Cranberry

Once, they called her Sasemineash. 
Atoqua. 
Pakimintzen. 
Ibimi. . . The Bitter One. 
She was the healer, and the cloth-dyer; she raised the harvest and provided the bounty. 
But that was a different time, before the others came.
 
In one of the many acidic bogs that dotted the MudWing kingdom, there was an egg. It was round, smooth. Stained with a red shine, a colour like that of blood.
She does not remember if she ever had siblings, or any family for that matter. She knows only that she hatched, and that somehow, she was able to survive.
She planted her roots in the acidic bogs. Few others would. The bogs, unlike other wetlands, were scarce in prey. Later dragons would wonder if she had been left in one to die.
If that was so, she did not. In time, she grew, and she thrived. She was short, yes, but plump, in good health. Her scales kept a reddish shine to them, overlaid on the brown. Her eyes were bright and curious, and though she knew little of other dragons, enough passed through her bogs for her to befriend them. 
She learned her trades: medicine and dyeing. She found that the berries she ate produced a pleasing red colour, and that they possessed healing properties. Dragons sought her out.
Sasemineash. 
Atoqua. 
Pakimintzen. 
Ibimi. . . The Bitter One.
She had never named herself. It was always her friends and followers who named her, never herself. They called her after the bitter fruits she was so strongly associated with. The Bitter One, but she was not bitter. Not yet. 
For some time, all went well. She continued healing the sick who were brought to her, and dyeing the textiles of those who requested it. Some dragons who arrived never left. They stayed with her, in the acidic bogs that she called home. 
They insisted on staying because of various reasons. They thought she might want company, they said. They thought she must feel very lonely, if she were to only stay by herself in the bogs. 
Or they wanted to learn her craft. They wanted to learn how heal; how to make poultices and potions, salves and balms and ointments. A cream to smooth over scales rough with age, a draught that would invigorate a dragon and lift them out of fatigue.
Some who appeared before her had trembling wings, eyes that spoke of terror. They were bruised and scarred. She took them in. They needed no words of explanation. 
She took them in, and taught of what she knew to them. Her influence and followers grew. 
For some time, there was peace.
Until a strange day came, and a strange dragon was brought with it. 
In some ways, the stranger was not unlike other dragons. He had eyes and ears, wings and horns. A tail, four legs. Talons and claws and teeth; scales armoring his body. 
But a smile was plastered onto his face, and the smile looked more like a sneer or a grimace; and although he spoke sweet words, there was rotted intent beneath each and every one.
When he first set foot in the boglands, the other dragons had averted their eyes. They had 
He came, he professed, to join her circle. 
Category:Characters
Category:Females
Category:MudWings
Category:Occupation (Healer)
Category:Occupation (Teacher)
Category:Occupation (Student)
Category:Occupation (Artist)
Category:Content (LivVirtual)
Category:Work in Progress