Breakfast was fried eggs, potatoes, and bacon, harvested from the boars that roamed wild in the area. Flatbread was used as both a bowl and a scoop to eat with.


    “Your plans?” Davian asked, as everyone settled down to eat.


    “Dragonling in Mountain Cat territory.” Sheilah replied immediately.


    He nodded, a faint smile on his face. “Your sisters look like they’re itching to go, too.”


    Sheilah rolled her eyes. “And hunt gnolls, too. As if it was our problem.”


    He frowned at her. “Gnolls are everyone’s problem, Sheilah.” he corrected. “A Dragon defends its territory. Take your sisters. Fialla too.” Sheilah nodded.


    “Father, Mountain Cat territory is not Dragon territory-” Caidi began uncertainly, but Davian moved his hand in a cutting-off gesture.


    “How far does a dragon’s territory reach?” He asked her, focusing his attention on the young girl.


    She flinched back a little, but responded immediately. “A dragon’s territory...” She trailed off. She wasn’t old enough to have received the lessons on the adult dragons that their clan hunted.


    He gave her a little smile. “I’ll teach you a little bit about dragons: A dragon’s territory is whatever exists beneath its gaze, wherever it happens to be.” He explained.


    He pointed, and even though they were inside, it was apparent that he was pointing in the direction of the Mountain Cat territory. “Can you see the Mountain Cat territory from the Dragon’s Terrace?” He asked, and Caidi gulped and nodded.


    “Then there isn’t a problem, is there?” He asked curiously.


    He turned to Sheilah. “The Dragonling?” He asked, but she knew the real question behind it.


    “I’d like your sword, father.” She replied.


    A feather-light smile touched his lips. “My sword? Are you sure? It would probably go easier with your great-grandfather Lonato’s spear.”


    Sheilah pressed her lips together. He was right, it would go a lot easier. A dragonling could be as small as a very large wolf and as large as a horse. A spear was a very reasonable weapon to hunt a Dragonling with. A sword was just reckless.


    “I want to try.” Sheilah replied stubbornly.


    He snorted, but left it at that. There was no need for explanations or justifications, so there was nothing more to say on the matter. If Sheilah had decided to try hunting a dragonling with a sword, then that was her choice.


    “I’ll have my bow with me as well. Fialla got one of hers with a bow, after all.” Sheilah added.


    Davian rolled his eyes at this, but got up and went to the chest of weapons that was the centerpoint of every household of every clan.


    *****


    Each weapon had a history that came with it, each carried a name. There was Adlan’s sword, her great-great-grandfather. He was legendary in the clan. Adlan’s son Lonato had crafted himself a spear. Davian had crafted himself a sword.


    Each weapon was carved from the tooth of a fully grown dragon, and hafted in dragonbone. When it came time for Sheilah to head to the Ashlands, she would return with her own dragon-tooth weapon which would carry her own history, her own tales and stories.


    Each family of each tribe had a rich and storied history of legends and tales that were spoken lovingly over each weapon, imbuing them with iconic value. Each of them was a piece of living history.


    He passed the sword to Sheilah, who tied it to her waist.


    “You?” He asked, eyeing Kellia, Sellia, and Caidi.


    “We’re going to hunt Gnolls!” Kellia replied. “We’ll take our bows.”


    He gave them a wry look. “And if you come across the dragonling first? What will you do?”


    They frowned at him and each other.


    “We’re going with Sheilah, but this is her hunt.” Caidi piped up. “We’re hunting gnolls, father.”


    Davian nodded thoughtfully. “The gnolls are savage beasts, but don’t underestimate them. They’re crafty.” He warned.


    Sheilah nodded, and that was the entirety of their conversation.


    Her mother laid a hand on Davian’s arm, as if to prompt him. He gave her a sour look, but sighed and swung his head back to the girls, picking out Kellia, Sellia, and Caidi. He picked up and chewed on a piece of bacon as he thought.


    “You’re all the same age, and you might think that you don’t need help with the gnolls,” He leaned forward and locked his eyes with them, “But don’t underestimate them.”


    They nodded again. The division of roles was obvious. Sheilah was going into the Mountain Cat territory with the expectation that she’d hunt a dragonling. The rest of them were going there to hunt gnolls.


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    There were no guarantees that things would happen as planned; Kellia, Sellia, Fialla or even Caidi might chance upon the dragonling- and if that were the case, so be it- but the twins and their younger sister were leaving the tent in anticipation of hunting the gnolls.


    “There are sightings of other Dragonlings in other territories, but if you’ve made the choice to hunt in the lands of the Mountain Cat, then that’s your choice.” Davian added.


    “Can you tell Atta where one of those sightings are, Father?” Caidi asked. “I think... I think she’d like that.” She finished.


    Davian rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Their family is...” He began, and frowned.


    Nobody liked their family. They only did the barest minimum to get by, and they complained loudly about having to do it all the while. They did not tend their home as well as they should, and their tent was haphazardly patched.


    “Please, Father?” Caidi asked again.


    Davian grimaced at that. The standing rule of all the Clans of the Redstone was “You live and die by your own strength”. There was no reason to help Atta’s family.


    Caidi was different from the other Dragons, though.


    He nodded. “I’ll tell her.” Caidi smiled and threw her arms around Davian’s neck and gave him an exuberant hug, which he returned awkwardly.


    Sheilah mentally prepared herself for the fight with the dragonling. She’d started killing them by herself several years ago, and they were fierce, unpredictable, and terrifying. Fighting one alone was considered lunacy by the other Clans who worshiped different Totems, but that only solidified what the Dragons stood for.


    Sheilah’s sisters and Fialla were just to help her with the gnolls. In a hunt with a dragonling, you lived and died by your own strength.


    *****


    The forest in the territory of the Mountain Cat was really just a small stand of trees that ran between a thin stream and some of the high redstone cliffs that made up the Redstone Valley. The ground was softer, richer than where her clan made their home. This area was under the control of the Clan of the Mountain Cat, but where dragonlings were involved, the Clan of the Dragon had permission to go wherever it was necessary to hunt their favored prey, their Totem.


    “It’s a wonder that the Mountain Cats hadn’t hunted the gnolls already.” Sheilah complained to Fialla, who nodded.


    “Maybe the dragonling kept them away?” Fialla hazarded.


    Sheilah shrugged. “It still makes it a mess.”


    Her three sisters trailed behind them, bows strung. A group of five girls, barely into their teens, charged to kill a pack of hyena-men, and one of them was supposed to hunt a donkey-sized dragon by herself.


    “This hardly looks like the Redstone, even.” Fialla muttered, and Sheilah nodded. The Redstone was a twisting maze of cliffs and narrow canyons that were harsh and forbidding and difficult to live in. This place was lush, comparatively.


    “Hatchling sign.” Caidi called out, pointing to one of the trees. Sheilah eyed the scratches and nodded.


    Actual dragons lived in the Ashen Wastes to the north, a place that some called the Deathlands, or the Ashlands, or any other number of names. According to clan mythos, it was a place of volcanoes and monsters.


    Dragons laid their eggs in clutches wherever they could find places to do so, and eventually the hatchlings migrated south through the passes into the Redstone where they were hunted by the children of the Clan of the Dragon. If they lived long enough to grow bigger, they were considered dragonlings, and the older children hunted them.


    In order to prove themselves adults, they eventually had to travel into the Ashlands and slay an adult dragon themselves.


    “Caidi.” Sheilah called, and the girls came to a halt. She pulled out her waterskin and gestured at the river. “Fill the skins. Might as well enjoy some of their water while we’re here.”


    Caidi let out a childish giggle, collected everyone’s waterskins, and waded into the shallows to fill them.


    Fialla came up to Sheilah’s side. “You’re using a sword for your dragonling?” She asked, eyeing the blade on Sheilah’s hip dubiously.


    “I’m going to try.” Sheilah replied.


    “You’re a madwoman, you know.” Fialla disputed.


    “You’re just as mad, you know. What were you thinking, taking on a dragonling with a bow? You know their scales are strong enough to ignore them.” Sheilah replied, eyes scanning through the trees.


    “Not if you know where to shoot.” Fialla replied, a touch defensively. She tapped the spot between her jawline and neck. “There are spots that are soft enough that an arrow can kill.”


    Sheilah gave her a skeptical look, and then glanced back at Caidi, who was returning from the river.


    “For now, help me keep an eye out for sign? It’s hard to see anything in this...” She gestured around her, indicating the trees, shrubs, and ground cover.


    Fialla nodded. “Sure.”


    Caidi handed out the skins, and they moved deeper into the dappled stand of trees together.


    A groan came from some nearby bushes; Sheilah mentally cursed as she nocked an arrow as her sisters did the same.


    She glanced down at the ground; how had she missed all the blood soaked into the dirt and splashed on the leaves of the plants? She kicked herself for not being as alert as she should have been. She tested the draw on her bow and approached the bushes.


    A human lay in the bushes wearing metal armor, something that wasn’t done in the Redstone. On the metal armor covering his chest was a device, a symbol, a white castle on a blue shield with golden lightning above. The man’s face was flushed with fever, and his right hand was gone.


    He opened his eyes as they looked down at him curiously, and Sheilah flinched back; it was like he wasn’t even looking at her.


    She edged her foot forward to prod his leg as she’d done to her sisters a few hours earlier; but his legs ended at the knee with some grisly, tattered strips of flesh remaining. She grimaced at the ragged, shredded metal that looked as though it had been chewed along with his legs.


    “You won’t-” He spat, fumbling weakly at his belt with his left hand.


    His vision cleared, and it seemed as if he saw them for the first time.


    “Tribes...men?” He asked, a puzzled expression on his face. Sheilah nodded wordlessly, ignoring the fact that they were in fact girls.


    “Is... are my legs... are they still there?” He asked in a frightened voice. “They didn’t... they didn’t eat them, did they?”


    “They?” she asked, already knowing the answer.


    “Those... cackling... bastards!” he finished, and then passed out.


    Sheilah took a step backwards, feeling her group backing up behind her.


    “Why didn’t the gnolls take him?” Fialla asked in a very small, trembling voice.


    She got her answer a moment later as a hyena-like cackle echoed across the field.


    He was bait.