Her mind drifted back over the last few months. A single serpent, cold and weary, finally come home after an eternity of roaming. She was only a single serpent, struggling to weave the case that would protect her from winter’s cold while her body underwent its transformation. She gave a shudder of weariness, and the memory faded beyond her recall. And all of this should have been happening under a bright summer sun in the heat of the day.
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Dragons should have been clawing chunks of clay free and churning the clay and water to slurry, dragons should have been putting the final seals on the serpents’ cases. Her ancestral serpent memories told her of broad, sunny meadows and a rich bank of clay near an Elderling city. If the humans had not labored to reinforce the bank of this beach with stone before the serpents arrived, they would have churned it to mud. This was the river, but where were the broad meadows and the oak forests that had once edged it? The lands that bounded the river now were swamp and boggy forest, with scarcely a bit of firm ground to be seen. None of this is right none of it is as it should be. Like the gossamer recollection of a dream, an ancestral memory wafted briefly through her mind.
What could one dragon do when faced with the needs of so many sea serpents? Tintaglia could offer them little more than encouragement. The dragon had been flying without rest for days to shepherd them up the river, so unfamiliar to them after decades of change.
Sisarqua did not know where Tintaglia got her strength. She was the sole dragon left alive to shepherd all of them through this process.
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