Citizen

[Amaril Torrun]

Lightning cackled over the seamless canopy of trees known as Fiorair. A torrential downpour had reeked havoc on the region for a week and showed no sign of coming to an end. The swamplands below overflowed from the merciless rain. Travel by foot had ended a mere two days after the storm began, imprisoning many people on the small areas of higher ground scattered throughout the land. Others simply drowned; supplying the crocodile and faoi scavengers with bountiful meals.

Most of Fiorair’s population had no dealings with the lethal floods. High above the ground, Suthainn was the prized example of Draconian ingenuity and cunning. No other race had ever shown the ability to thrive in such an unforgiving land. No one had even come close. The capital was the embodiment of Draconian pride, undeterred by weather or war.

If Amaril had anything to say about it, he would find residence in the magnificent city.

Rain beat down on the impenetrable wooden roof overhead, bouncing off into the oblivion below. The half-dragon sat in one of the countless homes built amongst the tallest trees he had ever seen. Curled at his feet, Naryx lay in a deep slumber. The baby dragon was still recovering from a year of malnutrition and atrophy, but his health improved with each passing day. His yellow scales moved up and down softly, with each peaceful breath. His savior leaned forward to brush his hand over Naryx, feeling a never ending awe toward the small creature.

Amaril slowly stood so as not to wake the young dragon. He walked to the other side of the room, looking around at the various trinkets for not the first time. A few books rested on a shelf nearby and he planned on reading them if time allowed. One in particular grabbed his attention more so than the others. In it described the gods of Draconian worship as well as the many stories of their earthly endeavors. The other books were of a more practical nature, with teachings of sea, boats and other nautical items. Their host was a merchant sailor.

The two were staying with Darith, whom Amaril had met in Talmhaidh a few weeks earlier. Suspicious, yet friendly, the Draconian had invited him to Suthainn after some chance meetings. Neither had planned on staying in the port city for long. Amaril agreed to come with his new companion and guide, showing an immense amount of interest in the Draconian race. He knew nothing of his own origins, but the similarities between he and Darith were too close to ignore.

His tail ruffled a chair near the bookshelf, causing Naryx’s steady snores to break momentarily before returning to normal. His tail. It was the one thing that seemed to stick out like a sore thumb next to the Draconians. It was the one source of doubt. It was the one thing that could keep him from finally laying claim to an existence with purpose. The natural weapon never seemed so foreign.

Amaril shook his head and sat back down. Darith would be back soon. He’d be able to help the half-dragon figure everything out.

[Amaril Torrun]

A bead of sweat fell from his forehead onto the mane of thick black hair hanging over his shoulders, covering the top of his chest. In spite of the beauty of Suthainn, there was one thing Amaril did not wish to deal with if he came to call the Draconian capital home. The humidity battled his icy blood, keeping him slightly on edge at all times. His comfort in the cold had been the driving factor to bring him to Salvar. He now fought that desire for physical comfort with his even stronger desire for camaraderie. The Draconians could give him that. He knew it.

He slowly used his saliva to create a shard of ice, pressing it to his warm forehead. This heat can’t be as bad as I’m making it out to be.

The waiting was giving birth to restlessness. He unconsciously began tapping his foot and Naryx snorted.

Hmm? The dragon child’s telepathy slapped Amaril’s consciousness, making him realize his foot’s fervent actions.

Sorry.

It’s alright. I’ve been sleeping long enough, don’t you think? He isn’t back yet? Naryx stretched forward, arching his back and allowing a small yawn. He stood there for a moment, opening and closing his eyes sleepily. Then he wobbled and fell back to the ground with a tiny thud.

You need to try to move some more. Your muscles need some exercise if you want to recover.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Why don’t you get stuck in place for a year and let me know how it feels? Naryx nipped at Amaril’s ankle grumpily. No? I didn’t think so.

The dragon obliged to Amaril’s request nonetheless. Slowly, he regained his footing and began working his way around the small living room. The larger companion gave the child some privacy and looked up at the closed doors barring entrance to the two other rooms in the home. One led to Darith’s bedroom. There wasn’t anything of interest in there. The second room contained a small altar, dedicated to the god Darith worshipped over the others. He knew little of the Draconian gods, other than what Darith had told him. The altar was dedicated to Muirin, the god of the seas and of the weather. With his profession, it was easy to see why Darith would choose that particular god.

Another small thud turned Amaril’s attention back to Naryx, who lay on the floor on the other side of the room. The baby’s snakelike neck turned to his savior and smiled sheepishly.

It’s alright. You’re getting stronger every day. Before you know it, you’ll be running, the elder reassured.

Before you know it, I’ll be tossing you around like a stick. The kid cackled out loud, sending a tiny electric spark over his forked tongue. The joke was a constant reminder that Naryx wouldn’t remain a baby for long. It was another dent in the plan to live in Suthainn. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.

Amaril just nodded.

They watched each other for a few minutes, feeling a bond neither had known before their meeting in Saffron’s lair, Naryx's prison, as well as the home and tomb of Naryx’s parents. Eventually their silence was interrupted with Darith’s entrance.

[Amaril Torrun]

Amaril stood to greet his host. The two clasped hands before sitting down in two of the few chairs taking residence in the somewhat large living room. Trade and sailing could make profitable careers. The Draconian had combined them and seemed to live a comfortable life when back home. He emphasized that comfort by leaning back in his cushioned chair, resting the back of his head in the palms of his hands, elbows bent outward.

“How’s your brother?” Amaril patiently began the conversation with the reason behind Darith’s absence.

“Dane’s well. He’s leaving soon though. He’s still young, figuring out his place in the world. With so much war going on in Salvar, Fallien and Corone, he’s become restless in Suthainn. I’m not a warrior. I don’t see his reasoning to join in the ransacking of the world. It has yet to concern our race and I see no sign of it doing so in the near future.” He paused for a moment, shaking his head with moderate anxiety. “But like I said, he’s young.”

The half-dragon frowned. He could see Dane’s reasons for leaving. He too had been an adventurer at heart. Years of struggle and toils had taken a toll on the voyager though. He was wiser… and tired. Now I have Naryx to take care of.

Darith seemed uncomfortable with the silence. Not wanting to be left alone to his thoughts, he decided to interrupt Amaril’s. “So what do you think? Did I not say you’d enjoy Suthainn? We may not know if you’re a Draconian, but I saw it in your eyes when we arrived. You have the spirit of one.”

“Thank you.” Amaril smiled. “So what comes now? I can’t live in your living room for long, though I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for Naryx and myself.” Naryx perked up at the sound of his name. Realizing it was only done in passing, the dragon returned to napping.

“If you truly want to live here, I suppose we can try to find you some work. You’ll need an income if you want to rent or buy a home. Of course, you could simply come to work with me. You don’t seem like the type that could coop himself up in a city forever.” He followed Amaril’s gaze toward the sleeping babe. “Naryx could come as well.”

The yellow-scaled child popped his head up once again. Annoyance quickly replaced his curiosity.

Let me sleep!

Quiet you. We’re discussing our future. You ought to be listening. Quit sleeping your life away and do something active. Naryx hissed at his savior’s retort and turned to face the two. He lay down once again, but kept his eyes open to show that he was listening.

Darith continued. “I’m not due to leave just yet though, so in the meantime we can try to figure you out. Your origins, I mean.”

Now it was Amaril’s turn to perk up. “Yeah, that’s a great idea. Only… how would we go about something like that? Do you know anyone we can talk to that might have some knowledge on the subject? Is there such a subject?”

Darith’s answer came out immediately. “Of course there’s such a subject. We’ve had historians, anthropologists and scientists trying to figure out the origin of our race since before I was born. Heck, the subject’s been around since before the birth of our Ceann Cath.”

“Ceann Cath?”

“Oh. I keep forgetting how new you are to Dheathain. The Ceann Cath is the leader of our people here. He’s a tough one alright, and has been around for quite some time. He’s a story for another time though. So what do you say? Should we go find you some answers?”

[Amaril Torrun]

You’re coming. Amaril didn’t need to turn around as he followed the Draconian to the front door. He knew the baby dragon was closing his eyes.

What do you need me for? You don’t need me. Let me hang out in the house and I promise I won’t sleep the whole time.

You’ll fall asleep the second we close the door behind us and you know you won’t wake up until we get back. Come on now, where’s your sense of adventure? He chuckled quietly as Naryx snorted and dragged his tiny legs to follow. Amaril quickly scooped him up. I won’t make you walk the whole way though. Sound good? The child nodded, snuggling comfortably on the half-dragon’s curled and powerful forearm.

It was already early in the afternoon by the time the trio made their way outside. The two newcomers had been cooped up in Darith’s home since their arrival to the city the night before. Suthainn showed signs of life everywhere. Countless Draconian men and women walked the mazes of rope bridges and light, wooden roads. They acted as though their purpose for being on the roads was the most important business in the city. Draconian life seemed to be flourishing. Amaril noted that only a few appeared to be armed. For a supposedly aggressive people, he didn’t see very much hostility between any citizens. They seemed more like the tranquil Fae. Of course, peaceful times had a way of bringing harmony to even the most cantankerous of races.

Two Draconian children dashed past the companions, wielding wooden swords and banging at each other happily. He noticed that for all their playfulness, they were hitting each other quite hard, proving their toughness.

Darith looked back and smiled. “They start out young, don’t they? Even the most docile of our kind are capable of putting up some sort of defense. It’s what keeps us separated from the rest of the world’s problems. People know not to prod at a Draconian.” Every word spoken of his race was filled with pride. Amaril felt a pang of longing. He wanted to share that pride.

“Why, though? If you have no enemies, why should the kids continue to skirmish? Won’t that encourage warfare at some point in the future?”

This made Darith frown. “It may be questionable to allow our children to learn of combat at an early age, but our world is a dangerous place, whether we are at peace or not. I’d have thought you would understand that. Haven’t you made a living out of going to the more dangerous places in the world? You know that every generation faces the threat of danger. It is our tradition, and in our very blood, to learn of combat. The Cupla would be displeased with us otherwise.”

“Cupla?”

“They are our twin gods of war. Tremendously powerful, our kind owes them much for the great lengths we have gone in foraging a Draconian history that we can look back on and be proud.”

They remained silent for a while, listening to the mixed buzz of commerce and horseplay going on around them. Many of the paths were narrow, forcing those on them to walk in single file lines. Amaril made sure to stay close to the only person he knew in the city, positive that he’d be lost in just a few minutes if left alone. He wanted to learn more about the Draconian gods and the religion in general. Something inside told him it was yet another piece to the unsolvable puzzle his life had been up to that point. He let his questions simmer for the time being, resigned to deal with one issue at a time.

“So where are we going, and who exactly are we going to meet?” Amaril supposed that the question didn’t really matter. Regardless of the answer, he’d remain just as ignorant as before. He simply enjoyed the conversation.

“We’re headed toward the Suthainn Library. If I had one person to choose from to ask our questions, it’d be Saran tor Luth.”

“Who?”

“He was once our Ceann Cath, before Darroch dar Gaevrin, our current leader, and two others. Now he practically lives in the library, serving as our most knowledgeable historian. He’s… quite old.”

Eventually, Darith came to a stop before one of the larger structures Amaril had seen. Being aloft, the capital sported small houses and buildings for the most part. The one he now gazed at was significantly bigger. Built directly between two massive tree trunks, it appeared to stand two stories tall, and even cut halfway into the wooden goliaths. In order to support the weight, the building seemed to be built in four separate sections, each capable of standing upright without the support of the other three. Small engravings spiraled up the few columns of wood standing at the entrance, giving the building an artistic flair. Even Naryx paid the library some attention.

“We’re here,” Darith mentioned passively as they walked inside.

[Amaril Torrun]

The inside of the library boasted of an even greater elegance. Resembling the decorative columns outside, the engravings followed the visitors along the walls, depicting no events in particular, but Amaril was sure there was a story behind them. A solid gloss film covered the wooden walls in a protective shield from wear. Brass lanterns hung from the ceiling, lighting the windowless building. Countless rows of bookshelves filled the back half, allowing room for the Draconians to use the tables up front with comfort.

The only thing knocking the Suthainn Library off the pedestal of godliness was the front desk. Loose bits of paper, random books, and all sorts of knickknacks turned it into a mess on top of a mess. Sitting on the other side was an equally disheveled Draconian, ancient by anyone’s count. His wrinkled skin had a grayish tint to it, covered with tiny white hairs. His scales lacked a once vibrant color, now appearing ashen, as if one could poke a hole right through them. Wings no longer sprouted out of his back, but drooped to the ground, never to be used again. The body was completely motionless, and Amaril found himself wondering if the man was even breathing.

Then the librarian looked up at them, illustrious green eyes penetrating what felt like Amaril’s very soul. Any doubts he might have had about not finding his answers were erased by the powerful glare. This man’s eyes held an unfathomable amount of knowledge. They moved with a vibrant youthfulness, darting from the half-dragon, to the Draconian, and finally resting on the actual dragon resting in the visitor’s arms.

“Hello there, lil’ fella.” His voice was low, crawling at a gradual pace. It sounded as though his vocal chords wanted nothing more than to take a nap.

Naryx turned to face the ancient Draconian, barring his teeth in a content smirk, and then dropped his head back down. He continued watching the librarian eagerly, seemingly hoping for some sort of praise. He wouldn’t be disappointed.

“Tis truly the most magnificent creature you have there. You take care of him. Take great care…” he closed his eyes for a moment, lowering his head. A few seconds passed before he faced them once more, refreshed, as though he had just taken a power nap.

Darith brought one of his wrists to the curve of his lower back, placing his other against his abdomen. He bowed graciously. “Ceann Cath, it is always a pleasure to see you. This is my guest, Amaril Torrun. Amaril, this is Saran tor Luth, former Ceann Cath and one all should aspire to.”

A tiny flush came into Saran’s wrinkled cheeks. “Now, now… Dalor?”

“Darith,” the Draconian corrected, unperturbed.

“Oh yes, Darith. Darith, you know I don’t care for all those pleasantries. I’ve become little more than a token of our past, and a mere decoration of our present.” He grinned, showing a few missing teeth. “Though I guess I do have some usefulness left in me.” He slowly stood, wobbling a bit at first. Amaril thought the former Ceann Cath might crumple to the ground at any moment. The older man didn’t seem particularly worried. He made his way around the tall desk, using his cracked clawed hands to transfer some of his frail weight onto the wooden beauty. Darith put an arm around the man and under his armpit, while Saran plopped his arm over the younger Draconian’s shoulder.

“So…” Saran began to walk, the others staying close. “So, would I be wrong if I assumed you came here to ask me some questions?”

“No sir,” Darith replied.

Saran chuckled. “Heh, everyone always thinks I have the answers.” He paused for a moment, giving his legs a rest as well. Then they continued, in what seemed to be the direction of the books on the other side of the building. “Of course, I usually do…” He turned his head to give Amaril a wink, his neck making an odd popping sound as he did so.

A young Draconian boy ran up to Amaril and slapped his tail, giggling happily. Before the half-dragon knew how to react, the child dashed back to his mother several tables away. She looked up at him apologetically before scolding the energetic child. Even the children can see the difference between me and them. Naryx gave him a threatening nibble on the forearm, as if to tell the half-dragon to quit worrying. He gave his companion a small nod.

The ex-Ceann Cath continued on as if nothing had happened. “So, children of children, why have you come?”

[Amaril Torrun]

It was an age old question, Who am I?

So short and simple. Yet, it was possibly one of the most complex questions to ever be discussed. No one had ever passed through life without asking it. Some believed it had no answer; that it changed and adapted throughout the entirety of one’s life, never settling down long enough to be discovered. It was the spider you tried to squash, but failed and had to watch it disappear through a crack in the floor. It had been within reach. You knew it was still there, lurking and biding its time. You then lived in fear of it, knowing you had been outsmarted, and now waited for it to strike back.

Amaril had lived his entire life battling that question. When Saran tor Luth asked for their reasons for coming, the half-dragon knew his battle was going to finally come to an end.

“We came…” Darith began, but Amaril placed a hand on the Draconian’s shoulder, causing him to stop.

Amaril took his place. “I came to ask you about my origins.”

Saran’s eyes narrowed for a moment at the interruption, but quickly deposited his thoughts somewhere deep inside his filled-to-the-brim brain. “I see. So, where should we begin? Do you have any brothers or sisters? What was your mother’s name? Or your fathers? I’ve got an entire shelf dedicated to Draconian ancestry. If there’s someone in particular you want information on, it’ll be in there.”

Amaril’s heart shrank. “No, that’s not quite what I meant.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “What I meant was…” Nothing came to mind and his shoulders shrank resignedly. Naryx hopped onto the nearby table out of fear he might be dropped. “Just, what does this mean?” He turned to his side, pointing at his large, scaled tail.

“My, my, my… What do we have here?” Saran seemed to forget his age, dropping down to one knee to get a better look at the odd appendage. “Strange. So strange.” He mumbled a few more words to himself, but not audible enough for anyone else to hear. After what seemed like several minutes of deep thought, the ancient Draconian finally rose back to his feet. In his penetrating stare was a mix of intrigue and awe. “Where did you say you’re from?”

“I didn’t. And I don’t know.” Something told Amaril that his answer wasn’t going to be very useful. "My earliest memories were spent in Raiaera, but I was too young. I don’t remember how or why I was there.”

“That truly is a rare hunk of scale you have there… Truly remarkable…” The aged librarian lost himself in thought once again.

“That’s why I came here. I’m trying to find out what I am. I feel like I’m on the verge of being Draconian. There’s just too many questions I can’t answer.”

“There’s no being on the verge of Draconian, child. You’re either yay or nay. There’s no in-between.” The gentleness left Saran’s voice during his response. He seemed to catch his new pupil’s drop in spirits. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be one of us. Yes, you’ll be told that no Draconian has a tail. They may even be right. I seem to recall someone with a tail during my tenure as Ceann Cath, though. It may be an extremely rare trait, an almost extinct gene in our species. No one has ever discovered with absolute certainty where our kind came from, and we very well could be descendents of dragons."

"If that were the case…” he drifted off into thought, Amaril hanging on to every word as if each note coming from the ancient man’s was the final drop of water in the hottest of deserts. “Yes, I seem to recall…” he paused yet again. The half-dragon was becoming impatient, but this time a smirk spread across the girth of Saran’s face. “Dragons do have tails, right?”

“Huh?” It took Amaril a moment to realize what the librarian was riddling at. Naryx chuckled statically, apparently understanding right away.

Duh, numnuts. Draconians could be descendents of dragons. Dragons have tails and you have a tail. You could be a descendent of dragons. You could be a Draconian. A spark of electricity shocked Amaril as his dragon companion licked his hand. I thought Draconians were supposed to be smart though. I guess you either get brains or a tail.

[Amaril Torrun]

Saran’s serious tone returned to a gentler expression. “In any case, there are more important matters other than where you come from. I, for one, would prefer to look to the future.”

“But what if my future depends on what I learn of my past?” Amaril questioned.

“What colossal change in your life would you expect, if you learned of your true origins?”

“If I found that I truly was a Draconian, I could retire to this city, leaving my nomadic life behind me. I could raise Naryx here, safe from the dangers the world has to offer.”

The librarian peered over the half-dragon’s shoulder. Amaril turned to follow his gaze and was stunned to see the Draconian mother looking at him attentively. “It would seem, to me, that you could fit in Suthainn regardless.”

The woman blushed ever so slightly, returning her attention to the Draconian lad now weaving through the numerous aisles. Her lengthy, brunette tresses abruptly covered the side of her face closest to the men. She was caught in act of staring and while Amaril didn’t want to embarrass her, Darith decided to butt in.

Grinning, he prodded his companion in the side. “Go on, champ. Make me proud.” Saran’s reaction was more reserved, but it was obvious he was enjoying the situation as well. He smiled in approval.

Amaril let out a giant sigh, anxiety welling up in him. He was being forced into deciding on one awkward situation or another. Ignoring the situation all together came to mind first. He had to push that thought away, however. To play dumb would put his maturity to question. It would simply be rude. The idea of walking up to her and starting a conversation though, was a terrifying thought. In all his years, he had never come to know a woman simply out of attractive interest. He had always dealt with the frustrations of being alone, unable to find someone willing to cope with the many oddities his body exhibited. He realized there would be no need to cope amongst the people in Suthainn.

He walked toward her, feeling as though one of his legs was of a different size than the other. She stirred in her chair, allowing him know that she recognized his presence. “My name is Amaril,” he forced out of his knotted throat.

She turned and faced him, hair falling back over her shoulders and revealing a dominantly human face, but with beaded black eyes resembling that of a reptile. “I’m called Camille Dorn.” Fang-like teeth showed as she spoke. She was wore what appeared to be three loosely fitting bundles of cloth, organized over her thin frame in an almost artistic manner. A long green dress fell down to her ankles. Camille’s face, scaled wrists, and lack of wings were the only details he could determine by looking at her, but she was still attractive.

The silence lengthened, and Amaril realized he was staring. His mind stumbled over finding the right words to say next, but the situation was too foreign and he found himself at a loss. She seemed to notice his uncertainty and picked up the slack.

“I’m sorry about my son. Arick can be so rude sometimes.”

“Oh, there’s no harm done. He’s just a child.” She looked at him expectantly, as if she expected him to continue. Oh, by the gods, what do I say now?

Tell her you like her. Amaril noted Naryx’s clawed feet clicking excitedly on top of the table he had left him on. Tell her you loooooove her.

He didn’t need any dragon quips. Sshh!

Naryx made an audible humph as he sat back down. Camille noticed the baby dragon’s movements and she tried to instigate a longer conversation out of the stranger. “I have to say, you do have some intriguing qualities surrounding you. My son so eloquently pointed out that you have a tail, which I’ve never heard of any one of our kind having. Then there is that dragon you brought in with you. He’s such an adorable little creature, but most dragons aren’t brought into Suthainn. I have to ask, what Draconian land do you fare from?”

He didn’t quite know how to respond. His tongue was already tripping over itself when he tried to have a normal conversation. Now she was digging toward the questions he had been asking mere minutes before. The only answer he could give was far from impressive.

“I don’t know where my homeland is. I came here looking for those same answers, but Saran over there,” he pointed toward the librarian, “had me settle for comfort words.” She seemed disheartened by his short orphan story. Amaril was coming across as a man with no history and a weak vocabulary. “But I may stay in Suthainn for a while.”

She nodded politely, but he could tell she was losing interest with all haste. Lacking any sort of experience in recovering the lost ground, he resorted to a farewell.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Amaril,” she replied rigidly as he walked back to the two men.

Darith continued to smile and clapped his friend on the back. “So how did it go?”

[Amaril Torrun]

Laughter continued to bellow forth from Darith as the companions emerged from the library, Naryx trotting at their heels. Claiming to have nothing more to offer the half-dragon, Saran bid them farewell. On their way out, Darith had jokingly suggested that Amaril’s origins should be the least of their worries, glancing toward Camille one final time. Naryx joined the laughter with a cackle of his own, sending Amaril’s cheeks into a brighter shade of red.

“So what’s next?” he questioned, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible.

Still chuckling, his Draconian friend nodded in a new direction. “I think its time we had dinner. A few tankards of ale along with it should knock your failings to the back of your mind. Then we can work on your women skills properly.”

Amaril’s shoulders drooped, wishing Darith would just drop it. The two were becoming fast friends though, and friends didn’t let such things fall by the wayside. In spite of his embarrassment, he had to admit that the mocking amusement gave him a sense of camaraderie he hadn’t felt for a long time.

The trio walked for a few minutes more. Naryx stumbled quite a few times, but didn't allow Amaril to pick him back up, uncharacteristically claiming to want some exercise. As another building too large to be a simple home loomed up ahead, the scent of smoked meat wafted lazily through the half-dragon's nostrils, tantalizing his appetite. As they got closer and the smell grew, he could hear eruptions of laughter through the walls. The building looked a bit rickety and was obviously old, with pieces of the wood having chipped away over time. Darith briskly made his way to the front door, a smile spread from ear to ear. He pushed the door open, catching the attention of a few nearby patrons. Some clanked their mugs on their table, cheering his name.

“So this is where all the lowlifes hang out at the end of the day!” he exclaimed over the jovial buzz filling the dining hall. He was answered with laughter as one of his friends got up to give him a playful jab in the shoulder. Amaril stood to his friend’s side, feeling out of place.

“Shut up you mangy lout,” chided someone at the table of friends.

“Yeah, at least we did some work today, unlike you, you lazy bum,” another added.

“Bah, you know I just got back. I wouldn’t call what you do work anyways, Damian. What do you do again, sell clothes?” This caused another eruption of laughter as the offended Draconian buried his face into the table top in mock embarrassment. “Anyways, gents, I’ve brought someone with me. This is Amaril Torrun, a friend I met back in Talmhaidh. He’s gonna be staying with me till we find him a place of his own.”

“I knew it!” Damian pushed himself up from the table furiously. The mass of friends fell silent, unsure of the unexpected anger. A tension mounted before his face cracked into a smile. “I knew you were a fag!” he exclaimed and a chorus of laughter followed.

Darith pointed at him warningly, but his friends slid over a few seats to make room for the two new arrivals. They all talked amicably amongst themselves, leaving Amaril to his silent, social ineptness. The conversations were random, suggesting of longstanding history between the group. All the responses were unruly. Naryx hid between the half-dragon's ankles for fear of being stepped on, unnoticed by the Draconians.

You better have fun for the both of us, Naryx warned.

I was going to say the same thing, Amaril replied.

[Amaril Torrun]

The chatter and laughs only died down once a large plate of dark steamed meat was served, along with a refilled jug of ale and two more mugs. It wasn’t the most flaunting of restaurants. The meat was shredded, allowing the tablemates to pluck the tasty morsels one piece at a time. It was a good thing, being that there were no private plates or utensils. The meal was a free-for-all. The familiar scent burst over the half-dragon and his newly doubled hunger sent his hands to the plate just as shamelessly as his neighbors. Naryx cooed, letting Amaril know that he could smell the food as well and he inconspicuously dropped some meat for the dragon child to dig into. The various seasonings danced along his tongue in a pleasurable frenzy and, after a while, he found that the ale helped the meat go down particularly well.

“So Amaril, what’s your business?” a large Draconian to his right asked, tearing into a piece of meat at the same time.

“Oh, just a little of this and a little of that,” the half-dragon replied. He took another swag of ale, an action he had repeated for almost an hour. Still not throwing himself into the conversations, his mood had lightened and he enjoyed the jokes as much as the rest.

“Wow! I wish I could do that! I’m just a simple hunter. In fact, I’m probably the one that caught the critter we’re eating now. Name’s Daedan.” The Draconian outstretched his hand and Amaril’s embraced it.

“Nice to meet ya.” Amaril was beginning to fell a bit tipsy. Naryx nipped at his ankle, reminding him to maintain at least some self-control. He let his mug rest on the table. “I guess you could say I haven’t had a steady job in a while. I tend to travel a lot.”

“So you’re a homeless bum?” The table burst into laughter. Amaril was about to defend himself, but decided it’d do no good. Everyone at the table wanted to enjoy themselves and he realized there was no need to stop the fun to save face. No one was there to genuinely mistreat anyone else.

You know, it may be the ale speaking, but I think I’m getting the hang of this hanging out with the guys thing.

Uh huh.

Amaril couldn’t see the dragon, but he imagined the animal, curled up amidst the tons of stomping feet by the Draconians. We’ll leave soon. I promise.

Uh huh. The dragon child had returned to his grumpy mood, but for good reason.

Amaril spent the next minute or so trying to catch Darith’s attention, and when he did, motioned that he was ready to go. His friend seemed rather put out, but nodded, letting out a sigh. He stood, drawing the table’s attention. “Well lads, I think it’s high time we got going. I’ve got a big day of bumming around tomorrow, and I’ll need some degree of a level head. See you jokers around.”

[Amaril Torrun]

Naryx was the first to leave the table behind, eventually followed by the two men who had to say their goodbyes and deal with more uncouth comments about going home together, questioning their sexual preferences. The heckling didn’t end until they were outside with the heavy door shut behind them. A blast of fresh air hit them, and Amaril realized that the eatery had not only smelled of finely cooked meat, but of sweat and body odor as well. Upon leaving, his stomach felt heavy from the meat and ale, and his eyes drooped a bit. Alcohol wasn’t something he consumed often.

Darith, on the other hand, didn’t seem affected by the drinks at all, other than his face being a bit rosier than it had been before. He didn’t look ready to go home just yet. “So, what do you want to do now? The dusk is young seeing as how we left dinner pretty early. Why’d we have to leave anyways?”

“Naryx is tired.” Amaril looked down and tried to pick up the baby dragon, but the child avoided him. Oh no you don’t. You aren’t carrying me and dropping me off the side of a bridge on accident. You just stay on your feet and I’ll stay on mine. I saw how much you had to drink tonight. He could feel the effects of the alcohol, but he wasn’t drunk. He let the dragon stay on the ground though, shrugging off the insult.

Darith watched the small ordeal before chiming in. “It looks like you might be a bit more tired than your dragon kid.” He leaned against a wooden post that held a small part of the bridge in place. “Alright fine, we can call it a night. But first we’re going to the temple.”

Amaril followed his friend, but questions arose. “The temple? What temple? Don’t you have a shrine at your home?”

Darith shook his head. “The shrine at my house is dedicated to Muirin. The temple I’m talking about is for The Cupla. I find it important to pay The Twins my respects whenever I return to Suthainn and whenever I’m about to leave.”

“But, if you pray to Muirin, why do you need to pray to The Cupla too?” He was beginning to feel like a child, always asking “why,” but there was so much he didn’t know and wanted to.

Darith shook his head again, but spoke with a willingness to teach. “You don’t know our customs. All Draconian gods deserve our respect. Muirin may protect me from being overwhelmed at sea, but The Cupla also look after me, and every other Draconian. I may not be one of the more violent types, but I do come across my share of combat. Whether against pirates or thieves, The Cupla help me defeat my enemies and keep me from harm. Every god has a purpose in our world. All they ask of us in return is a small amount of our time to acknowledge everything they do for us.”

“I guess that makes sense.” He used the rope railing on either side to keep himself steady as they walked through the darkening city. He could already feel the ale wearing off on his senses, but the small bridge they were on was still wobbly enough to make him uncomfortable. Then he remembered he had wings and that falling wouldn‘t hurt him. Hmm, maybe I did drink a little bit too much.

Naryx snorted. Told you.

I wasn’t talking to you. Amaril disliked that the dragon could read his thoughts with ease, while he could only read what Naryx allowed.

They walked for a long time, passing shops, homes, and even the temple of a godly couple named Cion and Aisling. Darith gave the half-dragon the names, but when asked for more information, he told his friend to be patient. “You’ll learn everything you need to know with time. We’re almost there, so I would rather keep my mind on The Cupla.”

Amaril's mind refused to remain on any one thing, even the mighty gods of war. There was too much information to absorb; too much fascination with every minute detail he found while examining Suthainn. He noticed that the city didn’t seem to have sections that determined upper and lower classes. Unlike almost every city, town and village he had ever come across, the grander homes mingled with the poorer. Draconian society’s hierarchy apparently had little to do with wealth.