Spelunking with my pal, Egglentine
A Wyrmspan fanfiction.
So many dragons had passed through the hatchery, I’d all but lost count. I’d stopped naming them after my first hundred or so. But this dragon was special. Every time I donned my spelunking gear and headed into the cave where I’d released her, there she was again, Egglentine, waiting as if she knew I was coming.
Just as I would wait for her to emerge from her nursery cave, she would sit just inside the cave mouth. Technically a deep dragon, she would avoid the sunlight as a Fieldmouse watching for predators, despite being the biggest creature for miles around. Still, anyone could see her there, her amethyst heart glowing dimly against her beautiful crown of feathers — that dark and magnificent head of plumage that would ruffle when I rubbed her chin.
Every time we met, without fail, she would bring me a gift. A half chewed leg of mutton, a rough gem of unspecified origin. I’d like to think it was to show she cared, but more likely it was her way of saying “You really are a terrible hunter”. Maybe she just wanted me to visit more often, as other pursuits had begun more often to draw my attention.
This time I’d been away for weeks. As I trapsed into the abyss listening for the familiar, low rumble of her greeting, the cave mouth remained empty. No oversized pads came bounding up to me, no gruesome gifts were dropped at my feet. This wasn’t like her, though I was a little late. The mid-morning sun was already grazing the treetops… Perhaps she went deeper to avoid its rays.
Then I heard it. A faint whine that tumbled softly out from a nearby nook. She sounded weak, concerned even. Was she hurt?
Climbling pick drawn, I headed for the source of the noise. And step by step I spotted her tail, her hind legs, her spine — as far as I could tell, all free from damage. Nearing her head, I noticed she was hunched over something, crying not in pain, but almost in confusion.
She turned to me, and soothing her with a hand on her cheek, she slid her scaled paws back to reveal to me what was wrong.
There in the damp, cold cave nook sat a glorious, darkly speckled dragon egg, glowing with a faint amethyst light. She looked to me for guidance. “What am I supposed to do with it?” Her eyes seemed to say.
It was warm, but there was one thing missing. With her permission, I grasped the giant egg in both hands and slowly hauled it closer to the cave mouth. Her yowling became louder. “Not in the sun, it’s bright and awful,” her cries sounded. But trust me she did, and when the light touched it’s shell it glowed all the brighter, beating in rhythm with her own soft heart.
Now, when to the mouth of that dear cave I wander, I’m greeted not by the patter of four perfect, glowing paws, but eight. With more and more days spent caving, my hunting prowess dwindles. I’d say it’s a fine trade for a new addition to the family. Not to mention double the consolation treasure.
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