ANATOPISM

"That is what hatchlings do, Grigor," replied the female, without raising her head from where she lay. She sounded tired. "I suspect even you wailed in the night as an infant."

Talaith was the same age as him, born in the same brood, but she had been working in the nurseries since about the time she could stand. When the time had come to set up a splinter clan, it was obvious to all that she should be designated as Den Mother, with absolute authority over all matters pertaining to hatching and raising every dragon born to the new clan. As such, she stood and spoke with him as an equal, for although he was the Alpha, without the nurseries there would be no clan.

Grigor grunted. "It is...disturbing the others."

"You mean it is disturbing you," Talaith replied, still not moving.

"Am I not others? Regardless, I cannot perform at my best if I am fatigued."

This did cause Talaith to stir, rolling over to face him, her moss green scales glittering in the dim light of what had been a fire, now just embers, smoldering in the corner of the chamber.

"Oh," she said, appraising him languidly, "You mean to tell me that the mighty Grigor, son of Gorlassar the Fierce, Killer of Rocs, Scourge of the Griffin, and Nightmare to all and sundry, cannot perform if he loses out on a little beauty sleep?"

Grigor growled, but Talaith just flicked her tail at him.

"If it bothers you so, mighty Alpha, you can go calm the infant yourself." She rolled back over away from him and tucked her head under her wing, signaling she was done with the conversation.

Grigor growled again, but knew better than to push the issue. Talaith was smaller than him by a tail-length, but her claws were sharp, her teeth were pointy and she always gave as good as she got.

He stalked back to the nursery chamber. The hatchling was still whining, its cries not yet disturbing the other infants in the nursery, but there were signs one or two of them were beginning to stir. There were a few nurse dragons in there too, but all were asleep, exhausted, and none had heard this individual yet. It didn't have a name; Dragons didn't acquire a name until they were old enough to be of service to the clan, and this hatchling was far too young.

Grigor tried to nuzzle it in the way he had seen Talaith do, in the way he remembered his own den mother doing when he was but a stripling, many, many decades ago. He felt awkward and clumsy and, perhaps picking up on this, the child began to wail louder.

"No, no, no little one. Shh, shh," he rumbled softly, trying to be gentle, to be soothing, but to no avail. He felt foolish, embarrassed.

The crying got louder, more insistent, more grating on Grigor's tired nerves. He was starting to lose patience.

Why was he doing this? He had no experience with hatchlings! He was versed in hunting, combat! Not catering to a mewling whelp! He was the Alpha for Draco's sake! He commanded, they obeyed! Others quivered before his might, his authority! Men-folk fell to their knees, birds took wing, even other dragons scattered at the sound of his roar!

"Enough!" He growled, "QUIET!"

He threw his head back and roared. It was like a giant fog-horn, the sound of every wind instrument playing the same discordant note as loud as they can at the same time, the sound of a thousand nails being run up the strings of a million harpsichords simultaneously, the fury of ten thousand thunderclaps tearing the sky asunder in the same instant. It was a wall of sound that reverberated and amplified in the long, narrow cave system, echoing out across the plains in a cacophony of pure noise. Everywhere for a hundred miles animals started, birds flinched, humans awoke with a cry. They even heard it in Gwyr, fifty leagues away.

The sound ebbed out of the chambers, the air still faintly thrumming with residual vibrations, and then, like magic, all was quiet.

Grigor sighed, allowing the blessed peace to wash over him.

It lasted all of five seconds. With a deafening screech, every single hatchling woke up, wailing like the banshees of Iwerddon. All the nurse dragons, already startled awake by Grigor's roar, all turned at looked at him, a mixture of outraged confusion and tired resignation in their eyes.

"By Y Ddraig Goch, were you hatched this stupid or was it a skill you worked hard to acquire?!" Talaith screeched, bounding into the nursery, her wings and hackles raised.

Grigor, stunned by the sudden cacophony and increased hostility in the small space, could only stammer.

"I, I just, it was just..."

Talaith whipped him with her tail.

"Get out, and don't show your snout in here again if you know what's good for you!"

Grigor took a step back before catching himself. He was the Alpha, right? He reared up, wings flared in a show of dominance, but Talaith was having none of it.

"GET! OUT!" She roared, bright hot flame accentuating her words. She whipped at him with her tail again, snapping her jaws, and this time he took the hint.

He scrambled for the cave mouth, his large wings beating until they caught purchase in the air, and he took to the skies.

He glided aimlessly for a while, watching the night sky begin to brighten on the eastern horizon as dawn approached. Later on he would realize, in hindsight, that his actions had indeed been foolish, and he would seek to make amends to Talaith and the others, but right now his mind was too addled by the sudden violence and ongoing exhaustion. He just needed a few hours uninterrupted sleep!

He was so tired that he didn't notice his flight path had gotten dangerously low until his feet brushed through a hedgerow. He tried to course-correct, but he was too slow and plowed through another hedgerow and ploughed into the ground, his belly scales tearing through grass and mud.

He came to rest in the middle of a large field located beside a gently flowing river. He lifted his head and realized he was not alone. Occupying the field along side him was a rather large herd of sheep. They had initially scattered at his violent entry, but had started to gather round his prone form, hungry for the fresh grass and ignorant of the apex predator in their midst.

"Huh. Must have never encountered a dragon before," Grigor thought idly. He did notice a human figure sprinting out of the field like the hounds of Hades were after him. The Shepard, Grigor guessed. Whilst he might have never encountered a dragon before, he was sure to have heard the tales, both the true and the exaggerated, and was almost certainly off to raise the alarm.

Grigor had no interest in taking on a contingent of armed humans, but the gentle bleating of the sheep and the trickling sound of water were soothing, and the soft earth beneath his belly were comforting. He lay his head down and soon was fast asleep.

It would take over an hour for the shepard to get word to the local fortress about the sudden appearance of a dragon in their lands, and a further two hours for a contingent of the Guard to mobilize and make their way to the field by the river. Until then, however, Grigor had the most satisfying nap he had ever had since leaving the Main Clan.