The moment the human cubs came to me with their story of their eminent travels to Sanctuary, I felt a cold fear deep inside for them. I was pleased for them, of course, because they were so excited and because they would finally see more of the world than their father's isolated manor and lands. But still I could not shake the deep-seated feeling that this would all end very badly for the boys. Was this a premonition, an actual warning of terrible things to come? Or was this just the fear of a lonely daemon grown too attached to her human protégés? My father would probably ascribe the feeling to the latter; he had little love for humans.

I knew all about this bonding project they spoke of, of course, and I had mixed feelings about it, as well. Certainly the dragons had cause to seek aid against the growing threat of the demons-- even the daemon community could see the danger that lay within the monsters that insulted true canine lineages, for all we preferred not to involve ourselves with the actual war between the two species. But to seek aid in such a spectacular, and irreversible, manner? When I had first heard of the project from the bitter and scoffing lips of my father, I had thought nothing of it; let the dragons do as they wished, we had nothing of it-- nor would we, surely, no matter what propaganda the gene artisans were attempting to spread.

Then my human cubs brought me their news, and suddenly I had reason to think further about this project of theirs and to wonder what it would mean for those involved. Surely they would be heavily pressured to join the military, or whatever sort of military the dragons could manage to scrape together and train, so that the new symbiotic pairs would be able to lend their supposedly multiplied ability and skill to the war that was the cause of this project to begin with. Perhaps some would find this role satisfactory, even enjoyable, but I could not imagine my young cubs in a battle of any kind. Or, more precisely, my excellent imagination could bring up the images, but they were not pleasant ones.

And then there was the bonding itself. From what I had heard, again mostly from my father who has an admittedly cynical interest in such happenings, the direct result of the project was the creation a magical, mental bond between dragon and human. Their minds, wishes, and destinies would be forever bound to each other, perhaps their hearts and bodies, as well. Father spoke of speculation that such a bonding would end up producing more children of half-dragon blood, which, given the legendary ease with which a dragon fell in love, was hardly an unfounded thought. I knew of the human desire for acceptance, but I also knew of the human desire for freedom, and I knew not which would win in the hearts of my human cubs, nor did I know what the meddling gods of this planet had in mind for them.

Perhaps it was the latter which truly worried me. The moment I met my young students, I knew they were to be intended for something special. There is a phrase that the dragons and the demons use that is truly the only way I can describe how I viewed them, especially young Catame: god-touched. It was as if Asuka or Zenite or one of the other, lesser deities had decided that there would be some mysterious plan in which they would use the innocent boys once they grew into their full power, or even before. I feared for them.

It was this fear that drove me to pace and wander restlessly for the week after the cubs had gone with their stiff-backed aunt on their favorite horses. Even then, I had wished to run to them and pull them from their mounts, keep them safe at home with me, though I knew I could and should do no such thing. If the gods of this world had decided to involve them in their plans, there was no way a simple daemon mage would be able to stand in their way. I still did not know if my fear for them was even grounded in truth, or emotion; for all I knew, their path would be safe and happy and they would do great and wonderful things for their people and the dragons they were going to meet. I tried to put aside my fear and go about my life as I had before, when the two cubs I had grown so fond of had not yet entered my life.

No matter what I did, however, the dread increased. Every moment I remained idle, every mile the party of humans placed between myself and them, it grew. Even my father noticed and snapped at me on multiple occasions to pull myself together and let the cubs get on with their lives, correctly discerning the cause of my restless worry. I had grown too attached to them, anyway, he said; humans and daemons were better apart, anyway, he said.

Nothing he said helped, and finally I had to take my leave of him. We had once been nomadic, when I was still young and my mother had still lived, and I still remembered the rules and skills of travel. I loaded myself with enough supplies and necessities to last me should I be unable to find my own food and shelter every night, left a note and an apology for my father, and began my journey. There was a strange freedom, a sense of release, in standing with my nose to the wind and my tail waving behind me as I traveled alone and with purpose. Even if there was no basis for my concern, it still felt good to be doing something about it.

The trail of seven horses is ridiculously easy to follow. I made good time, and within another week I had caught up with them, running only a few hours behind. Something held me back, just within range that I could feel the presence of my human cubs vibrating the balanced forces of magic as they passed by. The strength of the elder's magic was enough to make him easily discernable wherever he went, and the deft, natural touch of the younger was evident in everything he touched. They were truly remarkable children.

I wished to see them, to reassure them and myself with my presence among their party, but I remained behind them, following at a distance at which they would never know I was behind them, for reasons unknown to even myself. I have never been one to ignore the inner promptings of whatever spirit governed fate and future, and this was to be no exception. Something told me to wait, and so I waited, traveling at a leisurely pace and keeping my senses fixed on my quarry. Once I nearly lost them, in the first snow of the season, but the trail was found again when I found a place where they had obviously stopped to play amongst themselves, possibly when the snow had only just begun to fall. Their power was all over the snow and the ground beneath, full of such wonder and laughter that I felt ashamed of my fears, but I still did not turn away.

Then, the next day when I began my journey again on their heels, I scented in the wind something which disturbed me and again fed my fears. There was an odd warmth, a strange sweetness that had not been there before, and it did not smell clean. I continued to follow, slowly closing the remaining distance between myself and my pupils, and I wondered what it could mean. The next day, when the smell grew ever stronger, I had a suspicion. By the day after, there was no doubt, and I was very afraid for my young cub, Catame.

More snow barred my progress, but by the day after that, I was very close to the party of five humans and seven beasts, and the scent of sickness was heavy in their trail. The young Catame's senses were raw and bleeding from fever and fear, and I believe he noted me, though he did not believe himself to be sensing correctly. By that time he was so sunk in delirium that I did not doubt that he did not know what was real from what was not. There was no time to waste, surely, for the warmth I had scented was turning to ice, and a great storm was approaching.

It was the work of very little time to run ahead of the train of horses and find a good place to block their progresss and confront their fool of an aunt for letting this go on for as long as it had. She screamed when she saw me: surely I was a frightening sight, larger than any wolf, shaggy and dark gray of color, growling and hackling surrounded by swirling snow. She even through some of her weapons at me, which I dodged easily and picked up myself.

"Calm yourself, woman," I told her firmly, teeth still showing as she blanched and stared. Her guard relaxed, perhaps recognizing me from some glimpse he had caught of me while he and his lady stayed with the Danui lord.

"I am here not to harm," I continued, "but to save. The storm is rising and your charge is very ill. I must see to him or he will die." My voice carried easily through the wind, though perhaps the words of other beings, pitched and vibrated differently, might not fare as well.

Leaving the woman stammering indignantly and with no little fear of her own, I bounded back past her and her pack horses, to where I saw Daynoren and Catame on their own familiar horses. Vale tossed his head and pranced a little when he saw me, at first only a giant beast of a predator, and I just had time to calm him with a thought before he bolted, but Catame had already slipped limply from his back and into the snow. I bounded to him and nuzzled his hair, smelling the sickness sweetly and darkly in him. Daynoren looked between his brother and myself, as if unsure whether I was a ghost or a goddess, come to alive his own fright and be their savior. I ignored him, shaking snow from my fur and tossing aside the noblewoman's blades to free my hands.

"We must take him inside," I said at last, scooping him from the snow onto my back. He was burning with fever and I shivered with sympathy, wrapping my arms around him as he curled up between my shoulders.

"Come," I told Daynoren, ignoring the guards and lady, concerning myself only with my own cubs. "There is no time, the storm is nearly upon us. I know a place nearby."

Without waiting for a reply, I padded towards the shelter I somehow knew had to be there, drawn by the same feeling that had before held me back, and I knew that the rest followed.