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Description
(This was honestly a deep one to draw, because of the tragedy happening in this time of the story, which chronologically takes place at ca. 600 AD!)

The emotions flew through their souls as they themselves flew through what was turning into a spring's rain storm. Poor Flēwian shivered as she followed her Wing Lady Sgiathana through the cold rain, knowing they had no choice. She struggled to shield the egg from the elements, but they could not risk landing in a war zone.
Sgiathana felt no cold, however, as her heart was pounding with the aftermath of her wrath. A wrath she had unleashed upon a new group of bipeds, these Zealots. Never before had she seen humans so filled with determination. Nor such hostility towards her kind that they would walk to the mountains and enter her kin's nests...to destroy them all.

Just before, she was resting at her own den in Northern Wales when Flēwian had come flying in with a dreadful look in her eyes. After briefly explaining that she had once again had a terrible vision of hostile bands of humans attacking their nests but that her Thanewian Scathdain and Llwydhana did not heed the warning, Sgiathana had the terrible premonition that perhaps this vision was more than that - a warning. And so to be safe, she followed Flēwian.

Arriving at her son's and his mate's den, they did not find Scathdain. As it was, he had gone off to repel the very attack Flēwian dreamt about. In most circumstances, Sgiathana is a most patient and self-controlled dragoness. But what she saw at her son's den lit the hottest of fires within. Zealots invading the den, destroying and pillaging the nest of everything in it. Hurriedly she poured out her frost-breath and burning ice, in hopes of saving her yet unhatched grandchildren and their mother, her daughter-in-law Llwydhana.

It was too late...except for two yet unbroken eggs. The last of her son's legacy.

And now, with nothing else to do, she and Flēwian were carrying the last eggs as far away from the Zealots as possible, back North to the ancestral place of the Sciáthdraig in Scotland.
They had little time, for in the cold rain the eggs were vulnerable. They could not wait to see what had become of Scathdain, lest more Zealots pinned them and the eggs inside the cave. But where was he then? Sgiathana was determined to find out, once they had safely delivered the eggs. But the dread, the shock of the unprovoked Zealot attack, hung too fresh in their minds. They had kept to the Code of the Sciáthdraig. They had lived in relative peace with the previous humans.
What had made these so bloodthirsty? So determined, so...bent on their destruction? There was no answer, no reason they could think of. All they could think of now was to bring the eggs, the last surviving legacy of her son Scathdain, to a spot dry and away from the Zealots.

----

Sgiathana and Flēwian belong to me. You can find their ref sheets on my profile.

Description
(This was honestly a deep one to draw, because of the tragedy happening in this time of the story, which chronologically takes place at ca. 600 AD!)

The emotions flew through their souls as they themselves flew through what was turning into a spring's rain storm. Poor Flēwian shivered as she followed her Wing Lady Sgiathana through the cold rain, knowing they had no choice. She struggled to shield the egg from the elements, but they could not risk landing in a war zone.
Sgiathana felt no cold, however, as her heart was pounding with the aftermath of her wrath. A wrath she had unleashed upon a new group of bipeds, these Zealots. Never before had she seen humans so filled with determination. Nor such hostility towards her kind that they would walk to the mountains and enter her kin's nests...to destroy them all.

Just before, she was resting at her own den in Northern Wales when Flēwian had come flying in with a dreadful look in her eyes. After briefly explaining that she had once again had a terrible vision of hostile bands of humans attacking their nests but that her Thanewian Scathdain and Llwydhana did not heed the warning, Sgiathana had the terrible premonition that perhaps this vision was more than that - a warning. And so to be safe, she followed Flēwian.

Arriving at her son's and his mate's den, they did not find Scathdain. As it was, he had gone off to repel the very attack Flēwian dreamt about. In most circumstances, Sgiathana is a most patient and self-controlled dragoness. But what she saw at her son's den lit the hottest of fires within. Zealots invading the den, destroying and pillaging the nest of everything in it. Hurriedly she poured out her frost-breath and burning ice, in hopes of saving her yet unhatched grandchildren and their mother, her daughter-in-law Llwydhana.

It was too late...except for two yet unbroken eggs. The last of her son's legacy.

And now, with nothing else to do, she and Flēwian were carrying the last eggs as far away from the Zealots as possible, back North to the ancestral place of the Sciáthdraig in Scotland.
They had little time, for in the cold rain the eggs were vulnerable. They could not wait to see what had become of Scathdain, lest more Zealots pinned them and the eggs inside the cave. But where was he then? Sgiathana was determined to find out, once they had safely delivered the eggs. But the dread, the shock of the unprovoked Zealot attack, hung too fresh in their minds. They had kept to the Code of the Sciáthdraig. They had lived in relative peace with the previous humans.
What had made these so bloodthirsty? So determined, so...bent on their destruction? There was no answer, no reason they could think of. All they could think of now was to bring the eggs, the last surviving legacy of her son Scathdain, to a spot dry and away from the Zealots.

----

Sgiathana and Flēwian belong to me. You can find their ref sheets on my profile.