Fewmets

Coprolites!

It was the only thing Sisslingar could think of at the moment that would encapsulate his mood. He didn't know! He wasn't told! But apparently now that he's all grown up and the mating urge is so strong, there's another coprolitic test that he has to go through before he can, well, mate with his intended.

The fact that she's facing the same test somewhere else was beside the point. Apparently they have to go through this separately! Compatibility! Coprolitic compatibility! Didn't they already prove that, by not killing each other over the last few decades?

And since it's childish to swear in your own language, it's more polite as an adult to swear on the fossilized turds of his ancestors. Whatever.

He had the sudden urge to find a bunch of humans to teach him their multitude of superfluous languages, just so he could learn all their swear words.

Meanwhile, his beloved was who knows where trying to find who knows what, while he was graced with a different quest:

"Go east, into the valleys. Search, but carefully. Find a thing that needs caring for, and meet its needs till it is ready to be on its own."

Fine. Well, I can-

"NO. We heard that. You are not allowed to find something and kill the parents just to fulfill your selfish needs. And no ignoring cries for help just to find something easier. The first thing you find, in distress, is what you must care for. And no, you are not allowed to return till the task is done. And no trying to hunt for your intended for help; she has already been sent on her quest. And we will help you by wrapping you in this carefully crafted spell, to monitor you, so that you do not break the rules."

Greeeeeeaaaaaaat. Thaaaaaaaaanks.

"You are welcome. Your sssssarcasssssm is duly ignored."

Coprolites.

A perfectly gorgeous day to practice swooping and diving on air currents ruined by having to fly low and quietly in the valleys, just above the trees, to listen for "cries of distress."

It's hard to fly silently with such large wings. Forest creatures went mute the minute he'd crest a hill. Easier to listen, of course, but he wanted this thing done with. A deer, now that would be easy, just grass and water and the same again. Birds, they were fiddly, but it was late spring, he should be able to find berries and grubs, maybe do some fishing? Do birds eat fish? What about bears? A bear might be fun, they didn't break as easy as other creatures-

Sisslingar missed the tree that was just a little taller than the rest. It didn't miss him, though. Luckily it caught him in the shoulder, where the wing muscles were, instead of the tender eyes or wing membranes.

But the landing was still rough.

He curled into a ball, rolling like he was taught, letting his protected spine take the brunt. Bushes splintered, and small trees were obliterated. Rocks were bounced over; a well-placed forearm snaking out and pushing just so would give leverage and momentum. This was a game all nestlings played, before wings were fully developed. Only during flight lessons was it made clear that those child games doubled as crashing practice.

This was a thing he was good at, at least. A kick or a push at just the right time, and the downhill journey became more fun, even as he slowed down.

"Whufffffff!" Well, it was fun... till the ending. He was rather glad no one saw him basically trip over a bush that was more solid than it looked. The boulder had hidden behind it, the sneaky-

He took a few minutes to roar his frustration, then a lot more time to check for bruises while hissing very bad words under his breath. Besides the wing shoulder, all he could find was a chipped nail. Really? He filed it on said convenient boulder. The bush was now flinders. Oh, how his intended would laugh! His mother would hide her head in shame! His father -

It took a long while for the wailing to register.

Well. That was rather quick, all things considered. He might as well go get this over with.

He stalked through the forest with more quiet and decorum. Bears were bulky as well, and they knew how to move with stealth. Dragons, though bigger, more so. He didn't have the bulk of a centuries-old dragon yet, but it was considerable enough. Three bears long and two tall was nothing to derisively hiss about. It was one of the things that his intended liked about him, his girth.... and, well, er, general girthiness...

Best not to think about that. Classes, classes, he did pass them well enough. He knew the generalities for caring for most forest creatures, though he mostly preferred the "delicious and eaten" solution. Most things were tasty, and that included many types of rocks and half the shrubbery. Should have taken a chomp out of the rock that got him, really, as a warning to the others. Now, what kind of creature in this habitat would make such an infernal wailing, and what in earth and sky was that awful smell that was a little familiar, but stinky?

Sisslingar parted some trees cautiously, peeked through. And they thwapped back and hit him square on the snout, when he let go in surprise.

No. Oh no.

The pink skin, the messy sprout of hairs at the top, the bright-colored cloth wrapping. And the stains down the legs revealed where the smell was coming from. Baskets of berries were tipped over, proving the haste of the rest as they fled. Probably his roaring, when he lost his temper.

Fewmets. FEWMETS!!!

He didn't care if the elders heard him or not.

He sat down and cried. And so did the child, both wails spiraling up to the clouds he wished he could fly away into, far away from this mess he found himself in.

********************

Humans were indeed messy.

He remembered that from classes. Dragons were neat, like cats. Humans....were the exact opposite. How did they survive long enough to breed? To outpace so many other creatures in reproducing? Cleanliness was important!

He grumbled as he sat there wringing out the trousers for the umteenth time. (He'd counted. He knew. Dragons were like that.) At least there were classes on taking care of almost every creature available. Recipes, too, but he was under a spell. The elders would Know. Fewmets.

At least it seemed to have accepted its new caretaker. Kind of. When their mutual crying had stopped, they just kind of stared at each other helplessly. Sisslingar then leaned closer, sniffing apprehensively - is this the scent that most humans make? It's rather pungent - and got bopped on the nose when that portion of his anatomy got within reach.

Feisty little critters.

He remembered the basics. Feeding, cleaning, a bit of shelter. The berries were right there, in the baskets, and more on the bushes. Though more than once he'd had to stop the thing from eating the unripe ones ....and rocks ....and twigs .....and dirt.....

Finally he'd tended to his own wounds when the thing fell asleep from exhaustion.

He whimpered a little when he remembered just how long humans stay dependent on their adults. And hissed some words. And was horrified when the creature giggled and said, quite clearly, "Fyoo-mets! Op-roll-eyts!"

Oh dear. Mimics.

And apparently more than berries were needed for its diet, because the color he was wringing out of the trousers now matched what was going in. Ick.

He looked around the little glen. This wasn't the place to raise a human child. The adults must have come here from somewhere else, and run towards it when he came crashing in. No shelters, no other artifacts but baskets that held food and a woven cloth or two. He really hadn't thought about the greater situation, till now. Maybe he should have. Autumn, in the woods, with no fur? Except on the tops of their heads, where it did least good.

The weather had been beautiful these few days, just perfect for flying... Sigh. But the air now whispered of change, of a storm coming roaring out of the mountains like they would occasionally this time of year. And winter... well, it wouldn't survive. Unless he found a bear's den, and somehow convinced the sleepy owner to allow a very active human to live with it. And a dragon, that would never fit inside?

This type of thinking was madness. Better to find and heal an injured salmon.

He could only do so much in the forest. This tiny human needed more of its kind.

He knew what he had to do. He just didn't want to.

Coprolites.

He sighed, turned one of the cloths into a sling, and waited till it curled up on the other cloth to sleep. Carefully, he folded the cloth neatly around it, tucked it in the sling so it could still breathe, tied the cloth around his neck, and walked in the direction of the broken branches and disturbed dirt that hopefully said "its home is that way." He grabbed a basket of berries as food along the way. No telling how long this would take.

Probably also the way towards the nearest bristle of spears, so this should be fun.

This time, he only thought the words. He didn't want the humanling waking up.

*******************

Only a stockade. Good against bears and wolves, not so great against dragons.

But the dragons were far, far away. Not really a threat. He should know.

Besides, everyone knew the ones on the fringes of their own kind were tough and stringy. Much better to go for the plump, fatter ones in larger villages...

He had to stop thinking that way. He was drooling. He'd managed to catch a deer days ago, and had made good on some edible bushes. And a small tree or two. Roughage was good for you, the elders said.

Coprolites. He'd thought that then, and he thought that now. And didn't those cows look tasty, even the sheep after some spit roasting to take off the fibery cover...

Nothing was ever easy.

The humanling was waking up. It babbled on finding itself in a cloth cocoon, thrashed a bit. Sisslingar carefully scooped blanket-wrapped human out of the sling, laid it on the ground, let the thing find its legs and get its bearings.

All it took was pointing to the gap in the trees and the habitation beyond, and it shrieked and took off, making noises at the top of its little lungs.

There were some people about, with the cows and sheep in the grassy areas between stockade and forest. They froze to see the one they'd given up for dead running towards them, half-naked, making rather healthy noises. What must they think?

And then what must have been its parents were summoned, they were dragged outside the wall - and more shrieks, and cries, and grappling of a curious sort. It can't have smelled too well at this point, so it has to be the parents, to still grapple so closely smelling of a berry diet of many days... and dragon smell. As fastidious as they were, dragons also emitted scent, and it was well known to other creatures. Teachings even said it was used in some humans' perfume recipes, to Sisslingar's shock and disgust when he learned such a thing. But his intended had shrugged, said it made an odd sense, look at wolves and what they roll in-

Oh no. The little one was babbling, waving, pointing - and dragging the adults right towards him.

He really couldn't hide, as injured as he was. And these trees weren't sturdy enough to climb.

He scrabbled backward a bit, but now all the humans were running, and all he could think is he would make some very interesting perfume indeed when they caught him, with the fear-stink and berry-elimination scents warring for dominance-

Wait. Those noises? The younglings could also talk? That had been speech all along?

And so they found him, huddled against a tree that he was bending in half in his panic, with a bandaged wing and a berry basket still clutched in his clawed hand, with a blanket sling still tied around his neck.

***************

The world seemed a bit better with most of a whole cow inside his bulging stomach.

Who knew the humans could communicate so well? Well, that explained a few things.

They were all learning. Most dragon sibilants were far beyond their speech, but they were passable in the lower register, they were learning words from each other.

It would be a long time for his wing to heal. They were a mining camp. He could help them dig with his perfectly healthy fore and aft feet, and they could feed him. He could also help guard them from wolves and bears - both by just being there and scenting up everything, and going into the wild and hunting them for food.

And the youngling and her friends could learn what things Sisslingar could teach. Some adults, too. The worst was getting the concepts out of Dragon into Human, that took some time. But he had the time, now that they weren't going to try to kill him.

It seemed like a fair bargain all around.

His wound might take years to heal. Wing injuries were tricky things. Well, he could at least learn more about these human creatures, what they ate and what they did and what was important to them. There were many gaps in the elders' teachings, he was learning. And help this girl-child and her friends grow up, which fulfilled his oath. He hoped his intended was having an easier time, but he wondered if she was going through some same sort of tempering that would also take as much time. For her sake, he hoped it would be an easier time. Maybe she would come and find him, if she got lucky with a deer or a wild buffalo or something.

The mating urge was still quite strong, but this time he savagely told it to sit on a slab of ice. A large slab. This task would take quite a long time to accomplish.

At least he was learning some interesting new swear words. If what he suspected was true - that the elders planned things like this, to cool ardor and make the young adults into less impulsive adults - then he wanted to be able to swear them out rather impressively.

Now, to try to get this mastiff to stop growling and pulling on his tail without killing it, since it was the headman's favorite dog...

Fewmets.