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He couldn’t even beat the lighter Gray. Suppose another such as the Red…?
But though he did not know it, he was the son of a powerful line, and his young hearts knew no despair. And he had his mother’s wit still intact. He rested, gathering strength. He’d let the others weary themselves tearing one another to bits and then come up fresh….
Except he felt so weak. He licked at his wounded limb, and the blood-tang left him both hungry and revolted.
No cries of battle greeted his ears. Maybe they were all bled out. He examined the wall to the egg shelf first, looked for an ascent with plenty of good grips.
This time, when he began to slip, he just tightened his grip and searched for a rest for his tail until he found the strength to climb on. He passed over the lip….
Nothing. Just two sprawled green hatchlings, uncrested and therefore innocuous, digging into the corpse of the Red. The blood smell inflamed his appetite.
My victory! My feast!
Others enjoyed his kill. He jumped on the Red’s corpse, claiming it, baring his teeth at the hapless Greens.
One, shorter of length and powerfully built like the Red, backed away. The other, longer and thinner even than the Gray, tripped, thrashed weakly.
Drive her away, his appetite roared.
He jumped on her, pushing, nipping her at the shoulder and hip points. She squeaked in alarm, pulled away.
He tore free a piece of fleshy tail she’d been gnawing at.
The other Green intervened with a growl, opening her jaws, glaring at him like the combative Red.
He caught a flash of motion off his weak side. It was the Gray again, bounding up from a trickle of water at the other end of the egg shelf.
The Green advanced, covering her sister with her own bulk.
He couldn’t fight them both at once. He mouthed the chunk of tail and fled, finding he could use the elbow of his injured forelimb when running, though it pained him. He jumped back off the egg shelf. If they tried to jump down after him, he’d get them at a disadvantage when they alighted.
The Gray yapped down at him, but showed no sign of plunging to the cave floor. The Copper gnawed at the meaty tail, feeling the energy entering his bloodstream from the swallowed hunks of tissue.
The Gray’s head disappeared, and the battle fury left the Copper. He felt cold, alone, and wandered over to the trickle and lapped a little water. He cooled his injured limb in the pool. Above, Mother started to sing. He crept closer so he could catch the end of the song:
…and the long years of dragonhood are sure to be thine.
He tried to climb up to the egg shelf, but failed, the pain in his throbbing limb overcoming him. He lay in the cold, hearing Mother’s soft throat music, half song and half prrum.
He made one more attempt at the climb. Not to fight this time, but to be by Mother, safe and warm, wrapped in music and belly heat. Mother’s great tail dropped over the edge and pushed him down. She looked down at him from the heights of her neck.
“No, little one, Auron has won the egg shelf. If you come up again he will kill you.”
He tried to reply, but the only noises he seemed to be able to make were squeaks, not words. He tried, came close, tried again:
“Fwhy?”
“I’m sorry, hatchling. You are an outcast. You must learn to overcome on your own.”
He huddled against the base of the egg shelf, cold and alone.
No pleasant dream, this.
Chapter 2
