She-Dragon sends me an image. It almost seems I'm only a part of this conversation, feeling a slight link to three other souls, almost similar to an itch on your back you just can't scratch, but in your soul instead of your skin.

The flashback takes me to earlier in the day from She-Dragons view. A stark black wolf with scars walks among a silken white landscape with trees at his back. A black panther paws at the edge of the woods, looking between another, larger brown cat and the wolf who strides forward, despite the threat of flames and power.

Within the image is a layer of emotion—a dragon's respect as she watches me approach. I feel her fortitude to link to me, to give me power over her.

I have power over her? Not sure I see how. She snorts softly, drawing me back into the vision.

To know another deeply is to have power over such a being.

The dragon seems unaware of Cynic, skirting around the battle against what I presume to be these little one’s father. What she shows is an unforeseen battle, and her emotions convey she would've been lost without me and the cats at her feet.

Way to make a wolf blush, Momma Dragon.

Wolves don't blush. They can't. It is not physically possible, Cynic replies for her.

Tell that to my skin, I bite back.

While my inner voice has been distracting me, She-Dragon shows my weakness of wounds, imparting to be kind and gentle.

My blush grows deeper under my fur, and for once I'm grateful to be covered in hair. I suppose I understand. I would hate to be squashed because they didn’t know their own power compared to mine. They’re each as large as a thousand pound grizzly. Easily.

Their momma, well, the closest thing I could compare her to is a beached whale the size of a castle.

The three dragonlings crowd around me, lightly brushing my back and head with the tips of their wings or licking the wound at my side that has (finally) stopped bleeding. They show patient restraint as they allow me into their fold, and it warms my hardened heart in ways I didn't know was possible.

Then a couple huffs come from the ground; the panthers. I see absolute delight in their eyes. I'm sure it's an amusing sight—these baby dragons playing nursemaid to the big bad wolf.

Especially Flash and the Imperial. They know Who I am.

It's mortifying. I stiffen and try to straighten to show the little ones I'm fine. But the dragons take no notice and continue their ministrations.

I shake them off and try to run from the babies, which—of course—only makes it ten times worse as they squawk and chase me.

Amusement flares from within as Cynic uncurls from a cat nap.

My mind is fried, ok? No judging actions when I'm still recovering from almost being a wolf fry.

Try telling that to the cats below, my amused internal voice helpfully informs me.

I struggle to dodge the dragonlings, only to be snared in the largest's gentle wings and cradled like a pup in the lap of his mistress. Huffs and chuffs and a few sounds suspiciously close to giggles come from the cats enjoying the show.

She-Dragon turns and pads back out with a soft keen, causing the panthers to scramble to either side. She walks slowly, keeping an eye on all four paws.

The biggest dragonling gently drops me in her haste to grasp on before she's shaken off her Momma's back.

I huff, shaking my mused, bloodstained, and slobber slicked fur in an almost shudder... thank goodness that's over. I meet Flashes eyes. Mistake, BIG mistake, ABORT ABORT!

His eyes all but smile, dancing with amusement and some form of menace I can't quite put a name to. Which is perhaps one of the worst things I've ever seen.

He is more unpredictable than chasing a rabbit—have you ever tried chasing a rabbit? Yeah, then you know exactly how they dart around with those powerful hind legs. One socked me in the nose with those legs. Let me tell you; those things might look soft and cuddly, but never get on their bad side. That only ends one way. Not. Good.

I hastily look away. But something tells me he's never letting this one go. He better not blackmail me with this story: I'll kill him in his sleep, then bring him back just to do it again. An inner instinct makes me think that threat would not deter him in the least.

As She-Dragon makes it back into the main cavern with the emerald pool and the panthers prowling behind her, she picks up the pace. The younglings around me dig in with claws to hold on, and I do the same as best I’m able. I don’t have the claws of a cat, thank you very much.

She pads deeper and deeper into the mountain, and I feel an almost physical pressure of the mountain over top. Thinking of the weight there... it gives me cold chills, reminding me of another dark and wretched place I didn't leave for many years.

I put it swiftly out of mind, instead studying where we are. The walls are slightly glowing golden with a pulse almost like a heartbeat. It’s frightening yet intriguing all at once.

Swirls of black and grey scales line the glowing walls, some in patterns and others seemingly at random. Almost as if an abstract artist attempted to paste black dragon scales to a brown wall and some fell and others remained, creating swirls of beauty.

At last we reach a door, the first I have seen, and if I'm honest, I'm supremely surprised at its abrupt appearance.

The swirls of random dragon scales end in a crescendo here. They pull together into one great swirl, ending with a flourish at the two glowing handles. She-Dragon stops before it and uses a claw to hook a handle to open one dragon-sized door.