Mirri, Child of The Sun

She knew she was unusual from the day she hatched, her green iridescence unlike her crystal blue littermates, but she didn’t think that meant the winds would blow her towards a situation quite like this one. Before her sat, perhaps, the filthiest and most miserable creature she had the misfortune of ever encountering. A human child. How did a spawn of those group thriving vermin get so deep into the Lost Wood?

The living forest shuffles around so thoughtlessly that even with the suns as a guide, there is no guarantee one will reach the other side. Yet despite this, sitting curled with its feeble arms wrapped around its muck-slathered legs, was a human child. Like with most vermin, where there was one, you’re bound to find others, but with a few sniffs, it became clear to her that it was likely alone. If it had guardians, their scents had faded long ago, leaving only the smell of The Child and the forest it had rolled around in. Maybe it was the runt of the litter, left aside from the brood in hopes that it would perish on its own. One thing was clear to her, the Lost Wood, in all its great mystery, had intentionally brought this child before her.

As these thoughts flew through her head, the child, who had yet to utter a sound, began quietly sniffling. As the sniffling built up into a weary cry, her heart throbbed, and her stomach lurched in an instinctive panic, a familiar one borne out of the bearing and raising of her litter. Following that same instinct, she slowly lowered her head to where she could meet its eyes. With her head nearly to the ground, she drew magic from the wellspring residing within herself to call to the spirit of the forest, asking for its guidance as she began to Look at the human child. Following the lines of its heart, she found no sign of significant injury besides the occasional scratch upon tender skin. Despite the lack of wounds, the child was crying in distress, so she looked towards its magic. The weak magic pulsating from within The Child, although tinged with sadness, was largely colored in relief. Without even a moment to ponder why, the sensation of almost nauseating hunger flooded her body, stealing her full attention. The ache was, no doubt, the forest spirit’s doing, seeing as the feeling did not originate from her but from The Child. This instance was perhaps the clearest the forest spirit had ever been in its guidance. Either this child was significant, or the spirit was using this opportunity to, once again, call her a fool.

Knowing what she should do, she did as she would with a hatchling. With the embers stoked in her lungs, she blew out a slightly warmed air towards the face of the child, hoping to catch her attention. The little girl looked up. The dragon succeeded, and unable to contain her relief, she blew out a few flittering sparks. The Child, whose eyes were once laden with damp misery, cleared as they filled with awe and wonderment. With the child’s attention entirely on her, the dragon used magic to speak into The Child’s mind.

“Child,” she said, “what is your name?” The child looked around, appearing more alert than she had since her appearance, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Make no mistake, I am the one speaking, little one,” she snorted softly, ruffling the fur atop The Child's head. “I ask again, child, what is your name?” she inquired. In a broken and waning voice, The Child made sounds akin to speech. Despite not understanding The Child's words, she received her answer by focusing on the now-waking magic pulse. The child was nameless, or at the very least, had not found an acceptable one.

“I am Aelia, The Guardian of the Lost Forest, and you, child, are most certainly lost,” said the dragon, “If you so wish, I can name you, but in doing so, you will become one of my own.” The Child stared into the dragon’s eyes before widely baring her small fangs at her. If it hadn’t been for Aelia’s close watch on the little one’s magic, then she would have falsely assumed the hatchling was angered by the proposal. The Child was happy, joyous even. It was infectious in how it brightened not only the little one’s meager magic core but, brightened, the forest itself.

“Are you sure? Becoming one of my own means you would be under my protection, living here in this forest, far from other humans. Knowing this, would you still like to have me name you?” Aelia asked. The magic within the child intensified yet again, an unmistakable sign that said yes.

“Then, little one,” Aelia said as she began to emanate magic, old and new, “under the blessing of the spirit of the Lost Forest who is bearing witness to your naming, I take you under my wing and declare you as my own. In confirmation of our newfound kinship, I bestow upon you the name-”