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The rush of wind beneath his grand wings, the pulse of the world around and underneath him, the scent, the taste, the sensation of his own superiority over all other things; the great dragon tilted his crested head to look down at the lesser existence far below him, these unknown forests and hills passing by in swift blurs as he pumped the currents here in the atmosphere. He banked to one side, stilled his wings, pitched into a dive, then just as easily and gracefully swept back up, the scythe of wind slashing out and knocking clear a swathe within the woods below.

Not long ago had he departed his homeland for somewhere new, as he had recently ascended the coming-of-age rites and now had embraced full adulthood. It was not only expected, but demanded of someone of his stature, being a dragon, to head out and stake his claim on the world outside, to spread his influence and presence over those who had not yet felt it. Far down below him, Khemma the regal crimson dragon sighted a great, twisting ancient trunk that reached up and over the rest of the forest, so similar to the one he had recently left yet so different in its own ways. The trees differed, as did the animals that leapt and bounded between them; so too was the wind and grass different, and the smells that swirled around on the temperate air.

None of them were his own scent. This was a problem. Self-satisfaction and pride yet again stirring within his deep chest, the dragon tilted himself in the air and began wheeling down, down towards that ancient tree, sharp eyes scanning the forest underneath for any competitors. Seeing none - yet he had no doubt he could best them were they there at all - he swooped down, spread his impressive wingspan out to catch himself like a parachute, then gave a few slow yet powerful strokes to help lower himself the rest of the way down to the soft earth. Heart pumping, breath churning from the exhilaration of glorious flight, Khemma took a few moments to just enjoy the sensation and knowledge that this was new, untouched territory, then prowled in towards the base of the tree.

It was quite a bit larger than it had looked from the sky, and even then he had known it to be impressive. It towered above everything else visible likely from the next mountain range, and already he could tell that it would take several minutes to complete a circuit of its foot around these massive, lumpy tangles of roots. Still catching his breath, the crimson dragon sniffed and searched as he went on, brushing through the rich potency of the forest's natural scent: there was earth, and moss, and mildew; rainfall and river runoff; a little floral touch, a bit of verdant vibrancy... but then when he made it to the other side, suddenly a sharp punch of something sharper and brighter, something that stung his nose and made him recoil in surprise.

It made his lip curl in amused disgust. How shameful. It smelled like... like the old, dried-up scent of some other lesser creature, as if Khemma couldn't immediately identify it then it likely meant it was beneath his general notice anyhow. He brought his nose close to the gnarled, leathery bark of the old tree, tasting of the little wisps of scented air curling up off of it, following around to where this concentration of scent burned the brightest. It had clearly been a while since whatever it was had made this mark as well, which was another sign to him that its owner was careless and forgetful.

Khemma claimed neither of these defects. Finding what seemed to be the center of the marking, and it was admittedly voluminous, the crimson dragon tossed his head, ruffled his wings, swung his pendant tail aside, then climbed halfway up onto one of the ridges of roots where it jutted out of the ground. Knowing that he must be judicious in claiming his new territory, the dragon had made several stops as myriad rivers and streams along the way, tasting of all the different sources and varieties so that he could sweep them together in himself and strip them of their identity, instead replacing all of that uniqueness with just himself.

So he swallowed, flicked his forked tongue out over his beautiful muzzle, then lifted his head as well as one of his hind legs. A little shiver coursed through his body as so many gallons of stored volume shifted and adjusted inside of him, soon followed by the little pleasurable tickle of the first few inches of his length slipping free from his genital slit, his impressive draconic shaft sliding free from the supple skin and scales enclosing it within him; he vaguely felt the chill of the day, the heat of his burgeoning urgency, the twitch and tremble of its imminence... and then Khemma sighed as it began to course out of him, his mark beginning as a slow dribble before it quickly increased to a full, powerful stream.

Satisfaction washed throughout the dragon's body both from the relief of finally emptying himself as well as from overwriting this foul, lesser mark. He couldn't quite reach the upper boundaries of it along the tree's trunk even when he turned his body and stretched to his fullest, but still he took pride in the feeling of this hot, rich scent coursing out through him and covering up this weaker imprint, the fresh flow of his own spray flicking around, spattering at the ground, speckling the scales of his belly and inner legs. Khemma leaned forward to alter his aim, then angled downwards - and looked deliberately between his forelegs so he could watch the way the rich golden liquid spread down and across the forest floor, quickly pooling together into a frothy river down along the base of the roots. He was the one to feed this tree and the woods around it, providing the world with his scent, his mark, his presence: these plants would take in the essence of Khemma and grow all the stronger for it.

For a while the dragon imagined he could feel his bladder receding within his body, his lower belly flattening out as the weight he had carried with him continued to stream out and paint this ancient tree, soaking and slathering it with a mark that would signify to anything that came within even a wide radius of this spot that this forest was his. He deserved it after all, certainly more than whatever had neglected to re-stake its own claim before.

Coming back to himself and remembering that he did indeed have work to do other than stifling this lesser claim, Khemma worked to pinch off the last of his mark before giving it all away. Much of the urgent weight had already fizzled out of him, now dripping down across the bark and spreading through the earth underfoot; he would have to visit another of the streams around here to fill back up. That was alright, though, as soon this entire valley would understand it belonged to him.

The crimson dragon took a few steps back to admire his work, then braced himself against the ground, spread his great wings out, and vaulted himself into the air once more. He rode the currents up and up around this tree, keeping his sensitive nostrils flared and deliberately stirring the air beneath him, delighting in how far he could spread his scent from this one mark before it trickled away under the rest of the forest.

He had a lot of work to do. Khemma readjusted his gaze, scanned the landscape below him, and pitched into another shallow dive.

~ ~ ~

Day by day Khemma familiarized himself further with his territory, to the point where even the creatures that lived in his woods began to look upon him with proper reverence and appreciation. It was clear that never before had this region seen a dragon quite as beautiful as him, or maybe even a dragon at all for the way they regarded him with a mix of interest, caution, hesitation, and maybe even anticipation, as though they expected something of him. He spread his mark throughout the boundaries of the valley forest, then on the turning of the moon returned to that great tree at the center, visible from everywhere else.

Knowing his plan and aim the crimson dragon had once more deliberately filled himself up, seeking to mark another side of this tree as thoroughly as he had the first. He was to be the strongest, highest entity here in this valley, with this tree not far below him - and it brought him great pride and pleasure to know that he was the one providing it with its vital sustenance, regularly watering its roots and allowing it to partake of his essence. So he swept down from the skies above, wings coming out to cushion his landing, and started to lower himself gently down to these familiar grounds... and then for the last few yards plummeted like one of his hunted prey from between his hind talons, cast aside for the useless thing it was.

Here down near the base of the ancient tree stood a dragon much larger, much older, much more than the slight, insignificant Khemma, scales a rich cobalt blue like the middle depths of the ocean, horns vast and twisting around his regal, angular head. The elder dragon barely turned his head to recognize the younger whelp's arrival, his own powerful presence stifling all of the pride and worth that Khemma imagined he himself claimed. It was by the decree of the elder dragons in his homeland that he head out into the world to establish himself; it was by the decree of the elders that he claimed the name Khemma for himself; it was by the decree of the elder dragons that all things in their society occurred. Even solitary dragons - as theirs was a race unfriendly and unyielding even within itself - obeyed the whims of the elders, as they truly stood above all else.

Deference, humiliation, worthlessness pounded through the small crimson dragon, and he prostrated himself before the beautiful elder. Just the force of the other dragon's gaze let him know that he knew what Khemma had done. He swallowed, took his wings in close to his body, then lifted his head upon his neck and tilted himself to the side, showing the most vulnerable sections of his neck and underbelly to the greater figure.

"I debase myself before your superior presence," the lesser dragon intoned, fear pulsing through him. He kept one eye closed, yet still ensured the elder could see his other fixed on his, as to look away entirely would signal that he thought his fellow beneath notice and attention.

Silence reigned for a moment, broken only by the constant whisper of wind throughout the trees of the forest. Khemma liked to imagine he had begun to be able to understand the language of nature around him here, though standing in the shadow of the cobalt elder, he realized that he truly knew nothing. "Yes," the elder finally responded, his voice smooth and steady, "you do. You have insulted not only myself, but your own name and presence as well, by thinking you stand high enough to mark over my claim here within these woods."

Khemma's heart dropped, and for a while he forgot to breathe. The scent on the tree, the rich, powerful, impressive odor that he had so blithely erased in favor of his own was much the same as what wafted from this elder's presence here before him, carrying identical notes of personality and presence. The crimson dragon cowered before him, trying not to show his fear in the face of what was certainly his impending doom. Such a slight was, after all, punishable by death: honor reigned above everything else within draconic culture, and he had performed perhaps the greatest defacing of that tenet.

"Go to the tree," the elder went on after a dreadfully long pause. "Wait there."

Surprised, still fearful, the smaller dragon wasted no time in doing as told. He took a wide berth around the unmoving elder, making sure to keep himself within the other male's field of view, and then pressed himself up against the trunk of the tree where the bark had long since dried out from his last marking. His own scent prevailed strong and rich above the other, fainter dragon's scent, but the more he breathed of it the better it clicked in his head, along with the depth of his transgression.

When the elder dragon moved it was like watching a piece of the clear sky itself detach and shift. He turned himself to the side, looked down across Khemma with disdain in his gaze, and then in a swift, smooth motion hefted himself upright. Once more the younger dragon expected to draw his last breath then and there, but instead the trunk to his back shook and a shadow fell across his face, and he opened his eyes to see the vast underside of this elder dragon, blue scales tinting to a cloudlike white. The elder had stood to prop himself up against the tree, forelimbs reaching far above Khemma's head, while he spread his hind legs, pushed his hips forward, flicked his tail - and then the smaller dragon twitched his head away at the first spray of hot, feral piss that splattered out across him.

The elder dragon's mark strengthened to a stream much faster and much stronger than Khemma's ever had. He tilted his head back as he drained himself across the tree and the smaller dragon there before it, the intense heat of his presence quite easily soaking through Khemma's scales and seeping into his flesh, coating him with a brighter, sharper, much more present version of the mark he had so foolishly overwritten before. He cowered in place against the tree while the elder hosed him down, the first several inches of his length protruding from within his slit as he continued to empty himself out, putting Khemma's previous mark to shame for its ineptitude: it was like rain from a storm, coursing down the bark, pooling into a field around him, catching along his scales and dripping free, completely encompassing him in that high, intoxicating scent until he could practically taste it on the air around him.

His broken pride burned at him just like the heat of the elder's piss the longer it went on, but Khemma knew that this was where he belonged. He held himself steady beneath the dousing, only lifting his head again as that stream began to taper back - and then he jerked again at a few residual sprays and spurts, the elder's remarkable shaft twitching and throbbing with the little muscle clenches when he ensured he had completely emptied himself out.

A few more rich yellow drops dribbled out, and then he dismounted from the tree above him. Khemma looked around at the vast steaming pond that had formed, then up to its owner in stunned awe. The elder met his gaze until the younger dragon had to turn away.

"You are young," the cobalt dragon rumbled, "and foolish. I leave you with your life. Do not err in your ways again."

To thank him would be a disgrace too. Humbled, debased, reduced to his true stature, Khemma nodded his head, stumbled away, and then clumsily took flight, shedding drops and rivulets from his talons, the ends of his wings, his crown of horns, his tail, and everywhere else that hung from a free edge.

~ ~ ~

It was not hard to track down the elder dragon again, as familiar as Khemma had become with his powerful scent. Those bright eyes glared down at him as he returned days later, then once more prostrated himself. He had made no effort to wash or clean himself off, and knew that he still bore the dragon's mark stronger than his own: lesser creatures would confused the two for one and the same.

"Please," Khemma implored, careful to keep his voice low and humble, "teach me in your ways, Elder. I am indeed young and foolish: I am new to this world and seek the guidance of someone with greater power, experience, and wisdom, to set me upon the proper path in his shadow. There is none better for the task than you."

It was a skilled ploy, and the little glimmer in the elder's eye showed it. Dragons were by nature prideful, arrogant creatures, and appealing to his sense of value and wisdom was a risky gamble but one quite likely to work. The longer the silence went on, though, the more Khemma came to accept his coming demise...

...and then was wrong yet again as the elder breathed a fiery laugh. He tossed his head and shook his wings out, then showed the younger dragon a bright, predatory grin.

"I accept your request," he answered. "You have a long way to go, and recognizing your position is but the first step. You will be honored to receive my wisdom."

Khemma closed his eyes and once more bowed his head. "I will."