The Golden Dragon's Hoard

1 - 11

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it."
― Roald Dahl

Hello everyone! I hope that you enjoy this chapter and have a great day/night!

Part One - Chapter Eleven
"The Clumsy Little Dragon"

His two-legged form is uncoordinated and clumsy; gangly and loud, unsightly in an ugly way. His old catchers did not like to look at his human face when they were cruel, it made them far more uncomfortable when he'd whimper or cry.

Stray never really understood why—never got how the two sides could be viewed so differently than one another.

They were still him, under the scales or the skin. Same eyes, same scars, same monster.

When the hatchling wakes up, it's abundantly clear that although both forms are him, he's much better at being a dragon than he is at being a boy.

Athanasius is still sleeping, holding him close and tucked around him like he's being hidden away. They're at the far side of the nest, the one past the large pile of soft things that prevents others from seeing them—it's where they sleep when his protector is in this form.

The hatchling is grateful for it now, he's not sure if he wants the witch or Ras to meet him like this, yet. He's not sure if they'd appreciate the change.

His hands are still a bit fuzzy, everything's more sensitive in this form. Softer or rougher, his hands are better at feeling things but his ears are worse at hearing. His eyes stay the same but his wings get more twitchy, flicking every so often with his tail.

It's hard to balance, even sitting up, everything's off.

It's very different, in this form. Everything too much but not enough, walking's weird, and even just trying to get his arms to move where he wants is a challenge. He thinks they're longer than they were before.

They have color in them now, as well. The hatchling doesn't look so ghastly pale, anymore—or, at least, the skin that he can see isn't.

He sits there, resting against the big dragon's chest, and staring at his hands.

His scars are different, Stray notices.

They're a deep red, like someone stained him with blood. The older ones are a pale pink but stick out against him a lot harsher than they did in his other form.

He wonders if they'll ever fade.

Athanasius shifts in his sleep, snuffling as he pulls the baby dragon closer to him. A giggle leaves the hatchling's lips as the other cuddles him, happy that he can finally wrap his arms around him and hug back.

"Hm?" The big dragon hums sleepily.

Stray presses closer, face into his neck and butting his small horns into the other's cheek.

"S'everthin' okay?" His protector asks, voice husky from sleep. "Runt?"

"Mhm," he hums, throat scratchy from misuse. Good-yes-yes.

It feels different, talking Dragonian in this form than the other. Strange.

Athanasius stretches out his legs slightly, hand coming up to brace the little dragon so he doesn't get jostled too much—stilling when his hands brush against his wings.

Stray looks up, blue to red, and he gives the other a slow blink.

The big dragon blinks back and moves his hand a bit over, eyes moving up past the little dragon's shoulders. His usually calm face twists up slightly like he's seen something sad.