Eggs Borne From Ashes

20260308

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

This was written to give a more hopeful ending to this story, and forest dragons happy in their natural habitat appeared here.

A flash of red made Calvin pause and look upwards, his gaze scouring the canopy. He relaxed with a grin as he realised it was just Russet. Speeding through the treetops with that quintessential bombastic grace of forest dragons.
Their small, streamlined bodies and short wings were perfectly adapted to zipping between trees. Darting from one perch to another almost as fast as the birds they hunted.
Hard to believe that, what, three years ago? Russet had been a clumsy hatchling barely able to crawl. Now he was a full adult, albeit one still full of youthful vigour. If all was going well, he might even have a mate, and a clutch on the way. He was certainly spending less time around the Sanctuary. He, like the rest of the clutch, only came back to visit his sister.
Russet landed on top of the netting covering Stella’s enclosure and let out his distinctive, warbling trill. Each forest dragon had their own “signature” call, a combination of notes which could be used to tell them apart when hidden from view.
Then he craned his neck to peer back at Calvin and let out another familiar call, this time the one all the hatchlings used to chide humans for being too slow.
“Cheeky bugger.” Calvin muttered, though he didn’t try to hide his smile.
It was probably inevitable that the dragons had ended up horribly spoiled, given how the Sanctuaries’ crews were overwhelmingly made up of those like Calvin, who’d volunteered to try and shed at least a little of the weight left on their soul by the cull.
Of course, the mess which had developed during those magic-less years was another incentive to give the poor creatures everything they needed and then some. At least there’d been no shortage of resources.
Russet flapped his wings in a sharp motion which produced a loud clap sound and once again shouted for Calvin to hurry up.
“Alright, alright! I’m nearly there…”
Snort. Stomp. Clearly indicating that the ‘nearly’ was precisely the problem.
“I hope when you have sprogs they’re just as impatient as you, bucko.”
Finally Calvin was able to unlatch the hatch and let Russet spring inside, where Stella was waiting, her head tilted up and nose twitching. She was actually larger than Russet now, probably the result of additional years having all her meals delivered. But this change didn’t stop Russet from bowling her over with a happy snort of greeting.
“Mind out!” Calvin scolded, then relaxed as Stella joyously boxed her brother’s ears and smacked him in the face with her one wing.
Heh. Some things never changed.
Small snouts poked out of the den Stella had exited, her current foster clutch investigating the commotion. While her deformed eyes and amputated wing meant they didn’t dare put her in the wild, she’d turned out to be an excellent carer for more recently defrosted clutches.
If only… No, they’d done the best they could figuring out the defrosting process. It was fortunate there had been so few deaths in those first attempts. That so many eggs had remained viable, and the dragons within had lived, even if they would never taste the forest life which was their birthright.
Every time Calvin watched one of Stella’s clutchlings check on her like this, he started wondering if maybe… but it would be a significant burden of care, and there were too few dragons to risk it. That either they’d lose Stella, or that her siblings wouldn’t manage to produce clutches because of looking after her.
While this was far from perfect, it was for the best. Like the whole sorry situation.
Stella had broken off the wrestling in response to a concerned “meep” from one of her hatchlings, and was now fishing all “her” babies out of the burrow and insisting Russet give each a wash. One way to do introductions.
“Hopefully, when they’re big enough to be striking out on their own, you’ll remember ‘em and give ‘em a neighbourly welcome, eh?”
That was a ways off. Right now the tykes were spending most of their time snuggled underground. But they’d started venturing out when Stella did, rather than waiting for her to bring food to them. And even played a bit, when the weather was good.
If they were like the other clutches, this time next year they’d be tearing around the enclosure and Stella would be snippily indicating that this was far too small a space to be sharing with half a dozen youths. Then it’d be time to move them to the larger, outer enclosures, and let them access the forest proper.
After that… well, it varied, but within three months most dragons were gone. And some were lost. Though Calvin desperately held out hope for those who’d disappeared completely, no remains ever found.
He sighed. His heart twanging as he looked towards the outer enclosures, where the current crop of yearlings were practising flying. Making experimental, darting dives towards the untamed treeline. Flirting with the alluring unknown.
No matter how hard he - and everyone - tried, this place was always going to be a hollow shadow of what the dragons’ hearts yearned for. Letting them go was worrying, yes, and painful, but it was as necessary as every other painful step which led them here.
They deserved to be like Russet, dancing free, masters of the canopy, the whole forest under their wings.
Just seeing the way the little dragons craned their necks to watch Russet leave, eyes wide and intently tracking his flight, was proof of that.

Prompt was “Write a piece contrasting an animal in its natural habitat compared to one in an unnatural enclosure.”