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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Roquesdoodle" data-source="post: 1716966" data-attributes="member: 14798">The PetTHE PET  Once the Lady Darleanna started to sink into the horizon like a diseased and flailing sunset, they began to bark.  Valiant had been right. She could hear it now. Their soft, polite whispers, the quiet mutterings, the muted and reverential pleasantries. It all sounded like the obedient yipping of dogs. The words seemed to fall from the mourners’ mouths like heavy and cumbersome rocks as they growled at each other with their ugly sounds. Fortunately, she would not have to endure the cacophony of Common speech for much longer.  She waited until the Lady Darleanna was no more than a dark and ruined memory in the distance before she approached the Queen. When she was close, one of the Queen’s guards stepped forward and raised his hand.  “Stop there,” he said. “What…” The soldier paused and gave her a strange look, starting at her feet then slowly up to her face. He gave a shake of his helmeted head. “What can I help you with?” His leather creaked like the planks of a rolling ship as he moved from one foot to the other. “I bring a gift of condolence for the King and Queen.” It was like spitting gravel through her teeth. “You can leave your offering with the others at the North Gate. The King and Queen are very grateful for y—“ “I am a representative from Wraithenul. I have come bearing this gift on behalf of Lord Valiant.” The guard’s face lost a bit of its color. He stared at her for a moment, his thick brows folding over his nose. Then he gave her a nod and turned to the Queen. “This is…Lord Valiant’s representative. She has come to offer condolences.” She stepped forward and gave the Queen a small but respectful bow. The young matriarch had dark, swollen rings under her red rimmed eyes. Her black dress, loose and high collared, waved lightly in the breeze.  “Your dress is very pretty,” Valiant’s representative said. Queen Darleanna blinked, then gave her the same gaze the soldier gave her, taking her in from foot to face in a slow, awkward motion. Darleanna looked as if she had just smelled sour milk. “Thank you,” said the Queen. “Yours is…becoming as well.” The Queen’s voice sounded as if it had been broken and then pieced together with a patchwork of wet chirps and squeals all unkind to speech. “And what is your name?” “Sheadur A Buchedau Aught Mfympway A Achos Mm Blessar.” Her name felt like honey on her tongue. Draconic was the most musical of languages: its cadence, the marriage of abrasive fricatives with the lilting flow of rich vowels, the rich tapestry of meaning in every syllable. When spoken, the air danced with its melody. Queen Darleanna tried to smile, but her swollen cheeks stopped the corners of her mouth from curling up into anything more than a sneer. “It’s beautiful,” the Queen said. “What does it mean?” For a moment, she toyed with the idea of explaining its meaning, the subtle nuance of pronunciation that made the term such an endearment, even the captivating tales behind the words’ etymologies. But she was bored.  “In Common, it means ‘Pet.’” “Pet?” “Pet.” The Queen gave another sneer and said, “Thank you…Pet, for coming on behalf of Lord Valiant.” Pet gave another small bow to the Queen then turned to face the monument that sat at the river’s edge. It was a monolith of the finest Gnuland marble carved into the likeness of the young Prince; regal and contemplative, sitting on a child throne as its polished eyes stared out to the vast blue of the sea.. The alabaster features were flawless, almost as if the young boy had been watching the deft and dexterous maneuvers of his father’s armada when suddenly happened upon by a wayward medusa. She approached the base of the monument, the carving of the boy much larger in death than the Prince was in life (she put that small morsel of insight away to share with Valiant upon her return—humans were indeed odd animals). The wind coming off the sea smelled of salt and ash. It gently pulled at her dress as she knelt before Korskadain’s image. She felt the spell that Valiant had given her guide her fingers, pulling invisible strands of magic out of the air. Her fingertips touched, then entwined into an elaborate and deliberate shape that resembled the flower that was the pride of Valiant’s private garden. The Dun Leoð, the Song of the Mountain. It grew only in the highest crags of Mt. Gyldvynne, far removed from any human eyes. Pet whispered the flower’s name then blew through a small opening between her hands. A single leaf appeared at the tip of her fingers then floated to the base of the marble statue. Pet stood and spread her hands, feeling the magic that connected her to the tiny leaf pull at her fingertips. The leaf trembled, then sprouted a vine that lengthened along the base, branching out and spreading over the lower half of the monument like a thick, viscous liquid that had no respect for the laws of gravity. A single flower bloomed, its rich, cardinal petals veined with gold. Another sprang forth, followed by a host of red blooms all along the sprawling vine. Soon Prince Korskadain’s effigy was blanketed in a red swath of rare beauty, the flow of flowers draped over the statue’s shoulder like a royal shawl. Pet doubted that the King and Queen knew how rare such a gift was. As far as Pet knew, she was the only human alive to have ever seen one. That Valiant would think to gift the mourning family with such a unique specimen spoke volumes of the respect her lord had for the King. Queen Darleanna stepped forward as she brushed a delicate hand across her face. “Pet, it’s lovely. Are they…are they Mountain Song?” Pet smiled to herself. Perhaps humans weren’t as hopeless as she at first thought. “Yes, my Lady. They are.” “Please thank your dragon lord for this wonderful gift.” Pet nodded. “He’ll be pleased to know that you and the King are…I’m sorry, my Lady, but where is your husband? Where is the King?” Something flashed over the Queen’s face, a hidden pain like some dark shadow moving behind a mask of flesh. “King Scinterod is at Council in Uilleand. He has been informed of recent events and, though deeply wounded by the loss of his only heir, has seen fit to remain at Council so as to help protect the peoples of the Scinterlands in these trying times.”  Pet knew next to nothing about human behavior (much of the reason Lord Valiant insisted she attend the funeral) but even to her, in the ugly Common language, the Queen’s words sounded rehearsed.  “I understand. We are blessed to have such a man on the throne.” Pet and the Queen stared at each other. Pet studied the young woman’s face, trying to read any underlying emotion hidden there, but there was nothing. What had flashed across her face before was now safely buried away. Pet gave a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders, turned on her heel and walked away.  Pet made her way through the crowds. She had seen enough. Though there were rare moments of interest, they were so few and far between that she did not feel like wasting any more time observing their habits. She would just tell Valiant that she felt humans were too boring to warrant any further study. Their only interesting characteristic was their simple inability to stop staring at her!  Now that the hypnotic draw of the ceremony was over, she could feel their eyes on her. Obviously, it didn’t seem to take much to fascinate them. All she did was perform a tiny and–to put it plainly–simple spell. That it garnered such attention left Pet with the impression that most humans did not get out in the world. Or if they did, they certainly did not react well to it.  She couldn’t understand it. She was a human, just like them.  Wait.  She amended that thought. She was human, yes, but nothing like them. Being the pet of a fifteen-hundred-years-old crystal dragon lends a bit of individuality to a person. Even so. She thought that there would at least be something familiar in the people around her. The same level of inquisitiveness, a similar need for understanding the world around them. But there was nothing. Pet felt no connection. The people around her were just talking animals, dogs that barked in coherent patterns. That she shared a lineage with the creatures around her made her feel almost…embarrassed.  “Excuse me, miss?” She turned to see a Scinter Knight, his armor glinting in the sunlight, standing over her with his eyes running the length of her body. When his gaze came up to her face, he suddenly straightened his back and gazed at the top of her head. “Miss, are you Shay a dooro…um, Shaya...Shaya doruh boob—I mean Booshey…um, uh…” The large man turned bright red inside his fancy armor. She was curious how long he would stand there fumbling her name before he either got it right or just gave up. She was curious to find out so she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. It took the better part of the morning.  Pet didn’t say a word, but just watched the man sweat in the morning sun (which was quickly approaching noonday). Occasionally she would yawn hoping that it would spur the knight into acquiescence but his sense of valor kept him stammering incoherently. It was as if the man was trying to build a corsair with nothing but his teeth.  When the sun was nearly overhead, the Scinter Knight voiced a long string of sounds then puffed his chest in linguistic victory. Pet tilted her head slightly to the side and said, “No. I’m not. I don’t know who that is. But my name is Sheadur A Buchedau Aught Mfympway A Achos Mm Blessar. ” The knight opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. Again, his eyes roamed over her for a moment before coming back to her face.  “Now why do you do that?” she asked. “Everyone has been staring at me today. Is there something wrong with my dress?” “What? No. No, not at all. It’s just that, well, just that…” “Just what? Is it the color?” “Color? The color’s fine. It’s nice, really. What kind of material is that?” Pet smoothed her dress, feeling the fabric glide under her hands and said, “Dragon scales. Though, not the kind you’d wear for protective purposes. My Lord Valiant sheds these lighter ones from time to time and I thought it would be nice if I wore something regal to the funeral. Something regal yet still representative of his Lordship. I made it myself.” She held her arms wide and looked down her front. “Is it stitched poorly?” “No, it’s just…well, I never knew dragon scales were so…so…” “So what?” The Scinter Knight looked down at his feet. “So transparent.” Pet looked down her front again. “What’s your point?” The knight pulled his shoulders back, his chin set. “Miss, you are Valiant’s representative sent from Wraithenul, are you not?” “I am. You should’ve asked me that at the beginning.” The man’s jaw flexed and the red in his face changed into a deeper hue. “Why do you want to know?” This time, the Scinter Knight smirked in a way that reminded Pet of Valiant’s vast smile just before he fed.  “Because,” the knight said, “Sir Feon Rey wants a word with you.” </blockquote>

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