Alsafi was visiting her homeworld again. Partly, she wanted to create a safe spacve for Brody to see all the loot for her. Well, and him. The other reason was fascination.

There were gold and jerwels and unknown precious baubles all over, and the senshi walked, studying a scrap of leather tyhat she found in a ruin. It was a dry scrap, with dull flakes of scales, and the ruin had been stone. Stone and more shinies than baby Jesus, but the senshi didn't think much of that -- walking in the valleys before stopping, blinking.

The scale shape was no known beast, but a nagging itch in her mind was disgusted -- and then she found a painted cavern.

She'd thought the world a cave dwelling race -- but the ruin was proving otherwise, but the walls of the Painted Caves....

The senshi dropped the scrap in disgust when she saw the walls.

The race once dominant had born patches of scales; and horns. Wings graced them -- not suited for more than aestheytics, similar to their tails -- but they were draconic. They hunted, they worked, they....

Alsafi walked thrtough the caves. She hunted, the paw-beasts fleeing the young girl as she moved. She was no regal hunter such as her father, but the young Alsafin tried. Still, she moved. She moved to hunt, and tripped, internally cursing the flight of Prey...

And blinked, landing by her grandmother.

"Out hunting, my little hatchling?" The older Alsafin asked. She was covered in far more scaled,horns more impressive than her own nubs, and the hatchling -- Drache - huffed, sitting.

"They just run, and finding prey is hard, Gramma." The girl objected. Her grandmother nodded, stroking her hair softly.

"I know. The bloodmoonj has been rising lately, my grandchild. The bloodmoon is almost filled, and soon. Why, soon my love, our senshi will awaken again to protect us and prepare The Preservation."

Drache huffed. It sounded so dumb, and the youngling showed it, floppng her head on her grandmother's knee. "It's dumb, Grandmother. We'll never die out. And nobody needs to know what we do anyhow. Even if they did, father says nobody speaks the old language."

"That, my little hatchling," The elder Alsafin crooned, "Is because none ever did. It is images, spread across our world, to teach those whom walk the path who we are. And people move here, do they not? They would need to learn our history. To begin their own caches."

The old woman laughed, lifting Drache and spinning her about.

"Do not fret so over what may or may not hapen, nor the Preservaqtiuon. The senshi is unknown for now, my hatchling. Leave that fret to them.

The patch of scales fluttered to the ground and Alsafi inhaled sharply, looking again. The Painted Caverns -- ancient, old. She had... What was.... How did...

The painted cave was an old Preservation; early in the Alsafin's lives. Alsafi followed a couple images quietly, before looking out. She needed....

The caches... One was for her. The rest was to spread. The Dead gave to the living, to assure... Something. Something important, and she didn't know if she could trust her memory entirely. But she had to figure it out. Think like a dragon. Well, not hard, but for now...

Well. HER KITTEN NEEDED TO HEAR OF THIS. MORTE MAGIC HAPPENED, and the saenshi shifted to return home, a cloud of ash billowing through after the senshi disappeared for Earth.