#shimyra

CW: Forced marriage, implied death

“We’ve secured an alliance with the clan in Ice” Ciavana tossed at her daughter one evening. “They are sending Hithon -- one of their Guardian warriors, they said. He could be a useful partner.”

Shimyra pressed her lips together. She knew it was an order, not a suggestion -- there would be no disagreement. “Yes, mother,” she simply replied. 

--

Shimyra was the only one waiting for the visitors when they arrived, because she was the only one the prophets could trust so close to the border. As she curled her claws idly into the sparse grass that faded into inhospitable desert, she felt the Oasis tug amicably at her mind like a child begging her to come back and play. 

The first thing she noticed when he broke through the shimmering horizon of the Boneyard was the Guardian’s size. He was an obelisk of muscle, his scant armor glinting with each movement. Each step he took was poised and purposeful. If he was exhausted from his journey, he gave no indication of it.

Floating beside him was a sapphire-blue Fae whose violet silks matched the hue of his eyes. While he looked far more like a dancer than a warrior, he didn’t look any more exhausted than Hithon did. For a moment, Shimyra wondered if she should be intimidated by these guests. 

She quickly stamped the feeling down when she felt the forest bristle. If she didn’t trust them, then the Oasis would devour them the moment they stepped foot on its land. Her clan had never in their years formed an alliance with another clan, and she doubted the quickly and untimely death of their diplomats would bode well. Besides, she refused to let this man -- her betrothed -- see weakness in her. 

Her parents had refused to tell her why they’d formed an alliance in the first place. The Oasis clan was isolationist by nature and interacted with the outside world through necessity, not choice. She’d learned through prying that Hithon’s people were ruthless and unlikely to disagree with the Oasis’s culture, but it still didn’t seem like a convincing enough reason to open up communications. 

Shimyra did not take a single step off the grass as Hithon and his companion reached the border of her home. He towered over her, a smudge of ink blocking out the sun. The only color to him were his icy eyes and his shimmering lavender wings -- other than that, his body and armor were as grey as the Floes.

Shimyra kept her neck straight and her face fearless. It wasn’t a ruse; she really did have nothing to fear from her guests as long as they met on her own turf. The Oasis loved her too much to let her die. 

“Hithon,” she greeted with a curt nod. “Welcome to the Oasis. You, and...”

“Wadro,” the Fae chimed in. He was far more expressive than most Fae tended to be. Frankly, Hithon could have passed more as a Fae if one went by his stony expression. 

“Wadro.” Shimyra nodded and turned her attention back to the Guardian. “You and your companion are not known by the Oasis. I cannot guarantee your safety if you cannot guarantee it for yourself. Are you sure you are willing to join us?”

She knew she could half-control the Oasis to leave its guests be, but this was information that she kept to herself. Not even her parents knew about how deep her ties to the forest went. 

In a deep voice that pooled heavily in Shimyra’s stomach, Hithon replied, “If I cannot defend myself, then I’m sure I would deserve the death that awaited me.” 

‘I guess Ice is as ruthless as the rumors say,’ the Tundra mused and moved to let her betrothed pass. ‘If this doesn’t scare them, I hate to imagine what they have back home.’

CW: near death experience, implied death, religious persecution, being hunted

Flying is one of the greatest joys a dragon can experience. Save a few exceptions, most dragons live half their life soaring through the sky while traveling, hunting, and enjoying existence. 

In the Oasis, flying is a privilege, not a right. While a dragon is free to glide and flit from tree to tree within its borders, full flight -- true flight -- was reserved for those trustworthy enough to leave the Oasis’s safety. 

This includes the heiress Shimyra, her mate Hithon, and their companions Fane and Wadro -- Hithon and Wadro are allies from outside the clan, and their cooperation is contingent on being allowed to come and go freely. Fane and Shimyra, assisted by the Oasis’s rare outside allies, are the foremost hunters and resource gatherers for the clan. 

Outside of royal exemption, the only other party allowed to fly outside the Oasis are members of the clan’s Hunt. The Hunt are a team of elite trackers who specialized in finding and retrieving heretics who leave the Oasis without permission. When runaways were scarce, the Hunt scans the wastelands for potential meals for their flesh-eating home. Boneyard residents could occasionally catch the Hunt circling the diseased sky, or whipping past in a piercing arrow formation. 

Prophets Lucco and Ciavana have not flown in decades. They hadn’t known the joy of flight since the day they had been shot out of the sky, left to die in the unforgiving scab of the Abiding Boneyard and barely rescued by the miracle of the Oasis. Since then, even a prolonged glance beyond the thick canopy of their forest was enough to bring on vertigo. 

CW: Self-sacrifice, implied death

“Please,” Shimyra’s voice rasped into the black earth of the forest. It was packed and hard now, but once it had been soft and recently turned, hiding the remains of a body that never should have died. 

The heiress pressed her forehead to the soil, pushing her connection the Oasis as far as it would go. “I have nothing to offer but myself,” she begged. “If you can take a life, surely you can give one back. Just one. You will have an eternity of blood to satiate you, so please just spare one.” 

Shimyra waited. The chattering of the forest did not go silent; the frogs continued to prattle over her grief. Eventually, as the sun began to slowly rise, she had no choice but to return to her bed, nursing her guilt in lieu of proper sleep. 

The surface of the Oasis remained still throughout the night. But deep below, small roots set to work on a slow and generous tailoring project.