While Shara and the bountiful trio tried to come up with a plan of action in order to search for Scott, the little dragon was in the midst of a strange situation. The dark of the night was normally when he would be asleep, but the constant wailing sobs kept waking him up. Who was it that cried? He did not know. Yet, the voice seemed vaguely familiar.

“Please, Dread One. Don’t let him hurt the children,” whispered the voice inside his head.

An image of a creature like himself appeared, though much smaller. This creature looked a bit like a little turtle with a hammer for a tail. Nearby several small creatures appeared. Each of them had wings and were smaller than the first. A shadow, one that provided comfort to them, appeared. It was this shadow that cried and whispered inside his mind.

This voice in the darkness of his mind faded, but another voice appeared. It too seemed to reach out to him as though it was in need. More and more often voices came to him. Crying in the darkness, these voices all seemed to want one thing. Help.

The little dragon’s eyes snapped open. He was tired but could not sleep. The voices and their ceaseless requests prevented his rest, and he wished that they would stop.

It was not callousness that made him ignore those requests, so much as a combination of not recognizing that that meant and the strong tug on his senses that drew him to rise to his feet. Following that instinct, the tired dragon rose to his feet and went in the direction that his senses directed.

He passed the nearby cavernous homes of the warm meat and wandered down the road completely ignorant of any need to remain hidden. A few night-meats attempted to attack him, but a single glance sent them scurrying away.

His senses led him to a strange cavern made of rock and wood. Several of the metal shells that the meats liked to sit inside of were located nearby. However, it was the night-meats that caught his attention. Dozens of them, the four-legged hairless meats that were like The Pickles, were attacking a group of the warm meats.

Blood flowed bright crimson as the light spilled from the shattered windows. High-pitched screams reached his ears from within the cavern of the warm meat. Bigger than the cavern of The Pickles, it held many warm meats. Beyond the cries he heard screams, and mumbled whispers inside his head.

“Please god! Don’t let them get us! Please…” said one voice in a tremulous manner.

“Where’s daddy?” asked another voice, this one tiny and plaintive.

The little dragon shook his head as the voices of the warm meat assaulted his mind. His stomach began to churn. His flesh began to burn. His eyes flashed bright red. This was wrong.

He rushed forward and leapt atop the nearest of the four-legged night-meats. A memory whispered a name to him. Scarvulf. There were over two dozen scarvulfs here.

As he fought, as his teeth tore the flesh of the night-meat, more words came to him. God. Prayer. Church. This meat cavern was what the warm meat called a church.

The scarvulfs immediately turned to him, but a glare sent them scattering. Along with their coppery blood he tasted something else. Fear. It was not the fear of the night-meat, but the fear emanating from the church.

He scattered the scarvulfs and rushed into the church. The scent of blood and death hung in the air as warm-meat fought bodily against the night-meat. Worse, a big night-meat was tearing through the ranks of the warm meat.

The big night-meat unleashed a howl that caused several large warm-meats to freeze in place. They were instantly pounced on by smaller night-meats, sharp teeth tearing into their throats with wicked hunger.

A warm-meat wearing black and white swung a metal rod and implored a thing called ‘god’ to give him the strength to protect the warm-meats huddled behind him. The dragon looked to these meats. They were small, like the small meat.

He did not know why, but the sight of the water running from their eyes caused his flesh to burn. His eyes blazed brighter.

The large night-meat howled again, but his howl was cut short when a somewhat adorable sounding roar echoed from the doorway. All the meats in the room turned their eyes to the newcomer.

The dragon rushed forward, eyes blazing. The large night-meat practically flew toward him clearly intent on devouring this interloper. Fang and claw met flesh and bone, but to the surprise of all onlookers the large night-meat was completely torn apart in a scant few seconds.

The smaller night-meats, the scarvulfs drew back in fright as this new arrival slaughtered their alpha like he was nothing. Disheartened, they began to edge around the room. Soon, they began to bolt for the door.

The dragon was no longer concerned with them. Instead, he finished off the large night-meat then began to walk toward the warm-meat who protected the small-meats. Obviously terrified, that warm meat raised his rod and gripped it tight. Knuckles white, and eyes wide, it was clear he would not abandon his charges.

The little dragon continued to calmly walk forward until he arrived at the pew where the priest would have given his sermons. Each of these things were words that came to mind.

There was something nostalgic about this place. This church. Even the warm meat with the rod seemed familiar.

He sniffed the air. There was a certain scent. It drew his attention. Unable to stop himself, he sniffed the air once more then realized that the scent was coming from the priest.

A pleasant scent. A gentle fragrance combined with a hint of spice. His eyes brightened as he stared openly at the priest.

“W-what are you doing,” whispered the priest. He staggered back as the strong sense of an invasive presence overtook his thought. He began to involuntarily remember things from his past. Some good. Some bad. No man was completely innocent, but there were more good memories than bad.

The little dragon tilted his head to one side and then to the other. A single word rose to mind and he spoke it almost as though he questioned its existence. “Clean.”

The priest fell to the ground, his eyes opened wide even as he gasped for air. The dragon, however, turned away from the trembling figure on the floor. There were others crying out in the darkness. They assaulted his mind with their needs, their fear.

He left the meats, and their church cavern. The night called to him. He could only heed it.