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Grrel's comment had given him food for thought. Previously, his companion had been friendly, but the moment he asked it, all the fear that her size and appearance commanded had returned.

As he went about his tasks, he found himself shaking, and it was a very quiet Rae that his parents joined for dinner that evening.

He hadn't been expecting to meet his uncle Argos, too, and was soon swept up in the events of the next day, while trying to make sure nobody checked the barn and discovered his other guest. Fortunately, there were no animals (save for silx, the pests) currently in the barn, and no reason for his parents to check.

So it had been nearly two days before he was able to check on the Khehora in the barn. In that time, through the chores and everyday life and the hunt with his uncle, he'd thought about what she'd said.

Eternal slavery... Never being able to choose ones fate... to have some inseparable part of oneself removed before you could ever comprehend it... the thought hurt. It hurt so much.

It was early morning and he opened the door to the barn, mentally preparing himself for... whatever he might find in the dark space. "Grrel?" he called softly. He limped slightly from his earlier bout with dragons and his uncle, but his feet felt better with every step - the wonders of healing magic on burns. "I'm sorry I did not check in sooner... very busy few days..."

(1899/2100)

Raemos yelped, jumping up in surprise. His body tried to move back but THAT WAS WHERE SHE WAS, and he ended up twisting awkwardly and nearly falling. He turned to face Grrel, his eye sockets wide, his heart thundering painfully in his chest as he leaned against the barn for support.

"Y-you scared me!" he managed, gasping. he was very ware of how easily she could have eaten him right then, and he was grateful to not be eaten.

Though... She was outside the barn... "Um... What have you been up to?" he managed, trying to swallow the bitter, dry adrenaline and return to normal. He hoped not eating their Sheron. He couldn't really stop her, but they did need those beasts...

(2022/2100)

Dragons. Yes. His foot injury twanged, just reminding him that it was still there and still healing, if perfectly walkable. "I saw them. Yesterday." he commented, "I was actually... going to ask you about coming with me and helping me hunt them. There are a good many of them. They are too close to the ranch, you see, and they could..." take his family's Sheron, or his family themselves. So could she. He didn't believe that 'resting and watching' had been all the imposingly powerful khehora had been doing, no matter how innocent (that was an innocent expression, right) she seemed. "I cannot take them on my own. My mother does not fight, my Uncle has moved on to other duties... Guardian duties, he thought with a trill of pride, "And Father is busy with the Kargoth herd." So, it was just him... though he did want to have a few orbs of his own to show his father. Just to brag about, even if he didn't actually brag. Just him and the Khehora, that was.

"And I thought we could continue our conversation..." he said, hestiantly, "About... you know..." he looked away, his brow furrowed in uneasy contemplation.

(2222/2100)

"Allright, of course..." he began, intending to ask about grabbing his things, but she was already walking away and FAST. "W-wait up!" he called out, "Please!" before rushing back into the house as fast as his still-injured feet could take him. It was the fastest he'd ever run, the fastest he'd ever grabbed anything from his room, and he rushed back out, still attaching the old iron sword to his hip as he ran to catch up.

He was breathless, but at least he was equipped. "So... uh..." he caught his breath, already flushed and sweating - thank Seren he already had his canteen! "Yes. I was thinking about what you said. About Bonded." he remembered the vicious smile that she had flashed him, and the promise of painful, sharp death it contained, and he hoped that she would not use them on him. "Who... does such a thing? Why do they do it?" He couldn't help it, taking a swig of water, "And... how?"

That khehora were dragons at one point was easy to believe. They looked like dragons. Grrel looked much like the kiandri dragons he had come across the other day.

Especially when she was angry. Which was now. And blood-chilling.

He looked away, hoping - very much so - that she would continue to be trustworthy and not devour him for his insolence.

Fortunately, what she had said was... resonant in a way, and it soon - paradoxically almost - took his mind off of her very sharp and angry teeth and claws.

A magical spell that forced a baby khehora to give all of their power to a magescan, forced to be a slave or a pet until they died... "Thats... disgusting..." he whispered, horrified. They had no choice. They hadn't even been born, and the choice had been made for them. "Thats disgusting" he said again, louder, feeling himself heat under the desert sun. He clenched a hand into a fist, still looking away, out into the desert haze. Had this bonded enslavement been a choice of the khehora, like a sort of indenture or respect or willing servitude, then he could have understood. But that was no choice. They had about as much choice in the matter of their own freedom and independence, as they had in their own kind, kin, and clan (He assumed that they could not choose their clan as Dovaa could. He had read it somewhere, he supposed).

Raemos was usually very calm. He'd always been a calm child, and he was now a calm teenager. He had rarely thrown tantrums as a boy, and had never really hated before.

But as he turned back to Grrel, he shook with a hot, uncontrollable emotion. "That is disgusting, and wrong, and... and..." he managed through rage-grit teeth, his voice raising bit by bit as he became angrier. He was incensed. It was incense-worthy. It was terrible! "How dare such a spell exist?! Magic was his passion, and yet... here it was in a horrible, twisted mockery of its wondrous freedom. "How dare anybody take away such a basic..."

Something nudged at his mind and he looked down at the sand, his mind latching onto an observation that his subconcious felt that he should notice. "... right of choice..." he said, somewhat subdued. There were indentations in the sand that looked very regular. Suspiciously so. He looked around at the dunes around them and blanched. "I think we found the dragons." he said, pointing at the glittering amber scales peering out from behind the sands around them...

Not being killed by Grrel was a good thing. Being approved of was a good thing too. Especially when he could see that these dragons were as nothing to her.

She charged at them so viciously, so uncaringly, and she cloaked herself in electricity. He was awed at her gleaming form, how graceful and feline and predatory she looked in the process.

Beautiful and terrible. That was, he decided, a defining trait of Khehora. Beauty, power, and ferocity.

And then he remembered that he was there too. He drew his dull sword and looked for the others... because, of course, there were always others.

Sure enough, other sparking, huge, snarling creatures padded around them out of the bright desert haze. They were surrounded, but Raemos had a feeling that it didn't matter to Grrel. She was too powerful.

It did, however, matter to him, and he decided he didn't want them to get too much closer.

Magic - the casting of what was within him instead of from a book - was new to him. Yesterday-new. But he tried to capture that feeling of desperate terror - not difficult with the dragons around - and remember how he had done what he had.

That wasn't too hard either, or too difficult. It was as though a slight barrier had been lifted and, with a cry, he threw a bolt of magic at one of the dragons. And then another. And then another. It was so easy, and it felt so good. He kept them back, stopping only to inspect his sword - it was vibrating with each shot, and he didn't think that was what swords were supposed to do.

The dragon took advantage of his distraction and attacked but, weakened by his peppering of magic bolts, he was able to dispatch it's overconfidence with a dodge, roll, and a slash of the sword. It crumpled to the ground, and then dissolved into ash.

For a moment Raemos was proud of himself. Then he remembered that that dragon hadn't been alone. And now, he could see, its fellows were much closer.

He swallowed, trying to regain his confidence, as he began to pull hi magic out again...

Three down, four to go. It was as easy as that. For Grrel anyway. For Raemos, as three dragons converged on him, it was not so easy.

One is distracting... he thought, heart pounding. The other three will take me out again, easy. Take out the weakest first, then focus on the strongest... He doubted they would defeat the khehora even then, but that wasn't the point.

Raemos kind of liked being alive.

The dragons moved quickly - too quickly for him to see anything more than sharp mouths dripping with sparking saliva. He swung his sword at them, feeling it strike them. Almost immediately, he felt a burning sensation. It started at his arms, then spread throughout his body as he began to spasm.

He gasped and fell to the ground, the sword falling to the sand as he was surrounded. He was sure that Grrel could kill them, and that she could kill them quickly.

Not quickly enough.

As he stared up at them, sockets wide, he knew he really didn't want to die. He felt cold, uncertain, and yet certain of the finale, that the end of his life was going to come by these dragons claws, and he couldn't do a think but Die

He didn't want to Die.

He wanted them... to

DIE.

Suddenly, he felt very cold, then hot, then cold again as the word pounded in his skull. His vision - such as it was, went black - blacker, he felt, than any darkness he had ever experienced. It was a murky darkness, so thick that not even his sight could cut through it. He felt something, something that felt like indignant rage, rip through him like a sandstorm.

His vision returned as he gasped, feeling as though he had been hit - several times - in the gut. The dragons were not there anymore, leaving in their place the smell of ozone. He couldn't move to see where they had gone - he was still processing that they were gone, and even the slightest movement made the muscles of his stomach hurt as if he had been throwing up for a long time...