Who's Baby Is That?!

Devera studied the child, tilting her head thoughtfully as he explained how he'd fed the babe. Wild woman said mother's milk is healthier. She had never been offered options; but when she'd approached the old woman after seeing similar canteens of milk fed to infants, the elder had refused to acknowledge her request to learn more.

Devera shook her head slowly. It did not hatch. Rotten. I went... to a nice cave. Warm. Safe. I was expecting a dragonling, not... she gestured at the infants. ...and his cries eventually led hunters to us. She pursed her lips. Nice people. They brought us to their village, and their elder taught me about child-care. The elder had not seemed fazed that the woman before her had animal instincts.

Then again, if Devera had known the lore of the Chasind and Avvar, perhaps it would seem less strange that the elder had not bat an eye. The children still cried, albeit the one in the basket a quieter coo.

I can feed him, if you will hold Irim. She was still rocking Irim's basket, and if she slowed his squalling was louder.

I meant to come back. But he was too small... people were looking for me. She narrowed her eyes at the warden. You sent people. She accused. They had not sought her as Devera, ex-warden. But they had been armed to the teeth to hunt and kill a dragon. Likely not sent by Ragnar, They hunted me. I had to leave my village. They almost cornered us one night. His cries...

She pursed her lips and glanced to the infant in the basket. They hunted me for my skin. My teeth. My claws. They'll hunt him too. She nodded to the child that Ragnar held.

He is dragon. It's almost a crazy accusation from an over-tired mother, and yet, something in her tone is serious.