secure a clan-meld?"

Yolh grinned. It was a horrific display, considering the snaggle-toothed array that still remained within his disfigured jaws. "It's true that the Fien are an embittered lot. However, they are also exceedingly craftly. I believe that they have heard rumors of our own losses, and the deaths of Yafex and my elder brother. They know that we too, are short of males. It seems as though they would rather surrender their last heir to a clan such as ours, knowing that he would have more power in a family with fewer males. His legacy will be stronger, with less competition."

"It seems too good to be true," Yorin added. His long, blunt claws were busy scoring anxious lines in the dirt. "More likely, they're preparing a trap."

Yolh let out a bark of laughter at that. "That's not even the most intriguing thing about this arrangement," he said. Holding up a paw, the elder dragon raised three of his claws. "The male's name is Arlot... and the representatives from Clan Fien say that he is a Samec ze Te Vajec."

A silence fell over the clearing at those words. Only Yasere still seemed confused; his head moved back and forth upon his long neck as he looked between the other males, seeking for some sort of hint or clarification. It was clear that he'd never heard the expression before.

"Forgive me, patriarch," he said quietly. "I'm not so versed in the ancestral tongue... what does that mean? Is it a good thing?"

Yurio responded on behalf of the older dragon. He didn't look at Yasere while he spoke. Instead, his gaze was cast over the nearby mountains, watching as the clouds of females rose and fell over the clouds. A hazy, thoughtful look lingered upon his scarred face. "He means that the heir of Fien supposedly has three egg-makers," he said simply. Yasere blinked in surprise at this.

"Three? That's... not normal. Is that healthy?"

Yorin scowled at the younger dragon's naivety. "It doesn't matter. They're lying. No clan would ever voluntarily surrender a Samec ze Te Vajec to another family's lineage. Now we can be certain that it's a trap."

"The trait is _not_normal, Yasere," the patriarch said smoothly, choosing not to reply to Yorin's comment. "It is a supremely rare attribute, and one that signifies a blessing of fertility. Yorin's suspicion is in good faith, which is why we will be careful, but if the claim is true then we cannot hesitate. The addition of such a boon to our legacy will be of incalculable benefit. We will verify the claim, and then... then, if it is true, we will arrange a mating to bind this Arlot to our clan. Now, are we in agreement?"

There was hesitation from them all, then. Yurio thought carefully before casting his own decision. The Fien clan was notoriously dangerous. There were rumors of cannibalism amongst the dregs of their culture, and that was to say nothing of the actual wars that they'd waged over tapa herds and water sources. It was not a clan to ally with casually. All the same...

He looked down at Yoj. The little dragonet still slumbered easily between his paws, spread out upon his back, his feathered belly open to the sky. Having another male in the family would put less pressure on Yoj to grow up. He decided then, letting his tail pound into the earth. Yasere followed him, and then as they all looked to Yorin, the other dragon snorted and made agreement as well.

"It is decided," Yolh said. He turned towards Yurio, nodding in respect. "Yurio the Firemane, you_will be the adjudicator of Clan Fien, to ensure that their heir is both healthy and worthy of joining our family. I grant you the responsibility of performing the _duležité pozorování."

Yorin looked up in surprise at this concession. Snorting hatefully, his teeth flashing in fury, he stood up from his place within the circle. "I challenge that," he hissed, flaring his wings out in a posture of obvious aggression. "Considering his own condition, Yurio has no place to judge the healthy attributes of another male! He's just as likely to raise his own tail and-"

As much as Yurio desired to defend himself against the coming insult - already, he could feel his lips curling up over his fangs - he found that it was no longer necessary. Almost immediately, Yolh leapt up from his own position, surging forward with a surprising swiftness and clapping Yorin's cheek with his own massive paw. The two dragons at once fell into a furious tumble of wings, snapping jaws, and talons, kicking up dust as they wrestled there in the center of the clearing.

Within moments, several of the nearby dragonesses descended from the sky to monitor the bout, some from Yorin's ilk, and others from Yolh's. Yurio could even see Yasere's mate among their number, the poor thing struggling to gain access to the clearing, obviously fearful for her young mate's safety. Yurio made no other movement than to pull Yoj closer to his chest. The little dragonet had stirred awake fearfully at all of the commotion, and he watched through Yurio's paws with wide eyes.

Male dragons rarely fought one another outside of highly regulated ceremony, and the intensity in the battle before them was particularly unusual. Yurio felt his own body tensing instinctually as the hot, visceral scent of blood suddenly tinged the air. If either of them were seriously injured, it would only put the clan in a worse state of affairs. His eyes wandered fretfully over the two figures as they rolled around and snarled in the dirt, but then he looked away. A brief feeling of disgust had soured his stomach as he realized that the sight was somehow arousing to him.

In the end, the assistance of the dragonesses was unneeded. Yolh was, despite his deformity, still half again as large as Yorin and considerably more experienced in dueling. In less than a minute the larger dragon had pinned his opponent to the ground. There was something gratifying about seeing his father's bloodied face ground into the dirt, but Yurio was careful not to let such emotions show on his face. Instead, he kept a cool composure, merely observing.

Yolh said something to Yorin then, leaning in close to whisper into the other male's ears. A moment passed, and then Yolh growled. The sound of it was low enough to shake the dust by their bodies. Bearing his teeth, Yorin finally acknowledged.

"Yes. My challenge is... rescinded. I settle."

Yolh let Yorin go with a contemptuous snort, and the two males then returned to their places in the clearing. The females, for their part, lingered, clearly hesitant to take flight once again. Most loitered upon the edges of the clearing, remaining silent, but watching. Yolh took a brief second to compose himself before speaking again; he'd been bloodied in the scrap, and long, ugly gashes dripped messily upon his unscaled hide. Yorin had been left worse off. His left forelimb hung at an awkward angle on the joint, and blood flowed off his tusks from the gaping loss of several fangs.

"Mark well, young Yasere," Yolh said, gesturing towards his own wounds. "The loss of my scales encouraged the development of other attributes... you would do well never to challenge a dragon with so many scars as mine."

"Never, patriarch."

Flaring his wings, the scarred old dragon then made a climactic gesture to the assemblage. "Then with the challenge settled, let it be decided. Clan Fien will deliver Arlot here, to the warren of Yurio the Firemane, for judgement. If Yurio finds the Fien heir healthy and viable, then he is to be mated to our blood. Yurio, have you a daughter suitable for the arrangement?"

Yurio blanched at the patriarch's question. Of course. Their family would need to offer a female for the exchange, a mate to bind this Arlot through egg-laying. For a moment, he considered the options. He had dozens of daughters, and it was no simple task to select one for such a heavy responsibility.

"My eldest, Veritas," he finally said. He spoke aloud so that the females could hear, hoping that Veritas was among their number. "She has borne me six granddaughters, and is the pride of my warren. She is skilled in the hunt and on the wing, and has the experience needed to guide Arlot in the ways of our family. I would be honored if she could have the privilege."

Yolh nodded. "So be it. Let it be settled with agreement."

With that, all of the males present brought their tails to the earth. Even Yorin, who now knew better than to argue.

---

The _Otcové_adjourned just as the sun began to settle over the nearby mountains. Yurio continued to play out his role as host to the letter, and saw off each of his guests with all of the expected formality. He gently embraced each of the other males with his neck - even his father, who was noticeably tense during the farewell ceremony - and watched as their retinues took off into the blushing sky. It was only after they'd all departed over the horizon that he finally allowed himself to relax. A soft sigh of relief slowly uncoiled itself from his chest as he watched their forms vanish over the distant peaks.

"It never resolves," he said quietly to himself. From the open space of the clearing, he could already hear several of his own entourage descending from the sky to seek out new orders. "Emotions don't seem to age between us."

With the _Otcové_now concluded, Yurio gave leave to his daughters and mates to abate with their vigil; celebrations were now in order. He declined several invitations to mate or play, instead opting to take the remainder of the afternoon for himself. He felt a need to reflect upon his upcoming responsibilities for the clan merger, and about the course of life that he'd just set forth for his eldest daughter.

Naturally, Veritas had been overjoyed by the prospect of marriage. To become the First Mate for a new male of the lineage was a great honor. She would soon be the matron of her own cave system, and in time, likely the foremother to countless hatchlings. The glee with which she'd received the news had brought no small amount of comfort to him. For a variety of personal reasons, he irked at the notion of deciding anyone else's life for them, and lamented that he'd been given no time to consult her regarding the matter.

At that very moment, she was up with her sisters in the skies high above the cave, enjoying the cool air of the late evening with games of chase and sport. Yurio lingered by the mouth of the caverns to watch her and her siblings in flight; their forms roved in lazy circles against the blossoming colors of the sunset, little kites of glimmering gold, bronze, and copper contrasting against the soft pinks and violets of the sinking sunlight. The stars were just beginning to show up on the borders of the sky, and soon enough, the cold of the mountains would sweep in alongside the night. Yoj had already been sent inside. He wouldn't linger for long, himself.

"She _will_be happy, you know."

At some point during his meditations, Vera had slipped up against his side. In spite of the fact that she was only his Second Mate, Yurio felt a closeness with her, a fondness, that readily put him at ease. She had been the first dragoness to share a mating with him, and despite the trauma of that particular evening, or perhaps because of it, they'd forged a curious bond that had lasted throughout the decades. Gingerly, she nudged her smaller head underneath his own, settling her warm body up against his. A low purr of contentment radiated out from her slender, bronze chest.

"You did not saddle her with a burden," she continued, somehow seeming to sense his unease. "This will be a great opportunity for her."

Yurio knew that, of course. It was only natural for Veritas to desire a cave system of her own, and attain such a prestigious rank within the clan. All the same...

"I've heard many things about this clan, the Fien," he said. "I only worry that this Arlot will be unkind to her. They're not known for their compassion."

Vera snorted, blowing warm breath up against the underside of his throat. It was not an unwelcome feeling. "What dragons are?"

"I just worry for her."

"You worry over a grown dragoness. Fear does not become you, love."

It was still such a strange thing, to be called that. She did love him, he knew, in a way that he could not love her. It was an understanding that she and all of his mates had long since come to grasp; they would have matings, yes, and eggs, but with Yurio they would forever be left wanting for something that a male dragon was supposed to find naturally in his companions. Unlike Vale, his First Mate, Vera had never begrudged him the loss of it. For that, Yurio had always done his best to provide for her with what affection he could. Reaching down, he gently lapped at the curve of her snout, tasting her smooth, fine hide. He wished that he could love her.

"Fear will keep us safe," he said quietly between licks. "I will see for myself if the Fien heir is worthy of our Veritas. If need be, I will call the clan unity off... I could care less what the opinion of the patriarch is on the matter."

She didn't bother to call his bluff, instead preferring to simply enjoy the rare attention that he lavished upon her. One of his daughters swooped by the entrance of the cave, and in the following rush of wind he heard her calling out: something silly, a harmless jeer at his little show of affection towards Vera, which they both ignored. Eventually, he pulled his snout away, contenting himself merely to lay his paw upon hers. He felt the softness of her smooth talons, and the difference in size between them. She was as bound to these caves, and this life, as he was.

"When they come," he said. "I want all of the little ones put away in the nest caves. Gather up the four who are in heat and have them guard the upper levels. They'll be more useful if a fight occurs."

"Do you imagine something like that would happen?"

He shrugged, rolling his useless wings. "The Fien are unpredictable. They might do anything if I determine that Arlot isn't worthy of joining us. They might even try to take hostages to improve their bargaining."

"You're a more likely target, in that case."

He made a noncommittal gesture, a light flick of his jaw fans. "That would be something. They'd be in for a rather rude surprise if they think I'd be of any use breeding. They're more likely to just eat me."

She snapped up at him half-heartedly, nipping at his frills. "That's not funny."

It wasn't. If any hostilities were to actually occur, it would likely be a bloodbath, with the females tearing each other to pieces in an effort to protect both himself and Arlot. He frowned in thought. He'd have to be cautious in any assessment of the Fien heir, to ensure that such a conflict did not arise unnecessarily. He set the matter aside for the moment, instead allowing himself to return a playful bite back to his mate.

Night was now falling over the Breran ranges in full, and one by one his daughters returned to the mouth of the warren to escape from the cold. He waited until they were all back inside before following, casting one last, long look at the darkened sky. Vera called for him, and he turned aside; there would be time enough to deal with the Fien family, when they arrived.

It was rare that the clan celebrated so, and Yurio allowed himself at least one selfish evening of joy, keeping all thoughts of the coming merger from his thoughts. He lingered by Vera's side throughout dinner and the dances which followed, and when Yoj had finally fallen asleep, he danced with her in other ways. He might not have lusted after her in the same way that a real male would have, but the clearness of thought that this provided him with allowed for a focus on pleasures other than his own.

---

The weeks passed as messengers flew back and forth along the Breran ranges, sending word between the two families. Yurio kept a keen ear on the proceedings. The Fien had begrudgingly accepted their formal invitation to the 'inspection', but Arlot would not be travelling alone. As they'd feared, he'd be bringing along nearly half of his own family with him for security. Even this massive number had been a concession on the Fien's part, owing to the recent outbreak of the Wet Lung. Originally, he heard that they'd planned on bringing along their entire clan. Yurio thanked the ancestors that Vera and Vale had some talent for negotiation.

The prospect of so many unknown dragons descending upon their mountain nevertheless put the warren on edge. In the days leading up to the visit, many of the females took to digging, carving out false tunnels and building fake walls in preparation for any possible invasion. The dragonets who were old enough to understand were drilled by elder females on the protocols of such defensive architecture, and when they took digging for a game, the drills turned towards the much more dour art of combat. It pained Yurio to watch them wrestling about on the ground, engaged in little mock battles, but practicality told him that it was necessary. He let the females do what they needed to do.

He wasn't eager for a fight, himself. His only personal experience in such matters was with his own father; his hide was still covered in pockmarks and ugly scars marking the outcomes of their duels. Before his untimely death, his uncle Yafex had once offered to tutor him in the sport out of sympathy, but Yurio had declined. He wasn't certain that he could handle the indignity of rolling belly to belly with another male, and stomaching the inevitable biological outcome that would likely occur from such a thing.

No, if a battle broke out because the Fien didn't like the decision of his ruling, he'd simply have to trust in the strength of his mates. They had the advantage of their own home warren, and the Fien would be outnumbered. It would be enough. Thoughts of messy, bloody combat still plagued his dreams however, and he slept in the preceding nights only with great anxiety.

Yoj, for his own part, couldn't be more excited if he tried. He was rather too young to understand the dangers of the coming visit, and in his little mind, he knew only that there was an event of great importance upon the horizon. He watched his sisters' wrestling and sparring with immense enthusiasm, his tiny wings and tail shuddering with an eagerness to join them. Yurio was met with tragic sobs when he was forced to refuse him.

"Princes do not fight their sisters," he'd said simply. His mind was on other matters. "Sometimes...rarely, and only when needed, we have liberty to fight with each other, but then only when the benefits are worthy of the risk. Males can be killed in such duels, and then the whole clan suffers from the loss."

Yoj was persistent in the matter, and he pressed the issue even as the weeks went on. "But I won't die," he argued. "It will only be for playing, and it looks like so much fun!"

Yurio checked him with a tender bite on the dragonet's fluffy, plumaged scruff. "It only looks fun because your sisters are playing, and not taking it seriously. If you are still keen to explore the matter when you're older, I'll arrange for cousin Yasere to come and give you lessons. Until then, you will do no such thing."

The prospect of this idea was appealing enough for the young dragonet to stave off his pestering, at least long enough for Yurio to focus on his other preparations for the event. It was shaping up to be an absurd affair; many of his mates were older and more experienced in the management of the caves than he was, and it felt ludicrous approving their designs for improvements and defenses when he was incapable of providing any real alternatives. They knew this as well, but the formality remained, even when time was pressing. Such was dragon culture, which bound them all.

Throughout the preparations, Veritas was the one beacon of positivity in the warren. Her voice carried far into the dark reaches of the cave as she bantered in good humor with her sisters. It was all that she could do to contain her eagerness, between lessons from her aunts on how to properly serve as a First Mate and preparations for the visit.

"Samec ze Te Vajec... can you even imagine?" Yurio could hear her even from several tunnels away. "And I'll have him all to myself for at least a year!"

She was, of course, under the unshakable impression that Yurio would find no faults in Arlot, and that they'd proceed with the mating immediately. There would be much more pomp and circumstance to it than that, but her enthusiasm was hard to quash, and so he didn't. He only hoped that her optimism would be proven true. It would certainly make all of their lives easier.

The night before the arrival of Clan Fien, Yurio assembled the vast spread of his family outside of the caves. There wasn't a single chamber in the caverns big enough to hold all of them at once, and so he had them arranged in the clearing outside, where he could look out over their number from the cavern's mouth. At this time of year, the warm weather had allowed their valley's lake to thaw out, and many of the dragonets - who were too young to understand the severity of the situation - played amidst the cool waters nearby while he spoke aloud to their elders.

For the occasion, he'd allowed Vera and Vale to accent his hide with the smeared colors of wild berries mixed in with chalk. They were justly proud of the resulting look. Circles of riotous color ran rampant along his crumpled wings and muscular chest, with each denoting the successes of his various daughters and mates. One bright, particularly brilliant red symbol adorned the space just above his heart, indicating the enormous privilege that he'd earned in siring a son. The decoration was not just for his daughters or mates however, who already knew him, but for the Fien. He'd wear it throughout the night, awaiting their arrival the following morning.

The females of his family - beyond easy count after so many years - watched him expectantly as he took his place over the clearing. Looking out at the vastness of their number, at all of their gleaming scales and anxious forms, he found it amusing that a dragon such as himself could ever be worthy of their attentions. He, the same weak, cowardly creature who'd squawked and begged upon the floor of the Alhetztandt, pleading to avoid the responsibility? He snorted quietly. There was no time for self-pity.

"Thank you all for your efforts," he began, raising his voice to carry out over the clearing. He surprised himself with his own volume; at times, he'd forgotten that he'd grown up. "I am blessed to have such talented dragonesses to care for these caves, and for myself. Were it my option, I would not trade this for the whole of the Alhetztandt. You should all feel pride for the work that you have done to protect this family, and each other... I thank you for it, sincerely. The ancestors surely smile upon us."

He then bowed humbly, and saw that many in the gathered mass followed the gesture. He didn't rise right away, however. Taking his time to raise his head again provided him with a few moments longer to gather his words. Yurio had never considered himself a great orator, and speaking to his family all at once was always a task beyond what he considered to be his meagre grasp of language. Setting aside his own fears, he forced himself to be curt and brief, and save the flowery words for the following day.

"Tomorrow, the noble dragons of Clan Fien will come to our home, seeking to align their blood with ours through their young heir. I understand that there are fears for what will come of it." At those words, he couldn't help but recall the young dragonets rolling around upon the cavern floors in mock combat.

"Despite that, I urge us all to be courteous in the face of our fears. Clan Fien are Brerans, like us... and if the ancestors will it, we will be family by tomorrow's end. Let us treat them as such, until they provide cause for us to do otherwise."

Around the clearing, the low rumble of thunder sounded as dozens of tails beat the ground in agreement. Yurio knew his own family well enough to trust that they would not be the ones to start a fight. He chose to leave out any mentions of Fien cannibalism, and instead opted to wrap up his address with simplicity.

"A day of great importance awaits us. Let us all rest now, taking comfort in what preparations we have made, and dream of what good tidings we may make of the union to come. To the health and fruitfulness of our dear Veritas, and her mate, Arlot Fien."

The speech concluded with a ritual call to the ancestors, with all of the assembled dragons roaring to the darkening sky. The clamor sent the birds in the pines flying out in fear. As he joined in the call, Yurio let himself get lost in the sound and the strength of it. He felt as though he were weeping with one long, terrible cry, and was grateful that the misery of the sound was carried away by the strength of those around him.

---

The dawn that followed was crisp, clear, and warm.

Yurio rose early so that Vale could touch up his ceremonial markings, and to give himself ample time to make one last observational sweep through the caves. As he walked through the freshly-carved tunnels, he listened as his older mates briefed him about the defenses, nodding along absently at their words. Privately, he was thinking only of the meeting to come. He interrupted his work only to personally tuck little Yoj away within the deepest recesses of the caves, promising him that all would be well, and that he would return promptly. He hoped that he would not make a liar of himself.

As he departed, flanked by the largest and most imposing of his mates, he passed by the heat-addled females who'd been left to guard the central joints of the warren. They hissed darkly at him as he went by, but made no other efforts at complaints; they knew that they'd receive their just rewards when the day was concluded. Yurio slipped a reminder about them into the ear of one of his guardians, and then they were off. Bright sunlight and warmth washed over his scarred hide as they stepped out into the brilliant day. The clear sky, blue and cloudless, was a good omen. It would have been a gorgeous day to fly.

Once outside, he situated himself near the mouth of the cave while half of his guard took wing to monitor the mountains. The others lingered close, half seated, wary. Instinct compelled them to see to his safety, he knew, and he did not protest it. He had long since lost the desire to lose his own life. He'd made a promise to Yoj, as well. Eventually, one of the females flew down, passing overhead just long enough to call out a warning.

"They're coming!" she said breathlessly, looping around for further details. "A great number... flying high."

That's good, he thought. If the Fien were flying high above the mountains, it meant that they were not travelling in stealth. They were proclaiming themselves, allowing Yurio and his family to take advantage. It was a customary show of good faith for a visiting clan, and more than Yurio had expected from the Fien. They truly must have been desperate.

At his side, Vortamere leaned in close. She was his Eighth Mate, one of his eldest and most experienced, and technically his cousin twice removed. Her massive fangs were already bared from anxiety, and she kept her gaze up towards the sky in watchfulness as she spoke.

"Would you prefer me to talk?" she asked him in a low voice. "I'll brook no nonsense from these Fien."

Yurio understood the subtleties of the question. Vortamere knew that he was no great conversationalist, and that this particular matter required finesse, care, and bravado, of which he had none in great quantities. She was also bigger than he was by several meters in length, and nearly a ton in weight, which would make her more threatening to a clan of savages like the Fien. All the same, Yurio shook his feathered head.

"They will think it a slight if I don't," he said resignedly. "I'd rather your attentions be on guard, and not on the politics."

She chuckled gruffly, her bared fangs resembling a crude grin. "As ever, little otec."

They waited near the cave mouth, anticipation making them silent and somber, but the Fien didn't take long to arrive. They could be heard long before being seen; the rumble of their joined wing-beats sounded like distant thunder in staccato, and then they were there, dipping low into the valley as though some great god was pouring them from the sky. He did his best to make a rough estimate of their number, and saw that his mates had raised their heads to do the same. There were surely no less than a hundred.

"One hopes that they all ate before the journey," Vortamere said under her breath. "They could clear the spring tapa in a day if they wanted."

Yurio supposed that this was the least they could do, and he tried not to let those grim thoughts sit on his features as the Fien landed themselves amidst the valley. Gratefully, their courtesy extended into their arrival, and most of their lot settled at a respectful distance from the entrance to the cave, crashing into the nearby forest with varying degrees of grace. Yurio kept his eyes upon the core of their group, which instead flew straight to him. He'd expected to single out the male immediately, but found his eyes playing tricks upon him.

That... that cannot be Arlot, he told himself.

Five of the Fien landed near the mouth of the warren, not a dozen meters from where Yurio and his guard lingered. The dust and debris from their landing clouded the air momentarily, and a tense silence held as the visitors shook out their wings and snorted the air clear. When they approached, Yurio tried in earnest not to gawk at their leader. Around him, his mates seemed similarly confused, and he heard whispers at his back. The Fien dragoness spoke.

"So here_he is. Yurio the Firemane, Father of Prince Yoj, Heir of the honored Clan Alhetzern... so the rumors are true. Your wings _are clipped... and you're smaller than I expected."

The dragoness which led the Fien baffled Yurio, and not least of all because she was the largest female that he'd ever seen. She towered several heads above not only himself, but Vortamere as well, and her hide - so dark and bronze as to appear nearly black - bulged with fat, lazy muscles. The sheer size of her made him balk at the physics of how she'd managed to stay aloft in the air.

More alarming still, the dragoness had tusks, like a male, and horns that curled and swept upwards so severely that they almost resembled a tapa bull. Yurio struggled to gather himself as she and her four wing-mates came towards him. The insult she'd paid him had not gone unnoticed, but he had heard it so often in his life that it no longer gave him pause.

"One can imagine that most dragons might seem small to you, wings or not" he replied, inwardly praying that this creature was not the Arlot that he'd heard of. It was impossible; he could smell the vulgar heat on her, perhaps only a few days from taking effect. She was surely female.

"You are quite a pride to Clan Fien," he continued. "And you put me at a disadvantage in more than just size... I would know your name, if you are to speak to me to in such a way."

The hulking dragoness clucked her teeth together, nodding by the slightest of degrees. He could see that she was making her own observations about him, measuring him. Her nostrils flared as she took in his own scent in turn, and no doubt the scents of the females and warren behind him. The meeting of two clans was nothing if not a constant task of threat assessment.

"Garme," she said. She even sounded male. Her voice was, disconcertingly, not at all dissimilar to that of Yorin's. "Former First Mate of Armovarg the Six-Tusked, and now, guardian to our Arlot."

The mention of that name reminded Yurio of just what they were all doing there, and he allowed his eyes to flick to her sides, hoping to see Arlot amidst her entourage. No luck. He must have landed further back in the clearing, under heavier guard. Yurio looked back up into Garme's grizzled face.

"You have my condolences for the loss of Armovarg," he offered. "We of the Alhetzern have lost males to the Wet Lung as well, and we sympathize."

Garme made a dismissive sound in the back of her throat, earning more than one growl of warning from the females at Yurio's rear. "We did not come here for your sympathy, but for your suspicion," she said simply, allowing her tongue to roll out and slip idly against a tusk. "You have doubts about our Arlot. We have come to let you see for yourself the stock of our blood."

Yurio merely flagged his jaw-fans noncommittally, keeping his posture relaxed in the face of Garme's brusqueness. He sensed more than a little annoyance from the dragoness, likely rooted in some cultural offense that he did not understand.

"I very much would like to," he said. "Only, I do not see the heir here, himself. You understand, I hope... that it will be difficult for me to perform the Duležité Pozorování without him."

The female made a sweeping gesture with her wing, motioning towards the pine forests at the edge of the valley. "He waits," she rumbled. "You have brought us here, across the whole of Brera for this silly game. Now you will go to him." Here, she made that sound in her throat once again, and Yurio suspected it was something akin to a laugh.

"You will have to walk, I think."

He could feel Vortamere's indignant hiss long before she even spoke. "You're addled if you think you have any right to demand such a thing," she said, pushing forward to posture up in front of the larger female. "We invite you here, despite your diseased warren, and you dare to act as though your male having an extra egg-maker makes you anything less than low, cannibal wor-"

"Very well."

The two dragonesses - who were surely only a moment away from tearing into each other - both paused to look at him with surprise. Yurio repeated himself, not eager to see Vortamere risk herself for any such foolishness. The day had only just begun.

"Yes, I could do for a walk," he said, louder. "I've been inside far too much of late."

Recalling herself, Vortamere pulled in close to his side. She spoke under her breath, with her back turned towards the foreign dragoness. "You cannot leave, Yurio," she hissed. "You know the reputation of these creatures. Arlot may not even be there, for all that we know."

Yurio nodded. "I'm aware of the risks. All the same, how can we expect to invite these dragonesses into our family, if I cannot even be trusted to walk among them? Be sensible, Vort. They didn't come here to murder me, and they certainly wouldn't get far if they intended to carry me off."

She didn't relent at that, of course. Vortamere, along with several of his other guards, each made their own pleas and arguments against his going, but Yurio had already made up his mind. They would get nowhere dealing with just Garme. The Fien watched and waited at a respectful distance while each dragoness made her point, and was summarily let down in turn.

"You will all wait here," he said at last, with finality. "Treat the Fien with courtesy, and I will endeavor to return with glad tidings of our new brother." With that, he turned towards Garme and nodded. "Let us go to see him, then. I hope you would do me the courtesy of leading the way."

Garme's expression remained guarded, wary, but she nodded back nonetheless. She sent off two of her dragonesses to fly and report to the rest of her clan, and then gestured for Yurio to follow her into the valley. Despite the fact that he was now trailing a large, dangerous, and likely cannibalistic dragon away from the safety of his own warren, Yurio felt no sense of unease whatsoever. This was the task he'd been entrusted with.

He suspected that his calm was owed to the scenery. With spring in full effect, the mountain flowers bloomed with immense abundance in their little valley, and the sight of so much color after so many dull months in the caves lent him a more tranquil mood. He hoped that he could maintain it.

Between enjoying the fine spring air, and observing the dazzling sight of the valley's beauty, Yurio also minded keeping an eye on his new guardians. The two smaller females walked just afore and to his sides. They were no doubt chosen for their size and fighting prowess. Each was as riddled with scars as he was, and roughly matched his own size. It was not a natural thing for dragons to walk through the territory of another warren, and their unease showed in their rigid, cautious posture. It amused Yurio, who had grown so used to walking that he'd forgotten how unaccustomed most flight-worthy dragons were to it.

"I will speak in earnest here," Garme said suddenly, distracting him from his thoughts. She walked in front of the group, and had just turned her massive, tusked head back to regard him. Her eyes were black, wet and smooth like a river rock.

"Arlot is all that we have left, Firemane. He is our only male. You will do well to remember how treasured he is to us when speaking with him."

Yurio held her gaze coolly. "I only hope that I can match the exceeding quantity of your own politeness, First Mate."

The jab only caused Garme to chuckle. It was a grotesque sound, which rolled in her throat like an animal in the throes of death. "You have a sharp mind, little Yurio Alhetzern. Time off the wing has given you cause to practice other talents, I see. But I do not jest. This is not an idle threat." Here she paused, turning to face him fully. She drew herself close enough so that Yurio could taste her breath, and he fought against several embarrassing instincts of submission. He couldn't help himself; she did sound so very much like Yorin.

"You will not reject him," she growled.

"I hope not to. I fear that it would be ill-fated for my health, to say the least of how it would disappoint my dear Veritas."

She held herself there against him for a moment, nostrils flaring, tasting his own scent. Yurio suddenly felt rather glad that she was not properly in her heat. He doubted that he'd be able to do anything to stop her if those particular instincts colored her aggression. Then Garme turned around and proceeded, and Yurio followed her.

They hiked around the lake, travelling deep into the pine on the opposite bend of the valley. Garme offered him no more conversation, but Yurio was content merely to enjoy the air and the scenery. Internally, he rehearsed his duties and the words he ought to say. By the time they arrived in the clearing where he was to meet Arlot, his guardians were quite out of breath. He suspected that he could've even escaped from them, if for some reason he needed to flee into the denser regions of the forest. However, the scent of another male drew his attention away from such thoughts. He found himself sniffing curiously at the air. It was a scent both like and unlike his own, tempered and sweeter. He suspected that this Arlot was younger than they'd first thought.

"Here," Garme muttered, wheezing from her extended exercise. "The prime heir of the Fien, first-born son of Armovarg the Six-Tusked, and father of our future... Arlot Fien, the Samec ze Te Vajec."

The grove was full of dragonesses of various sizes and builds, all of whom rose into positions of wary caution as Arlot finally emerged from behind a nearby copse. Even amidst his guardians, Yurio could still pick up the other male's scent. It danced upon the edges of his nerves in a curious way, making his heart jump in his chest.

Arlot was, in fact, younger than the patriarch had suspected. Bright, youthful feathers of green and soft lavender ran from the back of his neck to the edges of his shoulders, and sprouted in soft bundles along his joints. His tusks and horns were still quite short. If Yurio had to guess, he would assume that Arlot was no older than he'd been when he'd received his first mating.

Arlot stopped at a distance, bending to give a deep and proper bow, which Yurio found the presence of mind to return. "Yurio the Firemane, Father of Yoj, Heir of the Alhetzern," he began, citing off the list of titles which Garme had said only a short while ago. His voice was soft and timid. Yurio couldn't blame him. Growing up in a warren with a female like Garme must not have done much to give him personal confidence.

"You honor me with your patience and trust," he continued, finally raising his head to meet Yurio's eyes. He was extraordinarily handsome, Yurio realized. Even if he hadn't been a Samec ze Te Vajec, he would have been a fine addition to the clan by virtue of his other features alone. "I apologize for forcing you so far from your home, but Garme is... protective of me. I hope that this inconvenience will not color your judgement of me."

Yurio offered a merciful smile. "One learns to appreciate walking, when flight is no longer an option. Regardless, we're both here now, and we can begin. I sense as though your mates are eager to hear the results of the examination."

Arlot nodded at that, turning his head aside in a somewhat bashful gesture. It was unbecoming of a prime heir, and yet, Yurio found it charming. He was reminded of himself, and of what an awkward specimen he must've been at that age.

"I... I am ready," Arlot said. "Only, I do not know how to go about it."

"There's nothing too complex about the matter," Yurio responded, waving away the other dragon's concern with a flick of his tail. "The Duležité Pozorování is merely a way for me to see if you're healthy, which I can already tell is hardly in question. More importantly, I simply wish to know what kind of dragon you are. I will not mate my daughter to a dragon that I do not know."

Arlot's jaw-fans flicked in apprehension. "Ah, yes... Veritas, right? I understand." He didn't raise his eyes again, instead meekly looking around the clearing. He seemed be avoiding the gazes of his protectors.

Yurio suddenly felt as though he understood what was giving the younger male such apprehension. Looking around the glade for himself, he saw no less than twelve dragonesses, Garme among them, all watching and listening to their conversation. It would be no surprise that Arlot - who seemed a shy and subdued sort - was not eager to be interrogated in front of a crowd. Oddly, the Fien heir didn't seem at all comfortable with them. Yurio sympathized. For many years, he'd felt a stranger in his own warren. An idea struck him then, and he did his best to spread his crippled wings in an amicable gesture.

"Arlot, let's go for a walk."

The statement caused heads to rise all around the clearing, Arlot's chief among them. Yurio saw him look to the females as though to seek approval, and Garme was the first to respond.

"Why?" she barked. "You can perform the inspection here."

Yurio tried not to roll his eyes. "Yes, true, but I do not wish for his answers to be shaded by your presence. It's obvious to me that Arlot is intimidated by this situation. Being out in the nest of nature, without so much pressure from the lot of you, will put him at ease. It isn't up for debate, at any rate. If Arlot wishes to be examined, he will have to walk with me."

The females were obviously unnerved by the proposal, and several left their places to converse privately with Garme. Tellingly, Arlot was not consulted at all. It confirmed what Yurio had already begun to suspect; after the death of Arlot's father, it was Garme who assumed power in the warren, not him. That made it all the more necessary that the inspection be performed away from the females. In Garme's overbearing presence, Arlot would never say anything that would invoke her ire. Eventually, she pushed aside her sisters, sneering at Yurio.

"You could be leading Arlot into a trap."

Yurio raised a brow. "For what purpose? To kill him? There are few enough males as it is."

"Or capture."

"That would defeat the whole point of this inspection in the first place, honored First Mate. I assure you, my only intention is to provide him with the respect of privacy."

She growled, but Yurio could see through her arguments. "He does not need privacy."

"Nor does he require the protection of twelve females from a single, crippled, older male, who has no intention of harming him. I'm leaving now. If Arlot wishes to follow me, alone, he may do so."

Yurio felt confident that the Fien would not have flown here, after so long and dangerous a journey, only to go back now in disappointment. He ignored any further calls for discussion, and turning his back on the glade, he proceeded between the pines towards the deeper regions of the valley. He kept walking until the scent of the females faded away entirely, and just as he began to fear that they'd called his bluff, he heard the sounds of crashing branches and snapping twigs behind him. Then that scent came upon him once again, sweet and stimulating, and he knew that Arlot was following him.

"Firemane!" Arlot sounded out of breath already. Yurio suspected that he had even less cause to exercise than his mates. "Wait, please! I'm coming!"

Yurio paused, allowing the younger male to catch up with him. Traipsing through the long, verdant brush, the Fien heir looked very much like a hatchling who was learning to walk for the first time. Eventually, he made it back to Yurio's side. His long, elegant wings were covered in fine scratches from the overhanging branches, and pine needles clung messily to his feathery mane.

"I'm sorry," he said, panting. "They held me back to warn me, and... I came as fast as I could."

Yurio said nothing at first, instead allowing himself a moment to observe Arlot. At this distance, it was easy enough to see that the other male was of surpassing genes. His youthful, golden hide looked healthy and unmarred. His limbs were long and shapely, and even his teeth and tusks appeared clean. Yurio realized that he was staring then, and he snorted brusquely at his own silliness. He'd found the other male attractive, and had not even realized it.

"You've no need to apologize," he said, turning aside to resume his earlier path. He modified his pace to be a little slower however, to better accommodate the other dragon.

"I'm hardly offended. Even I'll admit that this whole ordeal is a silly bit of business - an unfortunate artifact of our culture, I'm afraid. But we have to endure it with as much tact as we can manage." He looked Arlot up and down, finding it difficult to take his eyes off of him. "Considering who your guardian is, I think that you've managed quite well."

Arlot's long neck curled in at the compliment. He truly is a shy thing, Yurio thought. One has to wonder why that is.

"Garme is my aunt," Arlot offered. "She means well, of course, but after my father died, she hardened herself against everyone else, against any kind of emotion." His jaw-fans had flattened against his neck; it was a gesture which indicated both melancholy and anxiety.

"She used to be very kind, you know. I think the stress of the last few years has done things to her. She doesn't allow herself to be happy, anymore."

"One can sympathize."

Together, the two dragons made their way through the forest, ignoring any established paths that they came across, and cutting a new trail along the slopes of the valley. Yurio controlled the pace of both the journey and the conversation, carefully prodding at Arlot's history and interests as they walked. The young dragon vehemently denied that his family were cannibals, citing that desperate measures had been taken by some dragons during the plague, but that all of the accused had long since perished.

"It was a horrible affair," he said, shaking his feathered head sadly. "That's why we're all so eager to - I mean, that's why I hope to be joined with the Alhetzern. This region of the mountains was spared from much of the plague... and it's so beautiful. I want to live here."

Yurio allowed his tail to gently smack the ground: an emphatic agreement. He'd already decided that Arlot was a fine enough dragon. In truth, he would have tolerated much worse from the Fien stock, if only so that another male would be added to the clan's meager roster. He was pleasantly surprised at what a gentle soul Arlot was. The younger dragon was an honest creature, but all the same, he still answered Yurio's questions with an unusual touch of anxiety. He was still fearful, Yurio suspected, although the 'why' of the matter eluded him.

"You have not mated yet, I take it?" he finally asked, curious about that last, intimate detail. It was within his rights to ask such questions, considering that Arlot's health as a breeding male was the sole concern of their meeting. Arlot's cheeks reddened at the question. He looked down, pawing at the ground in a fretful sort of way.

"N-no," he said. His voice was low, hesitant. "I mean, Garme has encouraged me. I _have_mates, only..."

An awkward period of silence fell over them both, and as they stopped there amidst the trees, a brief look of horror quickly came and went over Yurio's features, gratefully unnoticed. Suddenly, Arlot's uncanny bashfulness made much more sense to him.

"I see," he said. "You have mates, but you've no interest in the breeding, is that right?"

Arlot seemed genuinely surprised at Yurio's understanding. He looked up at the older dragon, nodding vigorously.

"Oh, so you know? Garme was making it seem as though there was something wrong with me, and she, well... she told me to lie about it to you. Only, I didn't want to lie, especially to you, or to Veritas, who I'm sure is very lovely. I know I can_do it. It's just the, _ehr, motivation."

Yurio _did_understand, likely more so than any other dragon Arlot had ever met. Looking at Arlot then, in that moment, was like looking back into the reflection of his own youth: at a timid, clueless creature, bound to responsibilities that he didn't care for, and confused by his own body's inability to do what was expected. A sudden well of fear and self-loathing washed over him then as he realized what exactly he'd be condemning Arlot to with this examination. A soft breath slipped from his throat, unbidden.

Poor Veritas. She'd been so excited.

"Is something wrong?"

Yurio recalled himself. Arlot was waiting on his response. "Yes," he said, not having the heart to say anything further, and not least of all because he didn't know who was at fault here. Turning away, he leaned up against a nearby pine. The old wood groaned at his weight.

"Arlot," he said, trying to figure out how to phrase the question in his mind. He had to be sure that his suspicions were true. "You have no interest in mating, at all... even when the females are in heat?"

Arlot nodded once more. A look of shame crossed over his gorgeous features. "Yes, sir. I can smell it, of course, but I-"

He paused here, as though unsure of what to say. Yurio knew the feeling quite well. He recalled explaining the phenomena to his own parents, many years ago. He remembered the look of confusion and shame on their faces, and then the anger at his insistent refusal. Imagining Arlot having to experience that same feeling, only under the wrath of Garme, was nearly too much for him to bear.

"It doesn't work," Arlot finally said, so quietly that Yurio could scarcely hear him. "I don't want to disappoint anyone. I want to try, please. Please, don't send us back. Garme will-"

"Garme isn't here," Yurio said. He didn't look at Arlot while he spoke. Suddenly, he felt very weary. He'd already walked a great deal that day, and he wasn't accustomed to extended hikes any more than the Fien were.

"This happens, occasionally," he continued. Inwardly, Yurio wondered if this was what Yolh had felt when he'd given this same speech, nearly a century earlier. "There are some males who struggle to mate with females. It's not a disease. You're not ill, and there are... means of overcoming it. This won't give us pause."

Arlot sighed in relief. Yurio wished that he could share in the feeling.

"So, I've passed? Is it over?"

Yurio's gaze flicked over the other male, if only briefly. He caught his own reflection in Arlot's eyes: scarred, ugly, crippled, and old. Was this was Arlot would look like in time? He found it hard to imagine such a beautiful creature being broken by the years.

"No", he sighed. Arlot's hopeful face dropped at that. "We still have to see if you're, well, healthy. Down there. You understand?"

The other dragon nodded, but still looked unsure. "How does it work?"

A part of Yurio didn't wish to proceed any further. For one thing, he was what he was. Earlier, he'd been prepared to complete the Duležité Pozorování out of necessity, and he'd been confident in his ability to repress his own desires for the sake of the ceremony. However, now knowing what he suspected about Arlot, he couldn't help but recognize the dangers in getting too close. His father had been right. It was a mistake for him to have been chosen for this duty.

He disgusted himself all the same, however, by continuing. "It won't take long," he heard himself say. "Find a spot on the ground and roll over, belly facing the sky."

Arlot did so, gingerly clearing the ground with a paw before carefully rolling over onto his back. He pulled his wings open so as not to harm the muscles, and there he remained, looking off into the treetops pensively while his underbelly lay exposed to the open air. At first, Yurio purposely didn't look down at him. For a moment he simply leaned against the tree, breathing in and out, calming his nerves. He didn't want Arlot to realize that something was wrong, and so he prepared himself, pulled away, and looked.

Ancestors above...

The sight took his breath away. Arlot was now in a state of utter vulnerability for a dragon: his creamy belly facing up, with paws wringing each other over his narrow chest, and his tail kinked and curled awkwardly. He'd chosen a lovely spot to lie in. Brilliant mountain flowers in pink, yellow, and bright orange sprouted up all around him, surrounding him with a halo of color that framed his perfect young body. In that moment, Arlot looked back at him, and Yurio could no longer deny what he had felt since first laying eyes upon him.

He was beautiful, and by all rights, he should have been forever out of reach.

"Is there an issue, Firemane? Am I not well?"

He'd been staring again, the fool that he was. Flicking his jaw-fans in agitation, he snorted out an answer.

"Yes, uh. No. No, nothing is wrong. I'm just making observations. Lie still."

Purposefully, he'd avoided staring at the very thing he was supposed to be examining. The Duležité Pozorování was a ritualized act of examination, where an older, more experienced male carefully observed the genitals of one from another clan to ensure that they were healthy enough for reproduction. He'd been taught the procedure by Yolh the Greater, years earlier, since his grandsire was both forgiving of his peculiar condition and since his own father had adamantly refused the responsibility.

There was nothing terribly complex about the procedure. Yurio knew the signs of various illnesses which afflicted the reproductive systems of a male dragon. Ostensibly, all he had to do was examine Arlot, and ensure that they were absent. That, and of course, he needed to know that Arlot could 'perform'. It was all supposed to be very mechanical. He swallowed, ashamed of how nervous he was. It'd been decades since he'd looked at another male's body in such a way.

You're stalling. Look.

There, between Arlot's twitching hind legs, and surrounded by an exquisite valley of soft, golden hide, was the most perfect specimen of draconic masculinity that Yurio had ever seen. The mere sight of it - a long, flawless sheath, stiffened with nervous excitement, and anchored by a low-hanging, heavy sack that rested upon the base of his tail - immediately made further observation pointless. Arlot was undoubtably healthy. It was obvious even at a distance.

And yet, Yurio couldn't help but take a step closer, bringing his snout down to less than a paw's length away. He watched, dumbstruck, as his own breath caused the supple skin of Arlot's sack to lift and sink. It was true, after all. There, underneath the soft, golden flesh, three fat testicles rose and fell with subtle movements. He was what the Fien had made him out to be. Without thinking, Yurio breathed in the other dragon's scent, letting the rich, pure taste of another male flood his senses for the first time in too many years.

"Ngh...no..."

It was beyond exquisite. He lacked the words to even describe it. In the past, he'd indulged in this private sin before, but it was always with revulsion, and always with another male who despised him for what he was. It was a chore, a necessary hurdle to get him excited enough to breed. Here however, with Arlot, he felt too much pleasure to be ashamed. He breathed it in again, and then, when the warm scent washed over his tongue and into his lungs once more, he no longer held back. He parted his jaws, and licked.

Yurio was grateful then for the distance that they'd put between themselves and the females, for the sounds they both made in that moment as that taboo contact was finally made.

"Nhnnn! Sir, what are you, unhh-"

It was better than Yurio could have ever imagined. The ripe, musky taste was pure ecstasy to his starved desires, and he selfishly indulged in it, bringing his scarred muzzle directly against that golden skin to huff and breath him in. The reaction he drew from Arlot in those fleeting seconds didn't make him any less eager. Tellingly, the younger dragon only crooned, and soft, undeniable sounds of pleasure spilled from his perfect throat. Yurio recognized them. He'd made very much the same noises when Yolh had performed the Duležité Pozorování upon him, so long ago.

Encouraged, Yurio allowed himself to go even further, and with barely-restrained eagerness he swept his tongue out to devour the other dragon's flesh. Desperately, it slid across every inch of exposed hide, stroking in long, hungry laps across Arlot's testicles, up the thickening length of his sheath, and even below and around, sweeping across the salty skin of his perineum and inner thighs. Arlot's flesh was deliciously warm, seasoned by the bodily oils and sweat brought about by their recent hike. It was divinity.

"Ohhh," the younger dragon called out. His claws were tearing absently at the flowers by his sides, no doubt helpless to styme the feelings coursing through his undisciplined body. Perhaps this was the first time that he'd felt any such thing.

"What... what are you doing?"

At those words, Yurio managed to recall himself, but not before taking one last long, sensual lick; in his greed, he permitted himself to taste the delicious road that ran from the base of Arlot's tail up to the tip of his leaking sheath. At the very end of it, both males made eye contact once again. Yurio saw his own hideous reflection in the younger male's stupefied gaze. At once, he remembered his task, and how inadequate he'd been to meet it.

Shame burned his face, and without a word, he pulled his tongue back into his jaws. Tellingly, he noticed that he didn't move out from between Arlot's hind legs. The slick, spit-shined mass of the other dragon's genitals was still seated vulnerably below his chin.

"You are healthy," he finally said. Without breaking Arlot's gaze, he moved his snout back down, gently flicking out his tongue to lap at the warm flesh of the younger male's sheath. Inwardly, he delighted at the reaction that this caused upon Arlot's gorgeous face.

"You need not concern yourself there. You are... perfect, young heir of the Fien."

Arlot had already been flush with embarrassment before that comment, and at this he could only turn his head aside. It was a telling gesture of modesty for a young dragon. Had no one yet told him how lovely he was? Down below Yurio's muzzle, the first scant, glistening inches of his shaft had already emerged from within his sheath. Yurio didn't need to look down to know that it was there. He could _smell_it. He suspected that Arlot could smell his own, as well.

"Does that mean that this is over?"

He looked lost, the poor thing. There was no small amount of apprehension on his face. Yurio could feel the tension already built up in the muscles of his thighs, and in the shortness of his breath. He needed to be careful with his words now. Slowly, carefully, as though he were afraid to shatter some illusion with one misplaced step, he pulled his head out from between Arlot's legs. He looked down once more, and noted then that the other male's shaft was now fully revealed. It bobbed with the frantic heartbeat of its owner, strong and virile.

"It is," he said simply. "If you stand up and walk back to Garme, it is."

Arlot looked at him warily. He didn't stand.

"Why are you saying it like that? What is this?"

Yurio knew that he should've stopped there. If he was thinking clearly, he'd turn around and escort the heir back to his guardians. Then he could return home, and the clans could be united, and they could enjoy the celebrations. If he only turned around then, he could prove his father wrong, and rest easy knowing that he'd mastered his own sickness. It was horrific enough that he'd indulged himself so much already - a breach that should never have occurred. Now, he risked pushing it even further. He felt as though he had no control over his own body. It even spoke without his permission.

"There's a name for it, although I don't know if I should bother saying it aloud. It's done me no favors over the years, knowing what to call myself, what to call dragons like us."

Arlot merely stared at him. Ancestors, why didn't he simply stand up and leave!

"What do you mean, like us?" he asked.

Stepping aside, Yurio laid himself down next to Arlot, carefully ensuring that he didn't traipse upon the other's wing. He felt as though he were watching himself from above, helpless to stop any of it.

"Don't attempt to deflect the statement with ignorance, young Fien. I believe I took the full measure of your intelligence during our earlier conversation. I know that you're aware of what I'm talking about... you've likely known for some time, I'd suspect."

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

Yurio stopped him there, reaching down with his paw to gently grasp at the other dragon's shaft. Arlot's voice caught in his throat, silencing whatever ridiculous denial he was about to make. Yurio had heard them all before; he'd practiced them in the long hours of the night, when he'd denied what he was to himself.

"Arlot," he said. His voice low and quiet. Gently, he slid his paw down along the length of Arlot's maleness, eventually reaching below to cup at the heavy mass of the other dragon's testicles. He could feel the solid, hot weight of each egg-maker in turn.

"I consent to your marriage of my daughter," he continued. "You are the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen, and if I were more honest with myself, I would admit to the jealousy that I might feel for the privilege she'll have in mating with you."

Arlot's shaft flexed.

"The Duležité Pozorování is finished. I can see that you are fertile. I can smell it, in fact. Your scent is... maddeningly present."

Here he leaned in, and finding that Arlot didn't pull away, he allowed himself to bring his muzzle close to the other's. His tusk grazed against Arlot's cheek.

"This is what I will do for you, heir of the Fien," he whispered, half afraid that the world would hear him. "If you stand up now and leave this place, you will return to Garme and all will happen as was agreed. Our bloodlines will be bonded, and you will take your place in our clan. However... if you continue to lie there, I will tell you what you are, and I will show you what it means... what it feels like to answer the question that you've hidden in your heart."

Arlot's expression then was of terrible confusion, of fear, and Yurio wondered if he'd had the same look upon his own muzzle when Yolh had revealed much the same to him. For a brief moment, they both lay very still, a moment counted by the pulse of Arlot's desperate heartbeat under Yurio's touch. He could see the younger dragon's nares flare as he took in his scent in turn. He could practically hear the thoughts. Denial. Desire. Confusion. Relief.

A thousand questions played out across the younger dragon's face, and yet he didn't stand. He didn't say anything. He didn't accuse Yurio of being something grotesque, something unnatural or deviant. In the absence of these things, he merely lay there, and Yurio recognized that it was his turn. He was the elder dragon now, and he was determined to do better than his own mentors.

Yurio answered all of those unspoken questions with a simple act. Turning his head aside, and carefully navigating their respective tusks, he bent forward and locked their jaws together. Arlot was more graceful in receiving this than he'd been; almost at once, the younger dragon surrendered to the act, and quickly, Yurio felt his slender tongue seek out his own. He felt a stir of gratitude at the trust that Arlot showed in him, here, at this moment of immense vulnerability. Internally, he promised to be worthy of it.

For a blissful, uncounted time, the two dragons simply lay there in the cool shade, surrounded by color, and allowed themselves the simple, long-withheld intimacy of another male's touch. Both of them were achingly hard - Yurio could easily smell the spiced musk of the other dragon's arousal in the fragrant air - and yet he didn't rush the act. He had decades of experience in this particular art, and he took his time in teaching Arlot. He guided the younger male in the subtle dance of their tongues, in the gentle breaths that they shared, and with a paw, held his jaw and ensured that their tusks didn't clash. As hungry as Yurio was, he held himself back, allowing Arlot to become accustomed.

It was only through an immense act of self-control that Yurio finally managed to pull himself free. His lips were sore from their exertions, and both of them were left breathless in the aftermath. Slowly, Yurio licked his chops, severing a thin, glistening line of saliva which still connected their tusks.

"What... what is this?" Arlot asked him. His eyes were still hazy and unfocused. Yurio suspected that he didn't kiss his mates often. He sympathized; it'd taken him a long time to learn how to enjoy the act himself.

"You are like me," he said in answer. Leaning forward, he planted a long, loving lick upon the smaller male's snout. "You are milovnik muži, a 'lover of males'. I would not put the words into your own mouth, but I suspect that we are the same. We feel for other males what nature would intend we feel for our mates."

Arlot looked down, clearly trying to digest this new bit of information. "What does that mean? Is there something wrong with me?"

Yurio's eyes hardened at the question. He wanted to say that life would be difficult for Arlot, but that he'd adjust to it. He wanted to say that the condition didn't matter, and that Arlot would mate and sire children regardless of his other desires, just as Yurio had. These were things that perhaps he should have said, and yet he didn't. Instead, he heard himself say what he'd wished he'd heard, so long ago.

"It means nothing. There is nothing wrong with you. I will show you."

The hunger leapt out from him suddenly and without warning, and Yurio found himself atop the younger dragon before he even realized what he was doing. Their jaws reconnected again, seeking, devouring one another, and Arlot made no further questions, seemingly just as eager to learn as Yurio was to teach. Eagerly, their paws ran along each other's bodies, feeling, groping, savoring the warmth and the strength of male flesh that they'd never been able to indulge in.

The work of their paws was, however, nothing compared to what was happening below them. Between their bellies, both dragons' engorged shafts met each other in a wet, heated duel: a mess of flesh and pre-semen. They grinded upon each other with no regard for skill, sliding back and forth, and often mis-aligning in clumsy desperation. Yurio never realized how much he'd longed for it - the feeling of another male's length against his own, and the soft, heavy weight of another set of testicles below his. He coiled his larger, scarred tail around Arlot's own, feeling as they mirrored one another and tangled together in ecstasy.

"Ancestors," Arlot called out weakly, breaking free from Yurio only for a moment before the older dragon snarled and lunged to resume their kiss once more. Between them, he felt the other male's shaft thicken, and then throb. The scent of hot, virile seed flooded the air with its scent, and Yurio realized that Arlot had ejaculated just from the contact of their bodies alone. This pleased him immensely; he wanted more.

"It feels good, doesn't it?" he asked warmly, allowing himself to feel a sympathetic joy for the first time in too long. "You have nothing to be ashamed of... I can even do better."

Admittedly, despite the taboo association of their condition, Yurio was no stranger to the act of pleasuring another male. For years, he'd done as much with his very own father, although for reasons far beyond mere carnal enjoyment. It was a horrid ritual that they'd concocted only to get him aroused enough to breed, and now, he could feel some satisfaction in performing those same tired motions with a new zeal. Crawling down Arlot's belly, he lapped and kissed at every inch of hide that he could reach, until with pleasure he arrived once more between the other male's thighs.

The wet, sticky mess that Arlot had made of his belly reeked with male fertility. Without hesitation, he leaned down and swept his tongue across the lot, messily swallowing the other male's load with only a few swift, short licks, and earning a half-restrained burst of confused giggles from the other dragon from the sensation. The warmth of it as it slid down his throat was nothing new to him, but the fact that it came from Arlot, and not himself or his father, made it infinitely more agreeable. The real prize was still to be claimed, however.

Despite his earlier climax, Arlot's cock was still inordinately hard. The long, dribbling organ pulsed eagerly below him, and Yurio didn't bother to keep it waiting. Bending down, he carefully slid its warm length into his maw, coiling his tongue around it to ensure that he didn't graze the other dragon with his fangs. The heat and strength in his flesh was beyond compare; eagerly, Yurio bobbed his head, desperate to wring more sounds of pleasure from his smaller mate.

Mate. That's what this was, wasn't it? Inwardly, Yurio wished that it could always feel this good. As he worked his tongue along Arlot's length, feeling the pulse of it against the roof of his mouth, he imagined how delicious his life would have been if he could only feel this way about females. An irrelevant thought. He threw himself back into his task, and soon, Arlot's breathing once again grew heavy. A high, desperate whine surged from his throat as his hips lifted off the ground, and Yurio buried his muzzle between those slender thighs.

Pulse... pulse.... throb... pulse...

Yurio swallowed without hesitation, feeling the strength in Arlot's flow into him. He was beautiful in orgasm: the way his head rolled back into the flowers in bliss, the way his tail kinked and curled from the pleasure, the way his perfect, unmarred wings spread wide, a field of brilliant blue and green hide. Yurio drew out his pleasure for as long as he could, suckling and pressing with his tongue, and even raising his paw to gently stroke and knead at the other male's prodigious testicles. Eventually however, he heard the hike of discomfort in the younger male's throat, the climax lasting too long, and regrettably he pulled away. All he could taste was semen, and he would have been content if the taste of Arlot was the last thing he ever knew.

Even being as young and healthy as he was, it seemed as though two was near the limit for Arlot's stamina. The smaller dragon panted and heaved in the dappled shade beneath Yurio, looking up at him in wonder. Wonder, Yurio thought. Not fear or disgust. Against all reason, Yurio realized that it was, perhaps, possible that this perfect creature saw in him all the beauty that he'd long thought discarded. He didn't think himself worthy of that look.

"This is what I've been missing," Arlot said softly, still breathless. His tail curled upon Yurio's own, pressing gently. "No one ever told me this could be done with another male. Garme... she said that this was impossible."

Yurio felt himself smiling, and for once he allowed himself the gesture. He must've looked quite the fool, covered in pine needles and with semen staining his muzzle. Bending down, he nibbled lightly at the other male's testicles, drawing a dragonet-like squall from the other's throat.

"I've heard similar things before," he said. "I'm sorry to say that we are not a welcome thing, Arlot." Gently, he swept his tongue across the place that he'd bitten, and then again. "There will be many in your life who will deny you what we've just experienced. Garme, and your father before her, have no doubt informed you of the necessity of our roles within the clan... that is why we must savor this, now."

He looked up at the Fien then, hesitating.

"Do you... do you wish to mate with me, Arlot?"

He'd asked the question before even thinking of the repercussions; in that place, so close to Arlot, he felt as though consequences were a distant, alien thing. There was no other world outside of this grove, and nothing there could ever be anything but sacred. The implications didn't matter. He felt neither shame nor fear in asking.

"Is that even possible?" Arlot whispered. "Neither of us are females."

"It can be contrived."

For a time, Arlot said nothing as he considered Yurio's offer. He was still breathless from their earlier labours, but clearly his excitement hadn't waned. Despite having reached his peak twice already, his erection still proudly flagged between his sweat-dampened thighs. The scent of sex and male arousal was still strong in the air, pregnant with lust, intoxicating. When he finally consented with a murmured word and the slightest nod of his head, Yurio had already recognized the decision that their bodies had made.

He'd long ago learned - first from his father, and then from others - that there were ways males could induce in each other the same sensations that a female might feel. Without care and preparation, it could be a painful and unpleasant business. For Arlot, he wanted it to be neither.

"Lean back," he said softly, recalling the steps that one took to prepare another male. "It will feel strange, at first. Open yourself up to the sensation. Trust that I won't hurt you."

His careful words belied his own excitement. In truth, he wanted desperately just to ravage the younger male. A hunger unlike anything he'd ever felt was writhing within him, building in his sheath to pour out in runny rivulets down the throbbing length of his cock. He wanted to breed Arlot, messily and without care, and it was the first time he'd ever felt such a desire. This must be what it's like for normal males, all the time, he thought.

With immense restraint, Yurio mastered himself and set to the task of preparing him. Carefully, he nuzzled underneath the other male's sack, allowing that thick, pungent musk to wash over his unprotected nares as he pressed his lips to Arlot's tailhole. He allowed himself to indulge in the overwhelming sensory joys of that special place: the feel of each weighty testicle bobbing over the bridge of his snout, the damp aroma of sex and fertility, and the clean, musky taste as his tongue speared outwards. He didn't know if he'd ever have such a feast again. He couldn't waste it.

"Ahhhhnn!"

There was nothing sweeter to his ears than the sound Arlot made then, a high, trembling note as the Fien felt himself penetrated for the first time. He listened to it, using it as a measure for the young heir's sensitivity. Holding the smaller dragon's hips with his own massive paws, he kept Arlot still, preventing him from wriggling too far or freeing himself from the pleasure. Inside, his tongue worked in hungry, seeking knots, coiling and thrusting in wild loops as he searched out, found, and slid against the other male's prostate. That long, wet organ curled against it like a lover, mated with it, and left the inexperienced young dragon completely powerless. He cried out again, almost pitifully.

As delicious as it was to bring Arlot such pleasure, however, Yurio's real intention was far more practical. He made sure to work as much of his saliva inside as he could; females could produce their own lubricant when pleasured, but males such as they had to improvise. It was only incidental that it could be so enjoyable. He rumbled happily as he worked, considering himself a fine artist as he indulged in every squirm and high note of ecstasy that he wrung from his mate.

All too soon he felt Arlot's muscles contract upon his tongue, and he cautiously retreated. With a loud, wet sound, his tongue pulled free from inside, stopping only to curl lovingly around the other male's tightened sack before returning to Yurio's maw. As he'd suspected, Arlot's shaft was once more leaking copiously; he suspected that the other male was perilously close to releasing again. Yurio felt almost devious, depriving him of it. They both had to be patient.

"Is this what it feels like for them?"

Arlot was panting. His mouth hung partly open, as though he were dazed. "Ancestors, now I know why they're so desperate in heat."

"It goes a bit beyond that," Yurio said simply. Rising, he stepped over the other male's body, returning Arlot's surprised look with an affectionate lick across his face. It was only then, standing over him, belly to belly once more, that Yurio realized the unfortunate difference in their size. He was nearly half again as large as Arlot. He'd hoped that he had decently prepared him. His much larger shaft - sagging from his pulled back sheath, and drooping heavily from its own weight - pointed at Arlot's sack menacingly. His every breath caused the tip to press just lightly against the soft flesh, dimpling it and causing those three, blessed testicles to shift around it.

He'd never mated like this before. Typically, when a dragon mounted, he did so while atop the other's back. He knew this, and yet, he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing Arlot's face in the act. Gingerly, he lowered himself atop the other male, reaching down with a paw to hike Arlot's hips up towards his own. He felt the other dragon's hind paws slide up and around his hips, just as the tip of his cock kissed against the base of the Arlot's tail. They were very close now.

"I've never... done this before," he admitted. Gently, he lapped against Arlot's muzzle, and felt blessed beyond measure when the other male returned the gesture. "I want you to tell me if you feel at all uncomfortable, or unsure." Arlot nodded, and Yurio no longer contained himself.

Regrettably, the entry was not easy for either of them. The faces that Arlot made as those first few centimeters dimpled him, and then pressed inside, indicated both discomfort and surprise. To his credit, he did not call out for Yurio to stop. Yurio, for his own part, had never needed to be so extraordinarily gentle. His instincts roared out at him to breed, to rut, and it took every ounce of his self-control to keep from simply burying his cock into the warmth in which it found itself.

So it went, moment by moment, breath by breath, with Yurio saying sweet, quiet comforts, and Arlot experiencing for the first time what it meant to be mated by a male. When at last Yurio's sheath kissed wetly against Arlot's entrance, his balls flush against Arlot's tail, both dragons practically cooed with happiness and relief. Yurio simply held himself there for the longest time, allowing himself the intimacy of being inside, of being as close as possible to another of his kind. He kissed Arlot again there, fully hilted, and gave no thoughts to anything but the moment.

The rest of their mating passed in a blur of pleasure and eagerness. Yurio kept his instincts in check as often as he could, too frequently finding himself going too fast or too hard, and recalling his tact only when Arlot made soft sounds of distress. Then he'd continue, only slowly, achingly so, and sometimes he would stop thrusting altogether. In these moments he'd simply hold himself inside, throbbing, leaking, kissing Arlot while he worked his paw between them to touch desperately at the other male's perfect body. He didn't know what would happen when this ended, or if he'd ever be able to experience this again. He took his time, suspecting that it was a privilege he'd have only once. He hadn't deserved it to begin with.

Arlot's body language told Yurio everything that words couldn't. He measured the other male's pleasure in the tension of his muscles, and in the way that his own paws gripped upon Yurio's flanks and chest. Arlot's tail had curled itself so severely from the sensations, that Yurio suspected it might have been in knots if it weren't for his own, which acted as a brace. At some point, he felt the Fien's cock flex between their bellies, and once more the hot scent of his semen filled the fragrant air. Yurio could feel it, hot and potent, pooling between their bodies. His third. It was enough.

When his own climax finally rolled through him, it was long anticipated. Experience had taught him the telltale signs, and he'd noticed them several minutes beforehand: the feeling of his own testicles pulling upwards into the grooves of his groin, the way he found himself gritting his teeth whenever he wasn't kissing Arlot, and the pain in the joints of his crippled wings as his muscles contracted across his body. Bolts of lightning laced with pleasure rioted from his perineum, through his balls, and then out along his sheath, coalescing until he could stand it no longer. A weak, defeated sound hissed out from his lungs, half withheld; he dared not roar, for fear of it being overheard.

Both dragons went rigid as the older male reached his peak. A long, slow breath eased out from Yurio. He felt as though his whole soul was unraveling in the act, as though a part of his essential being was teased out with each subtle flag of his tail, with each slight lift of his testicles, and every throb of his perineum. He could almost hear the sound of his own relief, wet and heavy inside of Arlot, and soon, seeping out from between them. Then the moment passed, and Yurio closed his eyes, bending low to embrace his mate once more.

He didn't know what part of him had just escaped, but he gave it to Arlot gladly.

---

In the long aftermath of their union, as they both lay together in the cool, quiet dark, neither dragon said a word. What was there to say? They had both discovered one another, brothers in their condition, and had learned that they were not alone in the world. Even so, they both knew that they could not be together. Arlot's destined mate was Yurio's own daughter, and afterwards, likely a great, innumerable host of other females. Other than rare meetings of the clan and irregular visits, what future could they possible have together? Surely, they'd never again have this kind of privacy.

At some point, Arlot had begun weeping beneath him. He didn't say why, and Yurio didn't ask. He only comforted the younger dragon in whatever way he could, rumbling gently, and preening his soft, green feathers with his tongue. Perhaps he was merely overwhelmed by the acknowledgement of what he was, or maybe the relief of finding another male of his kind. Perhaps he saw ahead of himself the life that Yurio had long resigned himself to: the life of a being committed to his family, regardless of what it deprived him.

They needed to move. Garme and the other females of Clan Fien were still waiting on them, no doubt wondering why the inspection was taking so long. Yurio suspected that the only saving grace they had was the females' lack of knowledge regarding the ritual. He could imagine his own family back at the warren, watching the skies, worrying for his safety. It'd been more than an hour, perhaps even two or three. Too long to keep them waiting.

He didn't care. Slowly, lovingly, he tended to the perfect creature lying beneath him. He would deal with the consequences later. As he lapped at Arlot's cheek, tasting the bitter salt of his tears, his mind worked in circles. He saw himself in Arlot, and saw the whole breadth of the young dragon's life, a reflection of his own miserable path. He saw little Yoj, and his father, and his other male kin, and realized the horror of it all. A coldness crept over his heart then, in defiance of the great warmth around him.

I will save him, he swore silently to himself, looking up at the sky concealed behind the pine branches. I will save him from the life I had to live...

In the shadows and color of that grove, he resolved to do something, anything, to prevent Arlot from enduring what he had endured. He would steal him away, somehow, and leave to a place where he and Arlot could be free. The resolution hardened his thoughts, and kept him from considering the very real fear that he began to feel. If he failed, if the others ever found out his intentions to rob them of such a specimen, it would mean his death.

He would have to act soon.

---

Glossary of Terms

Alhetzern: one of nearly a dozen major clans of the Breran Highland dragons. Like most Breran dragon clans, their familial legacy is rooted in a large, underground living complex called a warren; theirs is known as the Alhetztandt. Yurio is a member of this family.

Alhetztandt: the ancestral warren of the Alhetzern family, where the current patriarch resides alongside his hundreds of mates and daughters. Currently, the patriarch which rules the warren is Yolh the Lesser.

Brera: the Breran mountains are a high, alpine range known for their dense evergreen forests and for their native populations of Highland dragons. Human settlements are minimal in the region, since the Breran dragons are considered a savage and dangerous collective.

Dragonet: a young dragon, older than a hatchling, but not yet considered an adult of breeding age. Like hatchlings, dragonets are still covered with a coat of colorful feathers, and their wings are not yet strong enough to carry them into the air. They're differentiated from younger hatchlings by their streaks of independence, their curiosity, and the ability to speak clearly. Maturing out of this phase is typically signaled by their first successful flight.

Duležité Pozorování: literally translated in the ancient dragon tongue as the "observation of importance". This refers to a strictly formal ritual held by Breran Highland dragons before the adoption of a foreign male into their clan. During the ritual, another male - usually senior to the adoptee - makes observations of the adoptee's general health and fitness. Of utmost importance is the sexual health of the male in question, as the ability to breed is the foremost function of a Highland dragon male.

Mates-on-the-wing: a phrase which refers to the young adult females who spend most of their day aloft, serving the warren as scouts, hunters, and lookouts. At that age, Highland dragon females have an overwhelming drive to fly, and thus they perform such roles which take advantage of that instinct. Typically, they'll land only to sleep, eat, communicate with their grounded kin, or if they fall into estrus.

Milovnik Muži: literally translated in the ancient dragon tongue as "lover of males". It's often used as a derogatory title for homosexual male dragons, since these individuals are characterized as having more regard for their own personal pleasures than for their breeding responsibilities to the clan. It's regularly misunderstood as either an illness or some form of sexual irregularity, and males with the proclivity keep the matter private for a variety of reasons. The protagonist, Yurio, is a milovnik muži.

Otcové: the formal gathering of a dragon clan's male members. It's a rare event, owing to the fact that the gathering represents an enormous risk for the clan in question. An attack from a rival clan could completely obliterate the family's limited stock of males, forcing the surviving females to attach themselves to another clan. During an Otcové, males will discuss matters of importance to their clan, debating the merits of their options through voting, discussion, intimidation, and even violence.

Otec: an honorific title usually reserved for one's father.

Samec ze Te Vajec: literally translated in the ancient dragon tongue as "one with three egg-makers". Male fertility is a topic held with great superstition among Breran Highland dragons, and males with three testicles are revered with an almost religious fervor, regardless of their actual virility. Arlot of Clan Fien is one example of this rare sort.

Tapa: a type of thin, horned, herbivorous creature native to the Breran mountains and the surrounding locales. It's a staple food source for Breran Highland dragons, and ownership of the large, migrating herds is a serious topic of their regional politics.

Wet Lung: a lethal and debilitating respiratory illness which swept through the Breran ranges, infecting nearly every warren among the Highland dragons. It's almost invariably fatal, since dragons have no effective medical knowledge, and their only effective means of combating the disease is to exile or quarantine the infected.