No one watched as the great dragon paced restlessly, back and forth, then back and forth again, over and over, in front of his High Priest's chamber. He was the picture of tension, every muscle firmed and bulging with readiness, wings twitching and rustling, trying to spread and being pulled back, eyes flashing and lips drawn back in an absent snarl. But there was no one to see him. Any eyes he felt on him-- and to be sure, he would feel them-- he would personally pluck out, and he would kill the blinded offender afterwards, just to make sure he would never do it again. As much of a relief as it would be to have an excuse to punish someone, it was just as well that there was no one. Pasalime hated to be watched at the best of times, though he put up with it as necessary from some, but now was hardly the best of times. It was, in fact, perhaps the worst of times in years.

The old man was dying. He had been dying for years, of course, but that was the slow, gradual decay that came from age, the creeping losses taken by the desert. That could be ignored, put off, not thought about except to be careful. This was the sudden, breath-shuddering, heart-thudding, limb-spasming death that could only last for so long before the dreadful end came. The old man was weak and frail; this couldn't go on for more than another hour before his body failed him and his breath left him entirely. Pasalime would feel it, and he dreaded the moment as he dreaded nothing in the world. There was nothing he feared, nothing at which he couldn't laugh, nothing he couldn't subdue, nothing he couldn't kill-- except death.

Most of the city was gathered outside the temple in the paved plaza and covering the temple steps, dressed in colors of mourning, singing sad songs about death and praying for their god and his Priest. Praying for peace, strength, and a path into heaven for the good Priest's soul. No one had any illusions that this time was going to be the Priest's last illness. The healers had seen to him, made him as comfortable as possible with drugs and blankets, then escaped the powerful, brooding gaze of their Godhead. They had only dared to come in again once, but this time he hadn't even let them come close enough to see the Priest. One snort, accompanied by faint flickers of fire about his muzzle, had sent them scattering back the way they'd come, and Pasalime was alone with the old man again, just the way he preferred it.

He had, of course, told the other three exactly what was happening, and exactly what to do. None of them had been around the first time Pasalime had needed to initiate a new High Priest, and they needed the instructions. Though Fedel herself had chosen a second First Order Priestess when her first took ill and died, the induction of a new High Priest, servant and speaker for the Godhead himself, was a much different affair. There was more ceremony, more ritual, more need to impress, and above all, more choices for Pasalime during those crucial moments after the current High Priest expired.

That was the other reason for the gathering: not only was the bulk of the city available for their God's Choice, should he need it, but there was a smaller crowd of suitable young men and women just inside the temple proper, in its sanctified courtyard. Special representatives from each important family and the entire Second Order of the Priesthood knelt together on the hot stone, waiting with varying levels of patience, expectance, and fear. Some feared to be chosen by their God, but many yearned for it so badly that they would endure anything to prove their worthiness.

None of them could see Pasalime as he stalked across the chamber that was his and his alone, deep within the temple building itself and connected to his High Priest's comfortable, even opulent little room beyond. There was no other entrance to it but through the larger, equally plush chamber Pasalime paced, and no one was allowed inside except with the dragon's express permission. Once in a while someone had tried, and Pasalime had taken fierce pleasure in chasing them away. The High Priest was his, Pasalime's, his and his alone-- and he would always remain that way, until his last breath.

Which would come very soon.

"Great One?" a voice rasped weakly.

Pasalime whirled to face the entrance to his High Priest's chamber, a snarl on his lips which died at the sight of the thin, trembling old man clinging to the door frame.

::You are supposed to be in bed,:: he grumbled at him, dropping his haunches to sit and lowering his head to be at a level with the little human.

"I know," the old man murmured hoarsely, limping forward slowly and painfully, holding out a hand to the fearsome muzzle. Pasalime permitted the touch, and didn't even snort smoke to warn him off. Not even the High Priest could approach him lightly, but-- just this once, it had to be allowed. Not even grouchy, aloof, Godhead Pasalime could deny his faithful Priest and mindlinked bond what he wanted in his last hours.

::Then why are you not?:: he asked scoldingly, rumbling faintly from deep in his chest.

"I wanted to--" A fit of coughing interrupted him, and he sagged against the dragon's muzzle weakly. "--I wanted to see thee, Great One. One last--" More coughing. "One last time."

There was nothing to say to that. This Priest had been with Pasalime for nearly sixty years: loyal, devoted, and entirely convinced he was the luckiest man in the world, to be chosen by the God himself. Granted, Pasalime had imprinted just those characteristics into his mind at the moment of their bonding, but there had never been a slip, a stray doubt, or a hint of betrayal in the sweet man's thoughts ever since. He had completely accepted his new life without even thinking to rebel or fight. Though Pasalime knew quite well he wasn't capable of love and never would be, the thought of this man's death made him uncomfortable and unhappy. Maybe he just felt guilty for subverting him so strongly for most of his life; mental coercion was Pasalime's most powerful gift, and he used it freely, especially with his bonds. This man had always been gentle, and accepted his place in life easily, with little coercion needed. Even so, once in a while-- a very rare while-- Pasalime felt guilt. It was just usually overwhelmed and quenched immediately, for it would not do for a God to feel guilt.

Now, though, he was distracted by fear-- another unGodly trait, but much more difficult to extinguish-- and he couldn't fight it. The last thing the Priest wanted was to see his God before he died, and for the first time since he had bound the old man to him, he felt... humble. Even in death, his High Priest loved him, despite never getting so much as simple gratitude in return.

Another fit of pained coughing, and the Priest nearly fell. Pasalime snorted at his thoughts, drawing himself back to what was really important, and settled back further, rearing up to take the old man in his forelimbs and draw him down to the tickly carpeted floor. He slid down to his stomach and settled him between his forelegs, against his armored chest. ::If you will not rest there, you may rest here,:: he told the dying man gruffly. ::But either way, you must rest, or you will only come to an end sooner.::

"I'm not afraid," he heard, and his ears turned back in disbelief. No one could not be afraid of death, it was ridiculous-- but the High Priest could not lie to his God, would not lie to his God, and he did not feel at all fearful. The old man's hand stroked the thin, red scales of his foreleg with a tired sigh. "Just send me to the life to come gently," his voice breathed, full of pain.

There was no life to come; Pasalime had sensed his demented mother's death, and there was no joy in it. He had sensed his first bond's death, and there had been only fear. The creatures, animals, and men he had killed gave him no evidence of afterlife: no heavens, hells, gods, reincarnation, or anything else. That was why he feared death, because after it there would be nothing. But there was no way that he would say either to the frail human cradled in his arms what he knew.

::It will be gentle,:: he promised as again the High Priest's lungs spasmed painfully, filling his mouth with blood.

"Thank you... Great One," he managed when he could speak again, but his voice was only a whisper.

It will be gentle, Pasalime thought, because you are going to sleep now, and you are not going to wake.

The dragon's mind overwhelmed the willing thoughts and child-like trust of his bond, sending him into dreamless sleep. Death came, with all the pain the dragon knew it would bring, but his bond didn't feel it-- he just faded from sleep into something deeper, something endless, and something alone. In his wake he left an aching, tearing hole, a tie undone and a bond broken, and a terrible fear and emptiness.

In that moment, the entire city, whether present at the temple, holed up in their houses, or working out in the fields, suddenly paused. There was silence everywhere, as the power of a single mind drove thoughts away and replaced it with an ache and pain that could mean only one thing: the High Priest was dead. A dragon's scream of pain and grief filled every corridor of the temple, and even the most unwilling of believers had to mourn with him.