#Hedysara

[ironclawallosaur]

Confrontation

“Is the problem that you don’t think she’s there, or that you’re too scared to confront her?” Dendroaspis asked.

Apitoxin ruffled his neckfeathers irritably. “This is your quest. I’m just dragged along on it.”

“So why don’t you want to go talk to the Fire clan?” he pressed.

“I told you,” Apitoxin punctuated his words with a harsh bill-snap, “I think I knew them. I don’t want to come up until I remember properly.”

“If you knew them, it’s surely a benefit.” Dendroaspis jeered. “What, were you some sort of eggeater?”

“No!” Apitoxin snapped back. The simple truth—the one he dared not tell his brother—was that what he remembered, more distinctly than anything else besides the wild bees, was the sense of being a failure. And who liked failures that they’d thought themselves rid of showing up again? He ground his teeth, pulling their shared body back, deeper into the forest. “I’m remembering.” he said. “Just give me time.”

Dendroaspis vented a dissonant howl that set Apitoxin’s feathers on end, and kept his foot where it was. “What was I thinking? Climbing out with a tundra?”

Apitoxin dipped his wing in a shrug. “Sorry.” Then, reconsidering. “Without my nose, would you have ever been able to track her?”

Dendroaspis grumbled something in the back of his throat, but said nothing. Slowly he eased off pressure on his foot, though still not enough to let the pair take an actual step.

The two thrown-together brothers had been on the road for seasons, battling their way through the Scarred Wasteland and down to Fire, seeking the Boneyard Legend called the Speckled Bear. Along the way, they had grown stronger—and hashed out something more fraternal than their initial relationship as “bound together escaped prisoners”.

The past, however, was slow to return, and a great deal of it had been reconstructed as a group effort. When they’d broken the surface of the Wyrmwound together, and everything since was clear; but only bits and scraps of the past beyond that remained.

Dendroaspis had taken the lead, as he had in many other things. Once he’d been a coatl of the great Viridian Labyrinth, a fact still reflected in his tightly-curled horns, emerald eyes, and somewhat short, catlike face. Then he’d gone to visit relatives in the Scarred Wasteland—why he had such relatives was a subject he remained mute on—and been set upon by a rogue creature of mixed tundra and beastclan heritage, known only as the Speckled Bear. She had overcome him, despite his attempts to defend himself or bargain her off, and cast him, broken, into the Wyrmwound.

Apitoxin remembered… images of dragons he’d known. The forests of the Plague/Shadow border, and some here where Fire met Lightning. Scents, voices. Drawing from both of their memories, and the long, forked horns on his head, Dendroaspis had determined that Apitoxin had once been a tundra, which meant he would have a great deal of difficulty reclaiming his memories, especially absent scent aids. That had been a blow.

Over time, Apitoxin had grown reasonably certain that he had known the strange hybrid tundra—that she was a sellclaw of the clan he’d once been loosely tied to. Dendroaspis had been excited by that, and his litany of what he wanted to do veered from—now that he was so much stronger—ambushing her in turn, breaking every bone in her body and on her pelt, to pinning her down and demanding to know who had hired her.

Now that they were close enough that he could catch hints of the Speckled Bear’s scent, and other familiar dragons, however, they’d come to a stall. Apitoxin didn’t want to continue, while Dendroaspis could hardly be restrained. They had come to the point of wresting control from each other on multiple occasions now.

“Brother…” Dendroaspis’s voice was conciliatory. He put his hand on Apitoxin’s shoulder. “We’ll give it another day. But you need to tell me what’s going on—or gather your courage and face her.”

Apitoxin nodded, but said nothing. Slowly the pair made their way back into the woods.

*

“Oh, hello!”

Fortune swung his head around at the voice. He had heard something approaching, but had hoped the quiet footsteps and rustle of brush belonged to a small deer that he might ambush if he held still enough.

“Hedysara.” he said. “There truly is no game in these woods.”

“I’m sorry.” she said. “What’s the cause?”

Fortune rolled his head irritably. “Happens every year. Nocturnes and mimics come out, everything bigger than a newt goes to ground.” He grimaced. “I suppose I should be happy you weren’t a deer, you’d probably have been a mimic and I’d have been battling for my life the moment I tried to trap you.”

Hedysara grinned. “Apparently the veilspun keep some carnivorous deer for pets. They’re about the size of mine.”

Fortune sighed. For all his ties to the lands of Shadow, there were some things he found very tiresome about the element. “What brings you out here?”

“Walkabout.” the tundra replied, looking wistful. “I’m looking for a new direction.”

Fortune arched a brow. “I’ll miss it if your food stall closes down.”

Hedysara shrugged. “I don’t think it’s that sort of new direction.” She looked down at her forefeet, and brushed absently at her beard. “Maybe I’ll try something new with the food. Or join the party up at the Borderlands. Or maybe it’s a hobby?”

Fortune spread his wings to show off the net strung beneath them. “Well, I’ve been gathering roots. That’s new.”

Hedysara looked at him, and his haul, and burst out laughing. “That’s good! How many were mimics?”

“Eighteen.” Fortune closed his wings and offered a forefoot for examination. “Number twelve managed to get past my gauntlet too.”

The tundra nodded sympathetically. “I’ll put some poultice on it.”

Fortune huffed in surprise. “Is Ykkerekk still not back?”

“You know how he is.” Hedysara’s voice held a tinge of irony—the imperial’s memory was bound to be clearer than her own, though hers wasn’t bad for her breed.

Fortune shifted his wings, and shuffled his feet. “I don’t like it. Him and Henhowl gone at the same time, Taxus distracted. We’re down our best news-bringers, and our messenger is compromised.”

“Do you expect an attack?” Hedysara’s ears were tilted forward, her voice quieting with dread.

Fortune swung his head again. “Maybe. Anything further that goes wrong…” He paused, searching for the words.

“Then maybe we’d better do something about the aberration.” Hedysara’s tone was grim.

The imperial looked down at her. “What aberration?”

“There’s one somewhere around. You know how they talk to themselves.” She pointed back the way she’d come with one pink, feathered wing. “And I smelled them a bit. Male, Nature I think. They’ve been around for a few days.”

Fortune shook himself, resettling his burdens, and suddenly wondering if he should stop by the clan first. “Great, a venomous aberration.”

Hedysara smiled. “Hopefully we just steer them to the inn.” Her hand went to the large cooking knife always on her belt. “If not, we’re both ranked warriors.”

Fortune acknowledged that with a dip of his head.

Of course, neither of them was top ranked, and who knew what the infamously hardy Ancient was ranked himself?

*

It was early night and the moon was rising when Hedysara picked up the scent again.

Fortune scanned the area, noted no signs of mimics, and dropped his pelts, gathered roots, and the two caged birds he’d managed to catch. He piled them as best as he could, with the pelts hopefully concealing the rest from prying eyes of dragon, beastfolk, or mimic. His emergency essentials he kept on him.

“They’re not too far away.” Hedysara said. “Seems they’ve been keeping to this area for a while.”

“Oh, that’s what we need.” Fortune growled. “An aberration starting a clan right beside ours.” He swept his head from side to side. “Where do you think they’d put their little Wyrmwound, and how long do you think it would take Elk to notice?”

“Maybe they don’t like the mimics either.” Hedysara said, though her wings were half-open by her side, and her ears were pulled back as if she expected an imminent fight. “We won’t know until we talk to them.”

Fortune picked up his pace, letting Hedysara fall back to a flanking position to defend his open side. He flared his whiskers. Yes, they were close enough that he could pick up a distant hum of Nature energy.

The dragon was strong. But he wasn’t going to be stronger than both of them put together.

Fortune fell into a hunting stalk as they closed to audio range, and was a bit surprised to find he couldn’t pick up Hedysara’s footsteps. She wasn’t quite as stealthy as her sister Sprucetip or her strange son, but he would have been hard-pressed to detect her.

The aberration was sitting quietly, heads tucked together and tails uncoiled, muttering to each other. Vividly green, harsh-smelling… there was something familiar about the combination. Fortune frowned, and he thought he detected a slight falter in Hedysara beside him too.

They paused, and watched the Ancient for a few long moments.

Then Fortune drew himself up, crouching on his hindlegs, and flared his wings, half in an authoritative pose, half in a battle-stance.

The pair looked up at his sudden movement, instantly alert. Fortune watched the change in their own stance as one head passed control to the other and cocked back to aim breathweapons and cursed inwardly. Still, there was a chance the coming fight could be averted, and a greater chance it could be won, even if it meant a long, painful walk back.

“Why have you come here?” he growled, putting every ounce of imperial thunder he could into his words. He lowered himself slightly, both to punctuate his statement and to see if he could resolve the aberration’s familiarity with a closer look. “If your intentions on our border are honest, we need not quarrel, but we will not brook intruders without cause or neighbors without introduction.”

There was a brief moment when the heads looked at each other. Fortune became suddenly aware of Hedysara pressing against his flank with her wing.

“Fortune!” she hissed.

Fortune swung his head as far over to her as he could without breaking his battle-stance, and flicked an ear in her direction.

“Fortune, that’s Apitoxin.”

With her words, the familiarity clicked straight into place. Fortune returned to his previous position, craning his neck—yes, that was exactly right! Apitoxin, and someone else—but he’d seen that before. He almost laughed aloud, both at the absurdity of nearly coming to blows with a clanmate like this and in sheer relief. He’s not dead! He made it out like Hiirkaen! He controlled himself at the last minute—clearly Apitoxin hadn’t quite recognized them. Well of course not, he thought, he’s only half the size he once was. I must look huge.

“We are DendroToxin.” the three-eyed head said. The one that wasn’t Apitoxin. “Are you the clan of the Speckled Bear?”

Apitoxin whuffed. “We do not seek quarrel with your clan as a whole, but justice for one wronged by one member.” he said quickly. His other head glowered at him.

“And who is the wronged party?” Fortune asked, fighting down another laugh. Trust a gaoler to find a legal dispute in the Wyrmwound itself! He forced himself to focus. If he gave in to giddy relief, there would be trouble.

Both heads tried to speak at once, and the resulting half-powered cacophony was too muted to make sense of.

Eventually the three-eyed head managed to peck Apitoxin into silence. “My brother believes you are the clan of the Speckled Bear, a brigand of the Abiding Boneyard who set upon me and cast me into the Wyrmwound.” he said. “I seek vengeance upon her, or upon her employer if he is right that she is a sellclaw.”

Fortune blinked, and looked down at Hedysara.

The tundra stepped forward. For a long moment she was silent.“Yes, there is one who has gone by that name here.” she said. “She is my aunt.”

The aberration took a step forward, then shivered oddly in place for a few long moments. A fight for control?

Hedysara did not move. Fortune wasn’t sure if he admired her courage or wanted to smack her out of the way as a fool.

“Take me to her!” DendroToxin howled at last, and bridged the remaining distance. To Fortune’s relief, however, he merely set a claw to the tundra’s foreshoulder and stared down into her eyes, his own open fanatically wide.

Hedysara sighed, then batted the hand off her foreshoulder with the other forefoot. “I will, but I don’t think you’re right.”

“She did it!” the three-eyed head insisted.

“Do you really think that’s true, Apitoxin?” Fortune interjected.

Both of the aberration’s heads swiveled to look at him. Then the three-eyed head burst out in raucous laughter, and the last of the air of impending battle broke.

“So you DO know him!” the three-eyed head said.

“Well, he’s smaller than he used to be.” Fortune said. “But yes. Credit Hedysara for that. And you are…?”

“Dendroaspis.” the head said. “And my brother wouldn’t doubt me.”

“I said I wasn’t sure.” Apitoxin spat back, looking wounded. “I can’t remember though.”

“But you remember me.” Fortune said. He began to walk back toward where he’d cached his goods, spreading a wing to beckon the others to follow.

Apitoxin nodded, looking relieved. “Yeah! The hunter, Fortune. I spoke to you often in the forest.”

Fortune snorted. “And do you remember what happened last time we met?”

Apitoxin’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head.

Fortune smacked him. “You were riding on my back, do you still not recall?”

Apitoxin’s frown deepened further. “That… no.”

“Do you have a scent-cue?” Dendroaspis broke in. “He might bridge the gap that way.”

Fortune leveled a look at him. “Do you mean my mane, specifically?” he asked, flatly. “I’m not aware that it smells like much of anything.”

“Maybe the lands where you set out?” the aberration persisted.

“We’ll get there at some point.” Fortune returned his gaze to the path ahead. “So you’re one of those Poison Glen dragons, and they sent you to Plaguebringer?”

“It was the Speckled Bear!” Dendroaspis yowled.

“Kellinlii often trains future exalts.” Fortune said. “Are you sure you’re not just remembering that?”

With a vile curse, DendroToxin cut in front of the imperial and flared his wings—rather broader on Dendroaspis’s side than Apitoxin’s. “I know what happened! She attacked me without warning!”

Fortune rolled his head. “Fine. We’ll get this sorted out when we return to clanhome.”

They walked in silence until they came upon the cache, luckily untouched. Hedysara and, without being asked, DendroToxin helped him get the goods packed aboard. Shaking himself to get them comfortably settled, Fortune eyed the moon. The night was still young, but his mimic-bitten forefoot was already starting to burn from keeping a steady pace on it. He tried and failed to recall who might be on border patrol that night. He hoped it wasn’t Tarandrus. One bright-green oddity was more than enough.

“All right.” he said, turning to face the others again. “We’re several hours walk from clanhome, but we’ll be there in minutes if we fly.” He looked at Apitoxin. “Can you do that?”

“No.” Dendroaspis admitted, looking bitterly down at the ground. Apitoxin, too, looked away.

Fortune sighed. “All right, I’ll carry you again.” He crouched down, and spread his wings. “Go on.”

The brothers looked at each other. “You would… let us?” Dendroaspis asked.

Fortune snorted. “You’ll be a damn sight lighter than you were last time. Come on, get on.”

“At least let me take the roots.” Hedysara said. “You’re going to have a fun time taking off anyway, you don’t need them jostling every time you fly.”

Fortune shrugged, but let her unhook the netting holding the roots from over his wings. “There’s a hill right there. Did you forget I was a wind dragon again?”

“There, see?” Dendroaspis said, snidely. “You’re not the only one.”

Both Fortune and Hedysara turned to regard them.

“The only one what?” Hedysara asked.

Dendroaspis tucked his head in, looking ashamed. “The only tundra who can’t remember things sometimes.” he muttered.

Both Fortune and Hedysara burst out laughing this time.

“What happened?” Fortune butted Apitoxin with his snout. “A tundra?”

“I… that’s what I looked like.” Apitoxin sounded distressed.

“Well yes, but you were a gaoler.” Fortune held his forefoot up to where Apitoxin’s shoulder had once come to, somewhat over the aberration’s heads. “They’re a fair bit larger, telepathic, and flightless.”

Understanding dawned in Apitoxin’s eyes, though he didn’t say anything.

Dendroaspis looked between all three of them, gaping slightly in horror. “They’re what?” he asked. “The Eleven made giant, telepathic tundras??”

“The way they tell it, Icewarden made them first. Like you guys and mirrors.” Fortune tipped the smaller dragon onto his back. “Haolurren is the best to tell you, we’ll see if he’s in port after you’ve got everything else straightened out.” He turned his head to look back at them. “Try not to move around so much this time.”

With that, he broke into a hopping gallop, gathering speed until he leapt, gathering the wind beneath him, and took off.

*

The trip back to Cindercone’s clanhome took somewhat less than half an hour, leaving Apitoxin with time to remember. Dendroaspis was quiet—judging by his body language, he was vacillating between still struggling over the idea of gaolers, and enjoying a return to flight, even if on another dragon’s wings.

Being back on Fortune’s back helped some, though it looked a lot different at half his old size. It was more remembering that old scale that was helping. That and the deep press of mission on his mind. He’d never found an organization. No wonder I felt like a failure, like I might as well just chase wild bees.

He eyed Hedysara, and the general thought of her as small cousin rose unbidden to mind. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out again. As far as he still had to go, this was helping a lot.

“Is she well-liked?” Dendroaspis finally spoke up.

“Huh?” Apitoxin asked, turning to look at him.

His brother’s expression was uncharacteristically anxious. “The Speckled Bear. Do they like her?”

Apitoxin frowned, trying to work the pieces together. “She’s got enemies and allies.” he said at last.

Dendroaspis whacked him with one horn. “Tell me something that isn’t common knowledge.” His voice was tense with worry.

“Some dragons hate her very much.” That he was certain of. “But I want to say she’s also trusted.” An image swam into his mind, but the accompanying name was lost. “Someone came to her for advice.”

“Oh stars’ end.” Dendroaspis moaned.

“This was your plan.” Apitoxin glowered at him. “You really didn’t think that she might have friends?”

“She’s a vicious brigand!” he spat back, neck ruff bristling. “I didn’t expect her to have friends until her niece turned up.”

“Well, that’s why I wanted to remember.” Apitoxin couldn’t keep the retort down.

Several meters in front of them, he could hear Fortune’s voice but not quite make out his words as he greeted the border patrol. He caught a glimpse of Explorer’s acid-green-and-white form whisking overhead, and as he turned his head to watch her she waggled her wings in greeting.

Then they were descending, and Dendroaspis was sinking his claws into the ropes holding Fortune’s pelts in place, eyes wide. They landed in a puff of ash.

“Off!” Fortune barked. “I’m going to take this down to Scorzalite.”

“Scorzalite’s out.” Explorer’s voice. “Take it to Hiirkaen and Keaia.”

Fortune muttered something to himself, then put his head down close to them. “Either way, follow Hedysara.”

Apitoxin looked around, and spotted the tundra’s pink wings not far away, one half-open in a beckoning gesture. “I’ll just give you control now.” he said to his brother with more than a hint of a jeer.

Dendroaspis glowered at him, but took the lead in inverse of their typical combat-pattern. Apitoxin let his brother focus on walking, and looked around, drinking in each building and every rowdy bit of artwork from… he could just picture the big Fire mirror, though her name escaped him.

Kellinlii denned near the heart of clanhome, where the oldest structures were. She was out on the terrace of her den, lying close to the lava. Even from a distance, Apitoxin could tell something was wrong. She took too long to get to her feet after seeing them.

“Aunt.” Hedysara said. Her voice held a trace of tension.

“Hedysara.” Kellinlii rasped. Her voice sounded rougher than usual.

“Apitoxin is back.” Hedysara made a gesticulating bow toward them. “This is his brother, Dendroaspis. He has a quarrel with you.”

Kellinlii gave a ragged laugh, and stepped off the terrace toward them. “Welcome back, Apitoxin.” She tilted her head, and sniffed deeply. “And well met, Dendroaspis. What quarrel do I have with someone I have never met?”

“You killed me!” Dendroaspis snapped, flaring his wings. Apitoxin drew back from his questioning about Kellinlii’s condition, ready to take over if his brother dropped fully into combat mode. “I was just a coatl! You set upon me! Was it for yourself, or for a client, Speckled Bear?”

Kellinlii’s ears swept forward and she sniffed him again. “I did not.” she said, after a short pause.

“I’m not wrong!” Dendroaspis’s voice was frantic.

Kellinlii gave a rough, mocking laugh. “Did I growl a battle-challenge?”

“It was an ambush.” Dendroaspis growled out. “No.”

“Then I did not attack you.”

Dendroaspis threw the control back to Apitoxin, who dropped automatically into battlestance. He drew up his venom, and spat it directly at Kellinlii’s eyes.

Faster than either of them could have guessed, the tundra whirled, and the venom hit her in the neck instead. She reared and struck, dull claws raking down his flank.

Apitoxin struck back, scoring a blow laced with stinging venom down her hindleg as she disengaged. The tundra gave a low, murderous growl that didn’t sound remotely like a tundra, and for an instant Apitoxin wasn’t sure he did know her. How different was her alter ego? Then came another punishing blow that sent him reeling down to all fours; he snapped back with his beak and missed, but scored another blow with one of their tails that knocked her back.

Then he was up, and leaping for her—and missed, crashing down to the ashy ground without even a scrap of fur pinned in his claws. Dendroaspis spat venom again, and this time cleanly missed. The tundra bowled them over with a shouldercheck and slammed her forefoot into his neck, warteeth bared over his throat.

“Would it kill you to lose your other head?” she snarled at Apitoxin. She was breathing hard.

“Pretty sure.” he said. “And he’s my brother. Please don’t.”

Dendroaspis glowered beside him, but the expression was more pain and resignation than anger. He’d taken his chances against the Speckled Bear—and lost again.

Kellinlii took her weight off his throat. “I have killed many dragons,” she said. “and more wartoads. But never without a battle-challenge.” She backed away, letting Apitoxin get them to their feet. Beside him, his brother’s head and tail drooped in utter defeat. “I can prove it.”

Dendroaspis spat bitterly at the ash by their feet. “Get it over with, then.”

“Every dragon I have ever killed, I cleaned their skull and put them in a shrine.” Kellinlii said. “They were an offering to Plaguebringer, a rough exaltation.” She extended a wing, and coughed. “I can take you there right now, if you wish, and search for your skull.”

For the first time, his brother frowned. “They did say that.” he muttered. “She takes their skull and eats their eyes.”

Kellinlii nodded, and smiled. “Eyes are a special treat.” she said. She gestured to her death seeker—Khohuark!—with her wing. “I suppose he’s to blame.”

“They are good.” the bird croaked.

Dendroaspis pulled back to the normal control-split, and stomped his foot in frustration, raising a small plume of ash. “Then who did?”

Kellinlii looked at him appraisingly. “That is a very good question.” She tugged at the straps of her armor, as though fixing some part the battle had knocked millimetrically askew. “You two fight well.”

“We are strong.” Apitoxin said, though in truth he knew that was something aberrations were said to say only indirectly. “Does that mean you no longer want to kill us?”

She smiled. “I always liked you. And he’s making a good impression.” She shook out her wings, and coughed again. “What I would like to do is find out who has been using my reputation without my permission.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Hedysara had come back over—having retreated to a higher elevation during the brief, nasty skirmish.

Kellinlii laughed. “I’m sick, niece. It’s happened before.”

“Still, though?” Hedysara’s tones held concern. “I’m going to make you some pelagas tea.”

“That does sound nice.” Kellinlii watched her leave, then looked back up at the aberration. “Now, what made you think that I was the one who killed you?”

Dendroaspis flicked his long tongue, for the first time in weeks, and his head dropped, ruff bristling. “I—they said you were half Beastclan, half tundra.” His brow crinkled. “But you… aren’t.”

“And the one who attacked you is?” Kellinlii frowned. She took on a distant appearance, and Apitoxin noticed that Khohuark did too. “Was it the Bloodswimmer?”

“No!” Dendroaspis glowered at her. “I wouldn’t mix up a wildclaw with a tundra.”

“Corven.” Kellinlii laughed. “She’s a corven in disguise.”

Dendroaspis waved his claw in exasperation. “Not a bird! Mammal! Speckled Bear!” He whistled several notes in an approximation of what Apitoxin suspected was a coatl curse.

Kellinlii frowned harder, then shrugged. “No one comes to mind, but I will go and sniff what trophies I took with me. Perhaps the answer will come. If not…” Her affect grew as frigid as the Icefield. “Then I will need to go and investigate.”

“Not until you’re better!” Hedysara had reappeared, with a tray of tea around her neck. “And definitely not until after the clan-meeting.”

“Meeting?” Apitoxin felt a sudden twinge of uneasiness.

“The clan would love to know of your return.” Hedysara said. “You’d never seen Gloaming so withdrawn.”

“Have you resolved your… quarrel? With me?” Kellinlii asked.

Dendroaspis nodded reluctantly. “It was not you.”

“Then let us get going.” With that she turned and walked to the clan amphitheater—limping noticeably from the wound they’d dealt her.

*

It didn’t take long for the clan to gather—it seemed Fortune had been spreading the news that they had a returning clanmate. Gloaming almost bowled them over with an enthusiastic greeting.

Several of the clan were missing—notably Sprucetip, Henhowl, Plaguewinds, and Laenalaerr, reducing the clan-council to Elkrekeoddh, Liglanaerr, Kellinlii, Ithiliisahn and… Apitoxin blinked, and nudged his brother. “Look!”

Dendroaspis looked over, and flicked his tongue. He blinked. “We are not alone here.”

“That’s Hiirkaen!” Apitoxin said, and something snapped into place. “We were looking for her!”

“Is her sister overdominated?” Dendroaspis asked, looking at him with a raised brow.

“She didn’t have a sister when she left.” Apitoxin craned his neck. “So I don’t know her name.”

Fortune reappeared beside them, ushering DendroToxin down into the center of the amphitheater. There he reared back again. The chatter around the perimeter died down. “I will be brief,” he said. “Apitoxin has returned. Apparently even falling in the Wyrmwound wasn’t enough to finish him off!” He nudged the pair gently on the back.

“Will you be staying with the clan?” Hiirkaen’s sister asked, eyeing them. “Or returning to the fringes?”

“It would be nice to be part of a clan again.” Dendroaspis said.

Apitoxin nipped him. “This is my brother, Dendroaspis. Together we are DendroToxin, and we’ll be staying.”

“Then we’ll make reintroductions one-on-one, starting with those who were with him when he left.” Hiirkaen barked. “Everyone else, leave.”

In twos and threes the dragons started to drift away, leaving Gloaming and his sister—Winewings! that was the big Fire mirror!—to mob around him, as well as a large metallic dragon he found he still could not recognize, Explorer, and a small, shy nocturne. Alibi? Fortune, his job in announcing done, turned gruffly away.

“Ha!” Gloaming shouted. “I knew you’d made it! You’re small now!”

Dendroaspis looked away awkwardly, humming to himself. He sounded to Apitoxin’s ears like Colada.

“You survived.” the metallic dragon said.

“That’s Moonfire.” Explorer said. “Now she’s bigger than you were.”

“What is she?” Dendroaspis asked.

“How long were you in the Wyrmwound for?” Winewings cocked her head at him. “She’s an obelisk. Secondborn of the Earthshaker.”

“Huh.” Apitoxin shook his head, the memory of the sweet-scented tundra with the steel fur coming slowly back to mind. “He was around for several cycles, apparently. Who is Hiirkaen’s sister?”

“That’s Keaia.” Winewings said. “Apparently she fell into the Wyrmwound when Mom did, except she got stuck. Now they’re conjoined.”

“She’ll have loads of stories for you!” Gloaming said. “And there’s Terviskhar, and Photobacterium! They’ll probably be by next if Mom and Aunt aren’t.”

“Well, that’s all for me.” Explorer raised her head loftily. “I’m needed back on border patrol, what with Wrysight still out at the party.” She launched unceremoniously off her wings into flight, swooped once around the amphitheater, and was gone into the night.

“We’re glad you’re all right.” Moonfire said. “I’m sure Arietty will be glad when she returns, too.” She settled from sitting to laying with a scrape of metal on stone. “Nice to meet you also, Dendroaspis.”

“So how far out were you?” Gloaming pressed eagerly.

“That’s the thing.” Apitoxin said, frowning. “I wasn’t over the Wyrmwound. I landed on the rim, barely.”

There was a small chorus of gasps. Even Dendroaspis turned his gaze back, neck ruffling out.

“Oh Explorer’s gonna be mad she left.” Gloaming said. “Did you fall?”

“No.” Apitoxin shook his head. The idea of a gaoler merely slipping from the rim seemed ludicrous. “There was another dragon there. I think… I think I was pushed.”

Author's Note: yes, as my beta noted, Apitoxin heard Keaia's name. I decided it wouldn't be realistic for him to immediately key in that Hiirkaen's newly(!) conjoined sister was Keaia, given everything else going on at the time.

So now we know why Dendroaspis thinks Kellinlii attacked him! I wonder who really did...? and how that might play into Cindercone's current issues with the Beastclans.

Poor Kellinlii, she is sick because of bad life decisions. More on that in a later story.

[ironclawallosaur]

My poor clan gets thrown forward through time and immediately gets mobbed by this Bounty of the Elements dust-up.

One might gather that the precise reason they got thrown forward to this particular point was that the Bounty somehow anchored them, or perhaps that the one responsible moved them to a time when they were stronger, either of which could be interesting.

And yes, I’m back to writing that post a dumb interruption—Liglanaerr has two sections, Kellintaal and Henhowl have one each so far.

[ironclawallosaur]

I wish my clan wasn’t still in shenanigans limbo (due to me being too busy / lazy / stupid / bad at prioritizing) because I’d love to canonize this year’s April Fools in some way.

Like, canonically, Elk’s familiar of the moment is a nasty Plague spirit sent to spy on him and who would absolutely win in a fight, and Nightshade’s armor sometimes possesses her, and out of Hedysara and the mysterious cannibal-spirit shadowing her no one is sure who is stronger, and if all of those happen at the same time it’d be CHAOS.

[ironclawallosaur]

Chill Winds p. 3

Continuing.

Tarandrus has disappeared into the storm, but a string of downed harpies and odd patches of melted snow bespeak the fights he has joined in the swirling snows.

*

Caution has been out on so many border patrols that she has gained in battlefield rank. Still, she has been carefully scheduling rest and some substantial fatty meals as well, and is holding up... though she does report a dragon in the swirling snows who fights alongside her.

*

Explorer has been huddling in the lava tubes, irate and positing an endless string of explanations for why the harpies have turned so hostile and who they might be working for.

*

Chysiraal lurks, hidden in festival glamour, by Beebalm's garden, where resources that the clan cannot move underground are thickest, turning aside harpy attacks and sometimes felling them midflight with choking clouds of misty Shadow. He seems to have grown in power from this, though not especially in confidence.

*

Azaeleus discovered he was unusually affected by winter weather early on in the storm's progress, and departed for Shadow to seek some of his usual herbs in the warm pine forests. As such, he has entirely missed the drama going on in clan territory.

*

Moonfire is the chief engineer of the clan's temporary ice fortifications, responsible for maintaining them in accordance with Nightforest's designs and her sister Sprucetip's overall defensive plans. She is quite dedicated at this, going for long stretches without rest, patching where hotspots melt through the ice and taking the occasional potshot at the Stormwind raiders.

*

Rain is one of the dragons hiding in the lava tubes, though he has popped up for the occasional relief potshot. In truth he is incensed at the harpies who refuse to honor any of the beastclan codes he has quietly put forth—these harpies are neither friend of dragons nor beastclan loyalists nor reasonable in any fashion.

*

Rainmurk has been taking extra shifts with the air patrol, as he can fly in worse weather than the larger and less aerial dragons in the clan. Additionally, he has taken shifts patrolling the oceans, making certain no threat is rising from the depths while the clan are distracted battling harpies.

*

Colada, too clumsy to negotiate the bitter winter winds, is not part of the patrol. During the worst of the raids, she shelters in the lava tubes; when the harpies are elsewhere, she takes part in enjoying the snow.

*

Fireswirl is a constant sight on aerial patrol, though her lower rank as a warrior sees her fighting primarily defensively.

*

Chlorine elected to take a trip to Ice before the storm arrived, and as such has been missing out on the drama back in the clan. However, his attempts to gather Snow have gotten him into trouble of his own, between ferocious beasts, territorial clans, and wild gaolers who distrust the silhouette of strange banescales.

*

Hyskerekk has thrown herself full-force into aerial patrol. Moving with the winter storm, she has engaged the enemy with powerful Wind magic and even grappling attacks aimed at the raid leaders.

*

No one has seen Merixith, but that is unsurprising. With her vitality sapped by the bitter cold and unwilling to spend her time around a bunch of dragons and other beastfolk, she has undoubtedly hidden herself in a cavern near a lava flow to ride out the bad weather.

*

Winewings has been curiously held back from the clan patrol, but has been fielded as backup for Ithiliisahn intermittently. In between, she helps keep the fires burning in the clan's lava tube shelters and, at the limits of her restraint, keep their spirits lifted without being too great of an annoyance.

*

Gloaming has been kept busy in his role as a backup healer, tending to patrollers returning with minor injuries from the frontlines and helping Hedysara and Firestone provide hot meals and other relief to the frozen fighters.

*

Aput has been drafted into the clan's defenses. When the winds are calmer, he drifts about like a hawk, watching for harpy incursions. When they rise and his kite-like frame forces him to roost, he picks off comers with bow and arrow.

*

Weak to Stormwind attacks and vulnerable to the cold, Arenite has been forced to shelter in the clan's lava tubes. He has been uncharacteristially silent, poring over texts in an attempt to distract himself from the stress and boredom of the storm-stranding.

*

Pyracanthus patrols intermittently, though his true strength lies in stealthily scouting out the harpy's encampments. He has managed to sneak into one and returned with loot, though at the cost of a vicious slash across his wing.

*

Keion is lying low, in hopes that the clan think she left before the winter storm—she fears the harpies are here because of her, and has no desire to draw further trouble down on a clan she has reluctantly become fond of, much less be thrown to them alone and bound.

*

Moonglow, deemed too small to battle the storm winds and bitter cold as a non-Ice dragon—and reluctantly forced to agree—has been alternating time between the clan's storm shelters, and doing a loose inspection of the clan's structures to make certain no harpies have slipped past the lines to nest there. When the weather lulls, she has attempted to harness her hypnotic abilities against the harpies with limited success.

*

Illichaak has been enjoying a festival in the Southern Icefield and is thus entirely unaware of the drama going on back at clan-home. He has attracted the interest of some of the wild dragons, though the local tundras are curiously wary and uncertain of him.

*

Hazard is huddled in the back of the lava tubes, whimpering quietly and occasionally muttering a fragment of some prediction. During lulls in the raids, she sometimes comes aboveground long enough to prance in the snowdrifts—the festival has granted her a coat of thick tundra fur and an improved resistance to cold.

*

Tavernsong is a key member of the border patrol, despite her ambiguous relationship with the clan these days, and harpies have learned to scatter when her harsh wingbeats ring out. A few dragons report seeing her in some of her purported other forms—a lithe mirror, and a lanky guardian, the snow melting against their fire-colored frames.

*

Ardor is confined to the lava tubes despite his desire to fight—or at least in part because of it. No one needs an elementally-conflicted, barely-trusted 12-meter boulder on the field. Still, his boisterous personality is wearing most of the clan out, and he is released into the snow whenever Hazard indicates a break in the action.

*

Tellikys is an irregular member of the border patrol, and a surprisingly capable fighter. Her advantaged element and natural stealth, especially where metallic glints are not out-of-place, as well as her affinity for cold weather, see her better-placed than most, but the harpies are still more than a match for her.

*

Alibi, intrigued by the snowstorm, spends all the time she can perched on the buildings and watching the snow fall. She has been kept back from the fighting, however, as the harpies far outmatch her and the cold is detrimental to her abilities.

*

No one has seen Blacktip. In truth, she is on an extended fishing expedition and party-hopping session in the Sea of a Thousand Currents. The clan rather wishes she were present, as she might be able to fight through the winds and do her usual job of terrorizing harpies.

*

Akantha is currently with the main clan—something everyone is extremely relieved about. Her true colors as a vicious battler on full display, she has flung herself full-force into combat, clambering the towers of Cindercone's structures and charging into fray with sharp sword and bared tooth.

*

Coccino is fielded primarily as the rearguard, though she has taken her share of further-out patrols and actions. Utterly at ease in the howling blizzard, she eschews striking from stealth in favor of making a stand of force that, despite her small frame, seems intimidating. The snows seem to shift around her as though she were still Imperial-sized. She has also struck one of the raid-leaders full in the face with her gembond fluid—and that particular flock did not return to the battle again.

*

Alkane remains in the deep tunnels and thus is unaware of the clan's peril, except to vaguely note that many of the clan are closer to him than usual. Not unusual for bad weather, however.

*

That's the whole main of the clan, except Irwen, Skhovar, Wrysight, Dessel, and Taxus. The first two are too new to have proper bios, the other three are in flux and I wasn't sure how to bring it in, I may edit this post to include them or give them their own post.

[ironclawallosaur]

Chill Winds p. 2

Continuing.

Mesa is injured and in shock. When he went forth to negotiate with the harpies, hoping to resolve matters to mutual benefit, they attacked him viciously. Without the sheltering effects of battle magic to soften their blows, he has a long recovery ahead of him.

*

Kaichi is incensed, and also cold. The harpies are unwilling to listen, called him a dragon-slave, and badly injured his bondmate. He has taken to the field as part of the border patrol, hurling lightning and acting as a small, zippy distraction.

*

Stormweaver has been called to the patrol. While slightly underpowered against the invaders, his element stands him in good stead, and his thick coat is good at cutting the cold.

*

Scorzalite is one of the clan-members sheltering in the deep lava tubes, irritatedly cataloguing the ongoing losses and damages from the harpy raiders and hoping the storm will relent soon.

*

Ykkerekk has been kept extremely busy keeping the border guard, and hapless lower-ranked clanmates caught in the crossfire, healed up between patrols and ambushes. He is exhausted and greatly looking forward to the end of the winter weather.

*

Vermouth is hiding at the bottom of a lava tube and has no desire to come out until conditions improve. Thriving against all limits does not necessitate attempting to colonize adverse conditions without reward.

*

Beebalm is anxious. Will the clan fare well? What of his bees and his gardens? He tends to the clan as he can in Ykkerekk's and Arietty's wakes.

*

As a warrior almost ranked equal to the raiders and unperturbed by Ice, Hedysara has been drafted by the border patrol—specifically by a nearly-panicked Sprucetip, whom Hedysara could never ignore.

*

Fortune is grumpy. So far, for some reason, he has not been often fielded against the harpy raiders, though he operates as Ithiliisahn's backup whenever he can. The storm winds are otherwise keeping him grounded and indoors for the majority of what was supposed to be a festival.

*

Unprepared to meet the assault of the antarctic storm rolling in, Spearmint dove into the water to do some deepsea fishing well before the first harpy raiders showed up. She plans to return when the weather breaks with an impressive selection of aquatic life.

*

Despite her unsuitable element, vulnerable to both Stormwind and Chillwind attacks, Glynn has been tearing up the battlefield in classic Banescale style. More than one harpy has learned the folly of attacking her from above—her venomous spines limit diving attacks to the outer limits of her wings.

*

Terreskara is taking out her frustrations with life on the harpy raiders. She is one of the comparatively few dragons of Cindercone Clan of higher battlerank than them, but her attacks have been overly vicious.

*

Terremiar is the guard at the throat of the lava tubes. While not quite ranked to withstand the raiders, his element sees him comparatively advantaged, and his size and natural defenses should stand him in good stead if anything makes it past the border patrol proper.

*

Striker has been taking extra shifts on border patrol. While his skills and natural toxicity are formidable, he is wearing out quickly.

*

Kudrin has been taking the minimum number of patrol shifts he can. He is worried for his Charge, and angry with the harpies who seem so bent on meaningless destruction, and altogether frustrated with the circumstances.

*

Nightshade has been throwing herself into extra patrols, despite how the winter wind bites into her. The cold is no match for her fury. A few in the clan are concerned.

[ironclawallosaur]

Downpour [Part 1]

Hiirkaen was restless on a level no amount of patrolling seemed able to fix. Derecho Canyon was, for all their effort, still half-ruined, a state that was obvious even in the flickering electric glow that lit each section of hallway in turn as she paced down the tunnels. The electric lights were doused in deference to the Shadow festival, but a lack of functioning circuits had made the shadows deeper and more dappled than the formal festive twilight recommended by Stormcatcher. In too many places, her legs were the only source of illumination.

At least now they’d largely boarded up the areas that opened onto old, abandoned tunnels, and chased the interlopers out of the contiguous, inhabited parts of the complex. Night raids were one of the few things she didn’t miss from her youth in the wild mirror packs.

Too little, too slow. Duskrats and swift volts still scurried through the walls. An ill omen of their time, and how soon crackdowns would be back, but not what was actually bothering her.

Dragons had begun vanishing from her clan. The less wary members, such as their priestly leader, had dismissed it—the clan had always dispersed widely at festivals, seeking amusements or currency. She did not. Plaguewinds might wander off on a breeze, true, but Sprucetip usually gave at least a word before vanishing, and Hedysara was far too mature to vanish for days without word.

That several familiars, including her own Livewire Grizzly, were missing as well intensified her misgivings.

Thunder boomed somewhere overhead.

She briefly flashed on the last push before the closure—the variegated green of Henhowl pursuing a much larger imperial out of the tunnels—and wondered whether his disappearance was related. He’d given no impression of wanting to leave, nor had his spirit passed through on his way to the gods. Vengeance from the blue imperial?

She closed all four eyes briefly. There wasn’t much point in trying to wrest information out of Henhowl, who was mysterious even when present, in his absence.

She emerged from the tunnels into the amphitheater, blinking in the sudden harsh electric light. “Tunnels are clear.” she said. “No sign of intruders or of any of the missing.”

The other dragons present gradually resolved as her sight adjusted. Elkrekeodh was off to the curving side of the amphitheater, bending one of the copper rods that would soon support a new dome with steady applications of fire and mirror strength. Hyskerekk was perched in the standard spiral fashion near the ceiling, head cocked and ears fanned as she studied the winds. Kellinlii, dressed in a battered set of bronze armor, appeared to be making ready to set out on either a search for the missing dragons or a currency-harvesting expedition. Yskerryth, taking up a disproportionate amount of the middle of the room, would have had all the appearance of an official Lightning inspector if his stride was a little surer.

Elk snorted. “No surprise.” He pressed a forefoot to the metal, eyes narrowed, and a few sparks of Fire magic played about his claws as he softened the copper.

Another crack of thunder rolled across them. The wind rose above them, whipping sand into and through the construction webbing that was stretched into the rough suggestion of a dome with an ominous humming whine. Yskerryth eyed the ceiling, his spines lifting slightly in either irritation or trepidation, then returned to scanning the wall with his bill, presumably seeking for hidden conduits.

“How many is that now?” Hyskerekk asked, turning her head to look down at them.

“Plaguewinds, Henhowl, and Sprucetip are missing, certainly.” Kellinlii rasped, not looking up from combing the long fur of her foreleg. “Liglanaerr lost contact yesterday, but she may only be at the festival. Hedysara has not been seen in several days.” She spoke with a calm, measured pace that belied the scent of worry clinging to her fur, not hesitating at her niece’s name. “All others at festival or in the Canyon.”

Hiirkaen hissed to herself. If Liglanaerr had disappeared, even during her native festival, there was certain to be trouble—coming from Liglanaerr or happening to her.

Lightning flashed; a split-second later, thunder crashed nearby. Then, heavy cold, the rain began. Faintly over the pounding water, she heard sentry-calls as Tarandrus switched places with Spearmint.

Ithiliisahn padded into the room, frowning at a scroll, his whiskers spread wide to avoid obstacles, and winced as a gust of wind parted the tarps and webbing, splattering him with drops.

“Plaguewinds should be back soon in this.” He nodded upward, as if desiring to pierce the underperforming tarps with his horns. “I’m hoping to get her on training fodder when she does. I’m planning on sending at least twelve warriors in to Fire versus Lightning.”

Kellinlii gave a rather bitter-sounding snort. Ithiliisahn swiveled his ears toward her, frowning. She did not elaborate, preferring to millimetricaly tighten the straps of her bracers. The pearlcatcher shook his head, and moved off for the faint shelter of a tunnel mouth.

Hiirkaen flared her wings slightly, and scratched at her flank, where a patch of skin was inflamed and tender once again, irritated by sand or another flare-up of her disease. Perhaps she would go out in the rain, take on a patrol out to sweep the territory or send out a search, if she could think of a justification, an enemy who might have taken them…

CRASH!

The entire amphitheater jumped. Hiirkaen stared, ears flared, at the canyon exit. Was that thunder?

Something clanged on the door again, and in the background, a sentry’s challenging bark.

Kellinlii surged to her feet, canines bared in a defiance that bordered on anger, but Hiirkaen moved faster, racing for the door with a hunting stride. She pictured wild golems or a Light raider attack, but more than either she pictured Henhowl or Plaguewinds, bleeding, wing-membranes torn, collapsed by the door.

Elk came up beside her as she drew down the short tunnel toward the canyonside door. Wordlessly, each set their forefeet to a door and pulled.

Rain sheeted down, hard enough that she expected flooding by dawn, shading the glare of an electric light. Spotlighted in the glow, an unfamiliar wildclaw, sodium-yellow wings flared, was staring down the small, electric-green form of Tarandrus. Firelight danced faintly on his bared fangs. The wildclaw was holding a chunk of metal, which he’d apparently beaten on the door with.

“What is this?” Hiirkaen demanded.

The wildclaw relaxed slightly, though he kept most of his gaze fixed on Tarandrus. “I don’t mean any harm.” he said, his voice somewhat thin.

Tarandrus relaxed slightly, but kept his head lowered as if strongly debating stabbing the stranger with his antlers.

“Then what do you mean?” Kellinlii had come up behind them, sniffing curiously.

“I was sent here.” The wildclaw gestured with his free foreleg, and from in the shadow of his wing a small, furry creature strode forward, fiery mane and tail rippling.

Hiirkaen blinked. The goblin bowed slightly.

“You are caught between.” His voice was gruff. “As the nocturne said.” He looked back toward the wildclaw. “Thank you for your escort here. I will begin my report.”

“May I come in?” The wildclaw looked somewhat plaintive, and for the first time Hiirkaen registered that his eyes were not yellow, but orange like her own.

Kellinlii gave a thrumming sigh. Tarandrus closed his mouth and raised his head again.

“I suppose I must smell like a friend.” The wildclaw flared his crest.

“Not yet.” Hiirkaen said. “But you’re promising.”

[ironclawallosaur]

New Gene Tiem

So, Capsule’s overall theme is kinda not my thing. That said, I do have one dragon who’s canonically covered in transparent skin over rusty metal with mercury in between, and another who’s canonically hollow and robotic.

So I brewed up a scroll in case at least one of them needed it.

It’s... not bad? But it’s so subtle that it’s practically invisible.

Removing the chestplate doesn’t make it much less subtle, but does make it more awkward.

That said, I’ve considered breed-changing Striker before (this is a small mirror clan, he is a big average-size mirror), so I might.

ridgeback!Striker is actually rather nice, though I’d be giving him some neck apparel to seem less hollow. Ridgeback males don’t have a lot of awkward meniscus going on, so it’s easier to grasp as “thin layer of mysterious blue fluid over pearlescent something”, which is canonically accurate. And I need more ridgebacks anyway.

I’m not entirely sure about Moonfire; I’d have to exchange her yellowy gear for purple, I think, but being that she actually is hollow (her excuse for being only just barely smaller and heavier than Sprucetip, who has no excuse) it does hold a certain appeal.

I’ve considered breed-changing her into a guardian before, in part because some of the guardian accents are perfect for her, but the color isn’t as nice. : /

So with the main two contenders a resounding “maybe”, the rest of the clan proved mostly silly because Awkward Meniscus. However, there were some surprises.

First off, I realized I lied: there’s another dragon for whom this gene works really well, and that is Ilenkhessir who is only mostly returned from the dead.

Since the Awkward Meniscus is pretty well invisible even without apparel, this works out to “partially transparent underbelly” which is a very good effect.

I think I’d change her primary and secondary too but that was kinda always the plan.

Obsidian also pretty much lacks the Awkward Meniscus, which gives Kudrin here a really glossy, pretty underbelly. And that is awesome.

I think this is particularly nice.

Hedysara now has a luminous, iridescent green-brown underbelly which is actually rather pretty? The Awkward Meniscus is entirely hidden by her apparel.

Maybe? Maybe I’ll just wait for Tapir. *stuffs a scarf back over the Awkward Meniscus*

THE TRANSLUCENT PART OF CAPSULE IS PURPLE ON CRIMSON IT LOOKS REALLY SIMILAR TO HIS WINGS THIS IS COOL.

Awkward Meniscus is awkward, but the coloration is so good that I barely care.

This plus a scarf would look really nice. :O

You can’t even see that, Taxus.

Fancy version of Taxus—that is, with the genes he’s almost undoubtedly getting once I catch up my lore—shows the “iridescent underbelly” effect.

Sadly, it covers up the Leaf accents in Forest Falcon, so I think I like Runes and Opal better overall.

Winterknight, who is currently on vacation at Northslope, might get Capsule, might not. He actually looks quite good in most terts. He is also intended to get Alloy, I’m just waiting until Thalassarche’s scattering project is aborted or completed so I can preview the glorious Fae female Alloy in whatever her final color is.

Maybe? The apparel mostly covers the Awkward Meniscus, and I’m not entirely convinced Illichaak is flesh and blood anyway, the tiny, heavy bastard.

It’s not that bad overall, but retains the understated tundra underbelly issue I have with Ubi, and I do not currently have plans to breed-change him.

A nice gradient effect, though Ykkerekk is less suited to it than some.

Without his vest, and ignoring the Awkward Meniscus, it’s a nicer gradient, but he likes his dumb vest so it’s a bit academic.

And now, a few for fun.

Okay, to be fair, if anyone’s gonna use some stupid spell that puts them in the Striker and Moonfire boat, it’s the Twins. There’s a small chance I’ll do this, but probably not.

Will everyone please appreciate the degree to which Tarandrus’s tert is still invisible.

It’s slightly clearer but still blends disconcertingly well without his apparel.

There’s a small possibility, as with the Twins, that I’ll do this for him, but only if I discover a good lore reason. Otherwise, I’m likely to wait for a tert that’s actually visible on him.

Dogfish, your tert is Lead, why do you suddenly have a white underbelly you dumb deckswabber.

I’d almost be tempted to do this—the yellow blends well and having a test tube full of Plague juice fits his lore perfectly—but I really hate the separated fluid on Spirals. Color’s neat, though.

Imminnyll also has a nice “Iridescent Underbelly” effect but I prefer the matte Ubi she currently has.

Beeclaw isn’t even my dragon, he’s Beebalm’s dad. However, he is apparently some kind of wildclaw mummy inhabited by a sentient beehive in his official lore, so I’m incredibly amused by how much he now looks like a honeybottle with Capsule.

[ironclawallosaur]

Hedysara featuring both Ripple and Okapi:

[ironclawallosaur]

Today’s sketchdaily thing: Hedysara in an older, more mature form. She’s either wet or as full of static as a Swift Volt, probably due in either case to [REDACTED].