Prestige Advancement | Dragon Companion | Muriel

Muriel had been warned that hatchlings were difficult. He had been warned they were needy, sensitive, loud, messy, picky, stubborn, and somehow both fragile and determined to injure themselves in ways no sensible creature would ever attempt. He had listened. He had prepared.

He had cleaned the nesting room three times before the eggs ever cracked. He had lined the floor with layered hides, checked every corner for splinters, sanded down the edges of the feeding troughs, warmed the bedding, cooled it again, then warmed it slightly less when he worried it might be too much. He had arranged bowls by size, food by texture, water dishes shallow enough that none of them could possibly drown themselves, and perches low enough that even a clumsy hatchling could tumble off without more than embarrassment.

He had done everything correctly.

And yet somehow, standing in the center of the room with three hatchlings staring up at him, Muriel realized he was completely unprepared. Typhan stood closest to his ankle, teal body tense and uncertain, head tilted slightly to one side as if listening to the shape of the room. His cloudy eyes stared at nothing, unfocused since the moment he had hatched, though his ears twitched at every shift of Muriel’s clothing. He was still damp around the neck from Muriel’s careful cleaning and seemed deeply offended by the concept of air touching him.

Randy was halfway inside the empty food basket. Not stuck or anything, just inside it. His grey tail hung out one side, twitching in strange little uneven motions while his back legs kicked occasionally against the woven sides. Every few seconds he made a muffled croaking noise for no obvious reason. Morpheus sat politely in the corner. That should have been reassuring. It was not.

Morpheus had an odd shaped face that made him look like something that belonged buried beneath a ruined temple, not sitting sweetly on a blanket with both front hands tucked neatly beneath him. His eyes blinked slowly, gentle and curious, while his mouth full of alarming teeth remained slightly open in what Muriel had decided was probably a smile. Probably.

Muriel stared at all three of them. “All right,” he said softly. “We are going to eat first.” Typhan startled at his voice and immediately stepped on his own wing. The teal hatchling squeaked, stumbled sideways, bumped into Muriel’s leg, then froze entirely like the wall had personally attacked him. Muriel crouched at once. “Careful,” he murmured, moving slowly enough not to startle him again. “It’s only me.” Typhan sniffed the air, nostrils fluttering. Then, very carefully, he pressed his snout against Muriel’s knee. There, that was better.

Muriel let him smell his hand before touching him. That seemed important already. Typhan hated surprises. He hated sudden movement. He hated being picked up unless Muriel warned him first, though Muriel had no idea how one warned a dragon that young beyond speaking gently and hoping the tone meant something. Apparently it did. Typhan leaned slightly into his fingers when Muriel brushed along his jaw. Then Randy knocked over the basket. The grey hatchling rolled out with all four legs in the air, tongue hanging from his mouth, eyes wide and unfocused in a completely different way from Typhan’s.

Muriel paused and Randy slowly turned his head toward him upside down.

“Why?” Muriel asked.

Randy chirped once. Then bit the basket.

Muriel exhaled through his nose. Patience. He must have patience.

“Do not.”

Randy bit down harder, skeletal jaws clamping around the wood like it was the last piece of meat at a family barbeque and he was the dog that somehow got his grubby little paws on it..

“No, Randy.”

The grey hatchling growled, though it sounded more like a wet door hinge than a threat. He braced his front paws against the floor and tugged violently, dragging it two inches across the floor before slipping and flopping onto his side. Morpheus watched all this happen with calm interest. Typhan did not watch, because Typhan could not watch, but he did flinch when Randy hit the floor. Muriel gently steadied him. “It’s all right. Randy is just being Randy.”

Randy made another croaking noise and shoved his head back into the basket. Muriel had known him for less than a day and already understood that sentence would likely explain many problems in the future. Food should have been simple.

Food was not simple.

Muriel set three shallow bowls down in front of them, each filled with finely cut meat softened with warm broth. Not too hot. Not too cold. He had checked twice. Then a third time. The pieces were small enough for hatchling jaws, tender enough for new teeth, and fresh enough that even he, with his rather clean standards, was satisfied.

Morpheus approached first.

His frightening little face lowered toward the bowl. He sniffed once, politely, then took a delicate bite. Muriel almost sighed in relief. One normal hatchling. Then Morpheus immediately picked up the bowl in his jaws and tried to carry it to the corner.

“No, sweetheart,” Muriel said, reaching for him.

Morpheus froze. Very slowly, the black and gray hatchling looked back at him, the bowl still clamped between his teeth. Bits of meat slid over the rim and dropped onto the floor. His expression was horrifying. However, his intentions were pure. Muriel gently pried the bowl free. “You can eat here.”

Morpheus blinked at him. Then he lowered his head and began licking up the fallen meat instead. Fine. That was not too terrible. Messy, but not terrible. Typhan approached his own bowl with extreme caution. His nose brushed the edge of it. He jerked back like it had bitten him.

“It’s food,” Muriel said patiently. Typhan sniffed again. The hatchling opened his mouth, missed the bowl entirely, and Muriel closed his eyes for one brief second. It was not in frustration. Never frustration. He could never blame a hatchling for its behavior, especially not a blind one.

He was a very patient man. He had decided this before any of them hatched, and he was not going to be defeated by a blind teal baby who had accidentally missed the bowl. Muriel moved the bowl slightly closer to Typhan’s snout and dipped two fingers into the broth. “Here.”

He touched the broth lightly to Typhan’s nose. The hatchling froze, then his tongue flicked out.

Another pause, a brief moment to assess the situation. Then he lunged forward and shoved his entire snout into the bowl. Muriel smiled faintly. “There we go.”

Typhan ate loudly, clumsily, and with great seriousness. Half the food stuck to his face. A piece landed on his horn. He did not notice. Randy, meanwhile, had rejected his food entirely and was licking the wall. Muriel stared at him.

Randy licked the wall again.

“Randy.”

The grey hatchling slowly turned his head. There was nothing in his expression. No guilt. No confusion. No explanation. Just Randy. Muriel picked up his bowl and moved it in front of him. Randy sniffed the meat once, then grabbed one piece, dropped it, stepped on it, and tried to eat the bowl. Muriel wondered for a brief moment if perhaps Randy was also blind. After all he had no pupils, just black holes where they should have been. “No, Randy.”

Randy stopped.

Muriel pulled the bowl back.

Randy stared at him.

Muriel stared back.

Randy opened his mouth very slowly and leaned toward the bowl again.

“No.”

The hatchling clicked his teeth shut and looked away like he had not been planning anything.

Morpheus finished eating and immediately attempted to help by carrying a chunk of his own food to Randy. Randy tilted his head curiously. His brother offered the piece of meat to him, much to Muriel’s surprise Randy took it. Although he ate it like a starving dog, he ate it regardless. He reached over and stroked the top of Morpheus’s head with two fingers. “You’re such a good boy.” The hatchling instantly perked up, tail thumping against the floor.

“He’s quite strange, isn't he?” Morpheus just stared up at the incubus, not quite understanding the words but happy for the attention regardless.

Randy sneezed into his bowl.

“Yes,” Muriel added. “Very strange.”

The first feeding took almost an hour. By the end of it, Typhan had eaten enough, Morpheus had eaten too much because he kept politely finishing anything Muriel put near him, and Randy had eaten approximately four actual pieces of meat, a pebble he had found, and part of a blanket before Muriel caught him.

Muriel wrote that bit down. A reminder that Randy perhaps shouldn’t be trusted alone for long periods of time. After feeding came cleaning. Cleaning, Muriel had thought, would be easier.

It was not.

Typhan hated the cloth until Muriel let him smell it. Then he tolerated it with miserable dignity, standing stiff as Muriel wiped broth from his snout, chin, horns, and the side of his neck. He trembled whenever the cloth touched somewhere unexpected, so Muriel made a quiet sound before each pass. “Here. Under your jaw now. Good. Other side. Easy.”

Typhan slowly relaxed. Then Muriel found the meat on his horn. “How did you get this up here?”

Typhan chirped quietly, as if he too wished to know.

Morpheus sat beautifully through his cleaning. Perfectly still, eyes half closed, tail curled around his feet. Too still. Morpheus was definitely well behaved but something felt off. Muriel narrowed his eyes. “Morpheus.”

The hatchling opened one eye fully.

“Spit it out.”

Morpheus opened his jaws and a strip of meat fell onto the blanket. Morpheus looked apologetic in a way that would have been more convincing if his face did not resemble a nightmare.

“Were you holding that this whole time?”

Morpheus lowered his head. Muriel softened instantly, he didn’t mean to make the hatchling feel guilty, he truly didn’t. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.” The hatchling’s tail wagged.

Now Randy. Randy did not allow cleaning. Randy became mist. Not actual mist. He wasn’t quite old enough to use magic, no strange power, no disappearing trick. He simply moved in such an unsettling, boneless, unpredictable way that Muriel struggled to keep hold of him. One second he was beneath Muriel’s hand, the next he was halfway over his shoulder, then under his own wing, then somehow behind the water bowl. Muriel caught him eventually with both hands around his middle.

Randy went limp immediately. Completely limp. All four legs dangling. Tongue out in a rather dramatic fashion. Muriel held him away from his body and stared.

“No.”

Randy remained limp.

“You are not dead.”

Randy’s tail twitched.

“I can see you moving, Randy.” The hatchling made a very quiet creaking noise. Muriel, who had cleaned blood from stone floors without blinking and once stitched his own sleeve back together while still wearing it, found himself deeply unsettled by this small grey creature.

Still, somehow, he managed to cleaned him. After that came the sleeping arrangements. Muriel had made a nest for them. A very good nest. Soft enough for delicate hatchling bellies, low enough to climb into easily, divided into three warm sections so each could have space if they wanted it.  Typhan found the edge of the nest, stepped into it, immediately tripped over nothing, and rolled into the center. Morpheus climbed in after him and curled around his brother, in what might have been to protect him.

All their hustle and bustle, running around, eating, getting cleaned must have truly tired them out because Randy went into the nest, to his spot on the side, circled a few times before flopping down to sleep with his sibling.

Muriel smiled contentedly. Three hatchlings, all the same age. All with completely different problems. Typhan needed patience and warning and a careful room that never changed shape too quickly. Randy needed supervision every second he remained alive. Morpheus needed reassurance that his gentleness mattered more than the face he had been born with. And Muriel relaxed and realized he too needed sleep as much as his new hatchlings did.