The dragon circled high above the Raksheh. Above the caves and the strange thing that lay beneath them. A taste of the old sorcery. A lingering of something mighty. Tastes like those from the sky-home, but faded and pure, not mingled with the bitterness of the broken god and That Which Came First.
The Aardish Caves. The Moonlight Garden. This had been one of their places, long ago. Not one the dragon remembered, but it could feel the presence of its kind. Something waiting. Its time with its silver rider had been so brief yet so full of fire.
Little ones came. It felt their thoughts. And the water worm, blind, dumb and dull, a tiny creature, made at the beginning of the half-gods’ path towards their final creations.
Us.
It peered at the little ones. It was hungry. Always hungry.
And then, in among the mindless noise, it saw what it was searching for, faint, half-hidden, as if wrapped in a fading mist.
The one that had killed its mate. The little one had come at last.
It tucked in its wings and fell towards the earth and the tiny little sliver of silver that was the old forest river.