FicWad

Elune's Pebble, or Harry Potter and the Desperate Dragons

This is a Harry Potter and World of Warcraft crossover. I've enjoyed both worlds, but both have some… Issues with how they're presented. I’m up to almost 200k words now, and I’m on something of an editing kick. I don't want some guy in a red shirt catching me after all.

For content, I think this fic is best described as Adventure/Worldbuilding/A little romance? Eh, we'll see where it goes. Harry's making new friends, and will be going to new places. Early Warcraft peeps are invented characters, but unless I wanted Harry to befriend VIPs and Dragon Aspects by chapter three, that was needed. Heck, in the game the vast majority of the dragons you encounter don't even have names. I hope my invented characters seem like I pulled them out of the Twilight Highlands or Coldarra or the nebulous realm of Hogwarts students that don't normally interact with Harry Potter.

Harry's going to get stronger, but you give him access to a skilled user of magic and motivation, and that's unpreventable. Not that you'd want to. Hopefully I can make him believably a little more thoughtful/creative as well. His enemies will either be scaled up or new ones presented. (Oprah voice: "You get a training montage, and you get a training montage! Everyone gets a training montage!") The quotes "All realities, all dimensions are open to us!" or "We span the universe, as countless as the stars!" might come into play. Or might not.

As far as magic goes, Ley-lines, Runes as a component of permanent magic, and not all magicals having the exact same potential are in this story. (Harry can handle big stuff like the Patronus, Neville can manage a lot of smaller spells better, and Ron hasn't found what he is really good at yet.) People will tend towards different schools of magic, if you think Neville's going to escape life as a Druid in this story you're crazy. (But he'll find there are some perks to that path.)

Magical creatures won't think exactly like humans; a dragon or elf, or Orc will be different, hopefully in a way that makes sense. (Here's a quote from a long ways down the pipes: "Don't expect an Orc to think like you do. They aren't you. You might or might not be able to trust them to be honorable, but you're a fool if you expect them to ever be peaceful.") Gringotts might become a minor or major antagonist a little further down the line. I try to make everything I can make sense. Dragons don't like wearing clothing because it isn't comfortable over their scales, and abstain from armor because no one wants to look like Deathwing. All those Goblin Rebellions? They might not completely be the fault of the mean Wizards not respecting their culture.

I'm not a fan of bashing stories, but there's a problem with cannon Dumbledore. His actions are inconsistent with what his image is. I saw it mentioned on a profile somewhere that he isn't a coherent person as much as he is a plot device. My Albus simply failed his Frostmourne moment to a much less drastic effect. Instead of saying "Yeah Muradin, let's get the hell out of here." Albus said "Oooh, shiny!" It's my attempt to make an inconsistent thing consistent, and hopefully it comes out better than if I'd made him the Dark Lord of lemon drops and spider webs.

Characters will engage in adult activities, but I'm not sure what I can actually post on what site yet. If I have to, I can cut something out and stick a "One hour later" or something in.

This is practice for me, before I enter the realm of original literature, I want to practice playing in someone else's sandbox first. I don't own anything owned by Blizzard or JK.

Thoughtful reviews are super helpful. Also, if you can think up a name for a dragon that fits within their naming theme and isn't already in use, that would be super useful. Same thing with the Warcraft elves. It's embarrassing how long I took to name the main ones. I try to post a new chapter every other week on Friday, and this site will get the backlog as I re-edit the existing chapters for grammar and syntax.


Chapter 1: Worlds Bridged or the Dawn of the Desperate Dragons

“Tendrion, are you sure this is the only way? You’ve led us well so far, I don’t think I could do half so good a job.” In a cave, dark but for a few torches casting shadows deep below the surface, stood two creatures most would say are straight out of mythology. Reptilian features, quadrupedal, tails tipped with thick blunted spikes, and large wings now folded against their backs marked them as dragons.

Physically, they appeared very similar, with just some slight differences in the colors of their scales, and a difference in size that might mark one as being older. In the near darkness, the only thing to be told of their hides was that they bore some dark shade. The air was humid, condensation dripped from the ceiling in places where the stones were cooler than the air, proof of water flowing not far away.

“Ralion, we are out of time, and out of places to run. We are exhausted, our muscles strained, we’re wounded. Caliona needs more help than I can give her. ‘Borrowing’ a priest back in Duskwood backfired spectacularly, though I am proud of you for honoring your word. Your sister survived her wounds, and that mortal may hesitate to harm our kind, once her people realize she’s not part of the Cult. But after looking through Karazhan’s Library, I know our plan wouldn’t work in Outland.

“Here is as good as any other place, better since we’re near a ley-line intersect. I need you to trust me, one more time, my brother in blood and heart.” Finished speaking, the dragon that’s half again the size of the other just looked at the other, quiet fortitude in his stance.

The smaller dragon looked to the larger, his every appendage drooping for a moment before he reached out with a forelimb and gripped the other’s shoulder. He tried to speak, but nothing came. Instead he simply nodded and let go, hoping everything that needed to be said, has been said already.

Both dragons began moving again. Their hunters were never far behind, they had been nipping at their heels for weeks now all across the continent. Time was their enemy.

In the adjacent cavern, a circle was carved into the stone floor, many arcane symbols decorating it and sharp runic script flowing around the outer edge. It was just large enough for the larger dragon to stand in, if he chose to curl his tail. Several torches lit the cavern in a flickering light. Three other dragons lay on the ground, each opening one eye as the two enter. Packs were strewn around, and an odd pink sphere lay against the wall; it matched a smaller orb on a bit of chain around Tendrion’s neck, now visible in the greater light. With not much more than a thought, he removed the odd necklace and slipped it over Ralion’s head.

Four of the five dragons bore similar colors, the fifth seemed to be the odd one out with dark orange on his underside, around his talons, on the bony spikes of his tail, the back of his head and the membrane of his wings; elsewhere he was as black as night. His name was Talion. Next to him, one of the females was a very dark blue nearly everywhere, with slight stripes of purple flowing from her face, down her sides and to the tip of her tail; her wing membranes were black near the bones they lead from, fading to dark blues a little further down. She was Caliona. On Caliona’s other side rested Vespiona, a creature with dark purple wings, just a few shades lighter than the streak that encompasses her from face to tail, above legs and an underside that’s a purple so dark that even in sunlight it often appeared black.

The smaller of the two entering the room now is Ralion, and his colors match Vespiona, his sister. Half again the size of Ralion, Tendrion was a creature painted like a piece of glacial ice: a blue that calls to mind old, deep ice everywhere except where it faded to a lighter shade for the outer third of his wing membrane.

None of the five looked particularly great. Exhaustion had set in, seen in the way they carried themselves, in the way the three reclining feel their eyes drooping shut against their will. Ribs could be seen clearly on each one, they’ve had to choose between taking time to hunt and surviving another day too many times. Their scales were notched, cracked in places; and caked in grime and mud in others, none of the healthy gleam that ought to be visible.

The blue female on the ground (Though it’s not easy for most to tell this creature’s genders apart.) had bandages wrapped around her throat, and something dark was seeping through. But when Tendrion stepped forward with a purpose, they gave him their attention, all eyes on him, save the one on the black drake that had swollen shut.

“This is it my friends. Our best chance is now. I’m going to start the ritual, as soon as a portal opens, use the speak-stones to double check there’s something on the other side. If there is, take the sphere and run for it.” Talion, the black and orange drake started to raise his head to speak, but Tendrion cut him off. “I won’t be coming with you. I don’t know if there was ever a chance for all five of us to get off this rock, but I can give you four a chance.”

Taking a deep breath, Tendrion made eye contact with each of them. “Caliona, you have done well at curbing some your worst tendencies. Remember, violence might be needed at times, cruelty is not. Vespiona,” Here, he looked tenderly at the purple female. “you have been a great part of my life, I am thankful for the time we had. Talion, it wasn’t out of pity or selfishness that I took you under my wing. I hope someday you understand why I felt like we were so much alike.”

Taking a deep breath, he turned to his last companion. “Ralion, in all the time we’ve been as brothers, you have given me more hope than you can imagine. So many times I’ve seen you almost understand the truth. All of my lessons you took to heart bolstered me when I had nearly faltered. Lead them well.”

Ignoring the moisture in his eyes, Tendrion stepped forward to examine the circle and hastily added two words in the Draconic inscription, two proper nouns etched in his own fresh blood. Turning back, he stepped around to Talion’s side, helping him up, ignoring the wheeze of pain.

“The four of you, around the circle at the cardinal points, now. Now matter what happens, no matter what I or any voice you hear say, I need you all to trust me and stay silent. I haven’t brought you this far from the war to let you die now. Keep in the front of your minds this: I will never betray you. I will never let you be harmed if I can help it. You’ve trusted in me so far, just do it this one last time.”

In a moment, the five had walked or been drug to their places. Tendrion cut his forearms anew and filled the outer circle with fresh blood. That done, he grasped every scrap of magic that was his birthright, every scrap that his flames had stolen and poured himself into the circle. Runes lit up and an odd cadence, almost beyond their hearing started to thrum.

Drakes (For these creatures, “drake” being the third being the third level of their development, after the “egg” and “whelp” stages but before the “dragon” stage.) usually had a lot of problems using magic, not so much for the fact that they lacked the power, but because they had yet to develop the parts of them needed for fine control, resulting in inefficient spell casts. (Essentially making mistakes in weaving the energy, causing spells to either not work or require more power for the same effects.) Using a carefully crafted rune array, however, to shape the energy poured in negated this weakness. Tendrion had been working on this array in his head for months, and finished refining it during his trip through the Great (and greatly disorganized) Library at Karazhan.

Around him, the others began pouring their magic into the circle’s focus, though they’d hold back a bit. This was his plan, and everything he had was going into it. Not, of course, that the amount of magic they were pouring in was anywhere near enough for what they wanted to achieve. Tearing a hole between worlds was a vastly draining exercise, if you knew where they were relative to each other. If you had people working on both sides to accomplish your task. If you were trying to open a new tear to you knew not where, it required an almost impossible amount of magical energy.

Thus came the second part of this operation, and the one he most feared. Not just because his request could be turned down, but because he knew the powers that held the minds of those he cared for above all others in an iron grip would force them to see it as betrayal. Power thrummed now through the circle now; their mana (A general term for the amount of magic freely usable in one’s body at any time.) was calling for the power which flowed through the earth, the often misunderstood ley-lines.

The last addition to his circle came into play now. As power began to flow from the veins of the world, a pulse was sent out to the lesser of the two entities. Tendrion had inscribed them last to keep them secret, for they had often been enemies of those he fought and bled with. Or, to be more direct, they were the enemies of the dark gods that had burrowed into the very depths of his friend’s minds.

Taking a deep breath, and gathering resolve that these four, at least, if not all their kin, would breathe free after today, he spoke at the same moment all present felt a great weight, a great presence fall on them. No matter the distance, they had been SEEN by something greater than themselves.

“Cenarius, Lord of the Forest, I call for your council and blessings, that you would allow me a brief moment to give an offering and plead before She who birthed you.” Some of those words were important, spoken in an old tongue, not just for the ceremony, but hopefully for getting the demi-god to hear those who he would rightfully look upon as enemies. Opening eyes he didn’t recall closing, he looked at his friends, his lover, the brother he trusted above all others. As he knew, there was betrayal on all four; but as he’d hoped there was something more on Ralion’s face, as if he was trying to understand something beyond him.

Beyond the circle of his friends, the cave seemed to fall away now. It was replaced with a vast monolithic forest, lit faintly by small rays of moonlight filtering down through the branches. And in the shadows, a large silhouette approached. “Who dares Call on me?”

“I am Tendrion. To the best of my knowledge, I am the only free Twilight Dragon that has survived to maturity.” He couldn’t afford to look at his friends now, he must keep eye contact with the demi-god. He knew that the greater beings could read his life through his eyes and see any deceit in them. That is why he had to be very careful to broadcast his honest intentions.

“A bold claim.” A figure steps into the light. In physical size, it was not vastly larger than the drakes, resembling a centaur; with the addition of cloven hooves, antlers, long ears, and one arm that ending in wooden claws instead of the fairly normal hand on the right. If not for the sense about him, one would say he’d been infested with some kind of vine-like plant matter, but somehow, it just felt like a part of him; it emphasized that he was a creature of the forest, or that the forest was an extension of him. His presence, the sheer force of it was almost overwhelming when directed on the five relatively young creatures before him.

As Cenarius continues to peer into the five, especially the one in the center of the circle, he appreciates just how young those in front of him actually are. The Black drake is the oldest by far, having grown at the normal rate for the five original Dragonflights; he was about twelve years old. Next is the biggest Twilight drake, he seems to be about five; obviously the Cult had found a way to greatly hasten their growth. The others are just a little bit younger than that. It struck the Forest Lord that these four should have still been whelps, playing under the watchful eyes of a Broodmother, not sent off to war. As the forest lord continued to ponder those before him, he looked into the mind of center drake. The creature was maintaining eye contact, almost offering his thoughts to him. With an amused thought, he took up the drake’s invitation.

And, it was an invitation as it turned out. Tendrion was trying to show the Guardian of the Forest his whole life. From vague impressions inside his egg, of fear not his own, of strange sounds outside, of being roughly moved. Of coming to rest in a new place, of something wrong standing not far from him, of pain and voices whispering to him, of something washing over him in his shell. Of the pain as his old Flight was torn from him, as he was forcefully added to the Twilight Dragonflight.

Of the worse things to come as something awful walked among the stolen eggs, of voices that whispered and corrupted and tried to warp him into a monster. Of the fear, the torture that seemed unending, that didn’t just make him afraid but also so very angry that they dared to hurt him. Of coming so very, very close to breaking, to giving in and accepting those voices as his truth, as his gods. Of that oily darkness outside his shell moving on just moments before he would have given his loyalty to anything, just to make the pain stop. Of spending the time left to him in his egg forming a resolve to never be a slave to those things that tried to break him, to hurt them somehow.

The Forest Lord saw his hatching through his own eyes, of how the whelps turned on each other and killed the weakest; how one of his siblings attacked him and he had to fight or die. Of the Broodmother watching him try to show mercy to his insane sibling as it lay wounded below him and knowing, knowing without a doubt that if he was caught being merciful this day, or any other, he would join those that were disposed of as unworthy. Of ending that whelp’s life, and hiding how it tore at him so to do it, just to live another day.

He saw the little dragon begin training to kill the other Dragonflights, of the indoctrination that was forced on them. He saw this little whelp feeling so very, very alone as he saw the flaws in the logic that was presented to them, that painted the mortal races and Dragonflights as villains, and the Twilight as heroes. He saw the whelp grow into a drake in the flames of their Broodmother, saw the drake fly to war in Hyjal.

Saw what happened when he saw uncorrupted dragons for the first time, how he wanted to stop and simply talk to them, to know what their lives were like. And he felt the despair when his brothers and sisters fell before them as drakes and dragons of Red, Blue, and Green tore into them with so much zeal. How he fought them, letting his disappointment fall into rage at ones he’d known all his short life falling to the ground, at their lives snuffed out as if they were animals and not victims.

He saw the drake harden his heart and fight on the wrong side of the war, lost and without purpose until one day he saw a green drake limping away into the forest from a battle; of knowing that this was something he could do. He saw the drake force other pursuers away, telling them that this was his kill, and he wanted to have fun with it before she died. Saw the knowing smirks on his brothers as they turned away, felt the disgust at what he’d implied.

Saw him stalk the drake into a small clearing and tell her to stay there until night fell, as he talked with her, almost begging her for any knowledge about the corruption that plagued his kind while he rubbed her blood onto his talons and face and underside. Saw him bind her wound with a bit of scrap cloth before holding her down and forcefully bringer her to arousal, apologizing the whole time just so that the scents on him would be right. Saw him look at her, terrified and beg her to tell no one but her Aspect, that they had so many spies in their ranks she should trust no one. Saw the horror in her eyes as she realized that the stains and scents he’d taken from her would persuade his fellow that he’d raped and gutted her, saw the horror that a possibly noble creature would need to fake being a monster.

Saw her ask him to join her, to switch sides. Saw the rejection and why, when he admitted that he had hope for his Flight, that there must be something that could help them, how that if he joined her now he would never earn their trust again. As enough time had passed he left her with a promise that he would spare as many as he could, until he was caught and tortured to death. Saw him take flight, building a hope he already suspected was false in his mind, saw him adopt a false expression of satisfaction as he turned towards the latest camp.

Cenarius saw a trend develop; foes spared whenever he could, eggs hidden from the collection teams that stole them. Saw a daring raid that saw two red drakes and a bag o’whelps stolen from the clutches of the enemy, saw him hand the bag over to the Red Drakes beyond the Twilight Cult’s camp, with the condition that they all be cared for and kept away from the war, the Reds not knowing about the many Twilight whelps mixed in with the Reds and Greens, behaving themselves because he told them to. Asked the two drakes to be at a certain point, and to bring enough paint to make him look like a Red or Green for a few hours, and to bring something to get if off after.

Saw him lead those two, and a few of their most trusted friends on a daring raid against the Cult. Saw the true hatred he had for those that had chosen to side with the darkness as he tore through cultists he had earlier that day been politely obedient to. Saw his trap work perfectly, and the two towering Faceless Corrupters fall along with the cult. Felt his vindication when he told the Reds that these things were what bound the stolen eggs to the will of the Old Gods, and how he had hated them since he was in his shell and he couldn’t fight or flee and they hurt him until he nearly gave in. How he convinced the others to take all the eggs with them, that they might have saved even some of the Twilight eggs from his Flight’s madness, that this was his price for helping them. Over a hundred whelps and twice as many were eggs brought back to their side that night.

(And this, Cenarius had heard of himself, how they had brought the rescues directly to the Dragonqueen herself, and she had ordered the Twilight eggs and whelps destroyed with misty eyes, and that those five drakes had stood before her and said No. The rumors had circulated that they demanded a private audience with her, and that afterwards she’d sent the Twilight rescues off somewhere with a Broodmother, and a few trusted Night Elves too injured to fight a war, but hale enough to wrangle whelps, that she was reserving judgment on them for now.)

He saw them make their escape, and Tendrion lean into the soft touches as the Reds split, the males making off for their lines laden with embersilk bags filled to the brim with such precious cargo, and two females staying behind to clean the paint off him and give him what comfort they could. Saw his confusion that they would be gentle with him, and their excuse that a bath and some lingering scents would explain a great deal if his absence had been noted.

That was the point where Cenarius had seen enough. He briefly looked at the other four, but he could tell they were mired in the darkness just as any other of their kind. An oily darkness clung to them, and he could see in their minds betrayal and anger directed at Tendrion. But, as he looked closer, into their minds he saw why they were with this (sadly) unique drake. They were trying to understand, especially the purple male at Tendrion’s right side; the darkness kept them from seeing the truth, but they wanted to. Moving back to stand directly before Tendrion, he gave a nod of acknowledgment, he’d seen enough. Deception while being so open was almost impossible, thus he reached a decision. If it were within his power, he would help this creature.

“You did not lie. Tell me, what is it that you seek? What is your purpose here?” A part of Cenarius always approved when any creature stood before him without fear, even knowing what he was; and this little drake, now that he looked beyond the eyes, bruised, bloody, and half starved looked at him with a little more confidence now.

“I wish to send these four to a distant world, a place where they can live free, where they won’t die without ever standing in the light, where they can understand what is denied them here. I can’t ask for perfect lives for them, but if the Goddess is willing I just want them to have a chance to Live. Not die as slaves, never seeing their chains.”

“That is no small thing, even for my mother. Do you have anything to offer for this boon you seek?”

For the first time since Cenarius had appeared, Tendrion looked away from him and looked each of his companions in the eye. Turning back to the figure that towered over them, metaphorically if not physically, he once again looked looked the Forest Lord in the eyes, as if daring him to detect any lies. “I offer myself. I offer my service, body and soul in whatever task she would ask of me for as long as my body, bones, or soul exists.”

Everyone else drew in a deep breath. “Old,” is certainly a subjective concept, for instance, a human is old in their seventies. A dragon is old around the time they hit 15,000 years of life. Few make it that far, due to conflicts, disease and such. Azeroth’s (The world on which they live.) Dragon Aspects, the leaders of their flights, are timeless in a way few others are, the four survivors of that title are over twenty-thousand years old. No one involved here doubted Elune, the goddess of the moon, mother to Cenarius, lacked the power to force such a lifespan on a creature like them. Dragon bones tend not to degrade easily, one need only visit the great Dragonblight in the cold north to see bones from the dawn of time still entombed within the ice. Naturally, many creatures feel a soul is immortal, in one form or another.

“Brother...” The purple drake had began to interrupt, falling silent when all eyes turned to him for interrupting. Dropping his eyes, he merely choked out “Thank you.” He did not understand the things that were denied him, but he could see the weight of the sacrifice.

Cenarius felt as if he was intruding in this moment, so he turned his focus to a beam of moonlight in his mental plane. Though he had been raised on the world by his father and Ysera, he had still often spoke with his mother and come to know her when he was young. After so many years there was little left to say, but he knew she would still listen to him. Within his mind he called out to her, and began explaining what he had learned.

Long ago, before hostile forces invaded their world, before betrayal broke the unity of the Dragon Aspects, before all but the eldest races of the world drew their first breaths, Elune had conceived a child from Malorne, the first Protector of Nature, a being and force of the world. Cenarius took much after his father, and thus she could not keep him with herself; as a creature of Nature, of the Forest, he needed to walk the world below. Thus, she gave him to his father to raise, and asked Ysera, the Aspect of the Green Dragonflight to help him. It was a decision she had never regretted.

Elune rarely acted, for reasons known only to herself, but she often watched. When her son called to her, she already knew this dragon offering himself to her, for she had seen him before. She had seen him spare daughters and sons of Ysera, had seen the first time he freed whelps meant for sport, when he’d been caught and fled. She chose to give a dream to some of those that followed her, and this odd Twilight dragon was spared after others of his Dragonflight had torn him the sky, when he had moved to land on his own wing instead of the whelps her carried.

While dead to the world in agony, her followers had moved in and wiped out all who those who seen him escape, rescued the whelps and mended his injuries. That night, Tendrion awoke bruised but whole, not knowing if he’d even broken anything after all. When he crept up on the encampment he’d been stationed at, it was burning; many corpses of the Cult but few of the Flight lay there, and he introduced himself as a straggler, who had gone out for a lucky hunt at the next fortification.

Instead of giving up on his nightly activities, he simply learned to be better at them. He continued until the whole of Twilight Cult had been pushed out of Hyjal, and he blended in with the retreating drakes. He had provided a relief of suffering to Ysera, to see at least some of her lost children coming home. This was worth rewarding. She gathered her power and began shaping it as she replied to her son. Her awareness stretched out, far beyond the world on which they stood, searching for a place for those that followed this Champion to call home. Perhaps… Perhaps those broken could help each other, could grasp hope and the future together.

Back in the cavern, as the real world faded back into being, Cenarius spoke as he too faded out of sight. “My mother accepts your offering, and will grant your request.” Seeing the relief in the one who called for him, the joy that his friends had a chance was a pleasure. Seeing the emotions sour, turn to dread as he began to worry for himself only now, after the others were safe, proved a few more words were needed. “You need not fear. Though you do not know it, you have already done much of which my mother would thank you, Tendrion. I do not think your service to her will be unpleasant, Twilight Champion.”

With that, everything else fell away completely, leaving only the five dragons in a cave. While their attention had been focused elsewhere, much power had built up in the circle, and a great thrumming sound could be heard. Tendrion looked around him, seeing his friends looks of horror, (For him! Not of him!) and he only gave them a smile as he felt a great pull on himself, and then he was elsewhere. For a moment he could still see that cave below the earth where he had been standing, as the runes flared and a brilliant blue portal opened. He saw Ralion shake off all his emotion, and step through bravely. Then that was it. He looked around, but he couldn’t see, or rather couldn’t comprehend any of his surroundings. Ah, so here started his service.

Slowly, at first, the dragon felt a presence come close to him. And then his skin started to burn. He tried to be strong, but he was so tired, so weary of everything in his life. As his limbs locked in place on their own he started to cry. He was, of course, only five years old.

Something seemed to wrap around him then. And though he could feel parts of him flaking away, the pain ended. Then, he heard a voice that comforted him. ‘Be at peace, my new Herald, my Twilight Champion. That which poisoned you in your old life must be burnt away, so that you can live as my servant. Rest now, let go of your sorrows and old sufferings. You have been brave, now sleep. When you wake, you will know your place as my hand in the world below.”

Somehow, it felt to Tendrion that every sleepless night in his life caught up to him at once. His body was still changing, but that felt unimportant somehow. He gave a great yawn, and looked at the presence he felt around him. He felt so very, very small now. “Can, can you use me to help them? To save them and give them hope?”

Inside his own head he didn’t know if he was talking about his old Flight or the ones they were hurting. Both, he decided, it must be both. Tendrion, the newly dubbed Twilight Champion, and Herald of Elune received no answer, but could almost physically feel peace wrapped all around him. As he fell to slumber he thought that he must have asked the right question. A smile graced his changing face as he fell into the calmest sleep he’d had since he was back in his egg, before he’d been stolen away.