Day after day, night after night, for months, her pride, imagination and excitement had been her fuel more than any food, water or air. But for the first time for a long time, she felt her resolve waver. Time was running out. It had always been the case that any dragon which might be trained would imprint upon it's rider, for life, within weeks of emergence from its shell. As mid winter and new year beckoned, hope gave way to worry. If these remaining four dragons should not take to her, she would be the first in generations to be rejected by the dragons but above all, they would be 'released'- Put to the sword before their predatory instincts kicked in the absence of commanding imprints. They simply would be to unruly, rebellious, dangerous to release. As she held out her hands to receive a playful leap from a hatchling, glorious lime green scales dappling orange fire light about the room, the dragon instead bound towards its batch mate. And Tamaine began to mourn.

—

The fire had died with Tamaines hope and spirit. Cold was the stone beneath her knees, the taste of salty tears crossing her lips on her tongue. Cold too was the rained soaked fabrics of flags enveloped around four still forms, their dank smell a poor cover for the coppery odour beneath. The fire had died with four young dragons, released before their time for their own good. For what was life without obedience to a rider? Snapping jaws, soaring heights, searing flames…

Soaring heights. They would never know what it was to soar. To roll and pitch, to feel the wind beneath their patagium. To hear their bellowing roars echo back through the valley, to catch the light of the sun when they break through clouds and to fill the night sky with streaming fire. Things they could do without her, or with her, which added another level to her grief. She had learned so much to give them their best chance as she swore in summer she would. Her and her dragon. Tamaine and Tamador.

Now no-one would speak their name, nor would they speak of these dragons. Her dragons.

They would be forgotten and she would be forced to live her life in the pity of the village - they would not give her the opportunity again, history taught her that. She could recount those of the Sworn-less even before her lessons, the list of those unfortunate names to which now people could add her own. Next to these dragons though, nameless and young, that meant nothing.

She could feel them beneath the material of the standards - still warm. As adults, their blood would run cold while their bellies would heat them, the gift of the fire granting them vitality. In youth, their blood would run hot in the veins but now, it ran tepid and thick around their throats. She felt this of the nearest dragon; with a gentle caress, she felt the narrow stretching cut across it's leathery skin, her fingertips given a slickness as the life blood there continued to vainly clot. She withdrew her hand and, from the dying daylight leaking in from the smoke light in the ceiling, observed the burgundy fluid upon her digits through tearfilled eyes as her sobs racked her again. Her throat burned, her anguish choked and grated her inside so she could only painfully, quietly shake. Alone. She forgot the touch of a comforting hand as soon as it had left her, whenever that was. She didn’t need any pity or comfort or anything anyone could think of giving her. Though Tamaine herself would have given anything to have these beautiful dragons playing in front of her again; even if they never answered to her names, however long she tried. She would try anything to that. Anything.

At that moment, at that joyous time in summer, she recall the words of that voice. Not the comforting exciting words, the shocking words which made the fire rise and her skin crawl. She stared in the flames because she knew she must, her Ma and had taught her that. But her ears had heard every word, eyes remembered the hearth and the dark words burned into her memory like dragon fire. Tamaine raised her hand again to regard the vital liquid in the light, before drawing it upon her face from forehead to chin. With several steadying breathes, she swallowed and opened her mouth to speak into the silence, above the dying coals.

'Iyyaak bluueh maste, maste inn dyuuk a baak, Iyyaak bluueh maste, maste inn dyuuk a baak’ she whispered, ‘auuborivi aaeuh iyya beete ilyyaak teeuk' she continued- words she had never spoken nor heard before formed on a her tongue, contorting in ways it never had before.

Foreign, strange syllables started in her throat and ended beyond her lips, into the stirring air of the yurt. The coals of the fire began to glow anew, taking on ethereal shine as bright as distant starlight, the blood marking her face grew slick and ran as if from a fresh wound, dripping like rain upon her knees and the stone beneath; so to did blood run afresh from the dragon whom held Tamaine's hand upon it's split neck. It's unsplit neck, as the flesh closed and swelled, breath expanding the creatures form, beginning a familiar rumbling purr. The flag cover ruffled and drew back as the dragon gently rolled, it's head dragged across the stone to crane towards Tamaine. The words died in her throat as its eyes met hers for the first time. 'Tamador' she said to the lime green dragon. There was no answer as it watched her gaze but it’s tail began to gently skitter across the hard stone floor.

With a disbelieving gingerness, she traced an unsteady hand down the bumpily scaled nape, over its boney shoulder and along it’s fledgling wing, between spine and thin membrane. This one, this drake, lived. He would be Tamador. So she was so sure. But for the others, this was just the start. With a loving hand resting a moment on his snout, she ambled around the fire to the next dragon. With cautious enthusiasm, she dropped next to the rose shaded body, took blood from its throat and lined it again across her face. With her eyes upon the hearth, she chanted the words again; her heart skipping as she felt the process repeat and dragon stir to life. Tamador joined her, nudging her flank, coughing and calling through rasping breathes for the dragon to join them in the yurt from the otherside. And Tamadira did.

The fire now well and truly ablaze kicking hot embers over the stones, hope and energy rushed through Tamaine as she pulled her dragons back to life, one by one. Where once sobs and sorrow rocked her body, she shook as a chorus of laughter burst forth from her mouth. Laughter seemed as foreign from her as the darker languages. It did not occur what they make think outside, if anyone should wander by. Nor did it occur to her what they may think when they discover her like this, under bloodied madness and four dragons summoned back to vitality. What did occur to her was the only problem now on her mind; what was she to name these dragons?