Two weeks past the fight-- and the flight-- and Proquess was still something like in shock. She didn't know what to think. She certainly didn't know what to feel.

At first, Proquess had written off the presence of a female at Shishayair's Rage, his so-called mock-battle, as chance. Perhaps she was an arbiter, a referee, the one who said when a rule was broken, who broke up fights when they got too bad, or who gave the final word on who won and who lost if a battle came close. Perhaps she was just a curious on-looker, wondering who would win, or perhaps she was bonded to one of the males fighting. The fact that a little, multi-headed hatchling followed her loyally and her air of half-amused authority suggested it wasn't the latter two.

Her sneered command, ::Very well... impress me,:: did not bode well for the former, but Proquess didn't think about it too deeply: she wanted to watch Shishayair fight!

Clinging to the craggy surroundings of the Citadel of Shadows, absently pulling Uecoss back every time she tried crawling away or lunging at the multiheaded dragon hatchling far below, Proquess was safely hidden in shadows, half-blocked from the view below by a ledge of stone. From her vantage point above and behind the three-headed female's perch, she watched as five male dragons began the fight, her bond among them. The battles divided themselves into two, first: two together, and two on one. The two on one was a pair of whorlings-- whatever those were-- ganging up on Shishayair alone. Proquess snarled down at them mockingly: even she could tell they were no match for her bond, even together!

The outcome of those two battles pitted Shishayair against another whorling, this one with glowing eyes and hooves. That fight was over quickly, and Proquess felt like she was surely glowing with pride as Shishayair stood over his vanquished foe and began primly cleaning the blood from his coat. She very nearly surged down the cliff-side, Uecoss in tow, to congratulate him, when the three-headed female stood. Then, she paused, muzzle turned towards her in confusion as she spoke.

::I had underestimated you,:: the female said. ::But there is one last thing you must do.::

::And that is?:: Shishayair's mental voice purred, looking up from coyly licking blood from his talons.

The female laughed, flapped her wings, and hovered above the ground before answering: ::You gotta catch me!::

When she took off, and Shishayair leapt after her, Proquess realized just what the female had been there to do. Impress me! she'd ordered, and Shishayair had. And now....

Now Shishayair, her bond, was chasing-- chasing-- catching-- the three-headed female. The flight, as it were, was short.

Proquess felt ill. Two weeks later, she still felt ill when she thought about it. She also felt angry, hurt, unhappy, murderous, and helpless.

Not fair not fair not fair....

It felt like she'd been thinking that a lot, lately.

The fact that they'd stayed at this Citadel of Shadows, waiting for the three-headed female-- whose name was Toryt-Mow, and who was, indeed, bonded to the little three-headed thing named Nendatha, and both of whom were very inclined to bite things-- to drop the eggs Shishayair had sired. He didn't seem to particularly care about being a father, which was moderately puzzling. He certainly didn't seem to particularly care about being mated, and neither did Toryt-Mow. She was just as likely to bite-- or bite at, as she never did catch any more than fluff-- him as anyone else.

In fact, after the few hours directly following the fight and flight-- torturous though they were-- he seemed no more or less pleased with himself than usual. And Proquess was looking.

It took her those two weeks to work up the courage to ask him what he planned to do, now.

::Do?:: he repeated lightly, his main head focused on her and only one of his smaller heads. When she did not elaborate, he paused thoughtfully, and answered. ::Well, I do not intend to settle down permanently, if that's what you mean. Even if I wished such a fool thing, Toryt-Mow certainly would have nothing to do with me. At any rate, she was simply a moderately interesting means to an end.::

Since that was Proquess's secret fear, part of her relaxed. Just a little. The hurt-anger-helpless feelings didn't go away, but some of the fear did. She hadn't lost her bond-- she hadn't lost her new, her only family-- not yet.

Shishayair continued, musing, ::I do believe we can stay here-- or at least check in here often enough-- to adopt one or two of the hatchlings, to add to the family, though. If we're lucky, they will take after me, and thus will not be as likely to bite indiscriminately as their mother.::

Well, Proquess agreed with that. Any offspring would be much better off taking after Shishayair than Toryt-Mow!

::They can be a part of your hive, Proquess,:: Shishayair suggested, his mind-voice almost fond, showing a hint of the paternal pride that she had dreaded. Only a hint, however, and thankfully, there were no over-tones of pride in the mother. She was, as Shishayair had just assured her, nothing more than a means to an end.

::However, there are several months until that is to occur. Probably a month or two until there are even eggs. In the meantime, there is still Lady Dark's invitation.::

::Invitation?:: Proquess echoed, momentarily forgetting.

As Uecoss took that moment to growl, pounce, and fix her little teeth-- both jaws' worth-- into Proquess's tail, she quickly remembered, cringing away from sharp but not actually damaging half-xeno teeth and more assertive personality. Shishayair, however, bowled the swiftly-growing hatchling away with a paw-swipe, looming over her with the kind of chilly coldness that always cowed her. ::Must I remind you again that you are not to touch Proquess in such a fashion?:: he told Uecoss, voice somehow both supremely disappointed and chilly enough to bring on a delightful shiver.

::No, Shishayair,:: Uecoss muttered, and slunk off.

The four-headed dogdra settled again, picking up the thread of conversation where he'd left off. ::I do believe we should stop by Dread Corrolary and let her know we'll be dropping by her clutch, on Dark's invitation, don't you?::

Only because the tone of his mental voice was pure wickedness, rather than sly or thoughtful, did Proquess tentatively agree.

The Rage - Chapter Seven

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