All water sings with the same voice, the gentle lap of the waves on the shore, the laughing burble of a flowing stream, the mighty roar of a cascade. Anyone with ears can hear the water sing, but only water dragons know its rhythm in the beating of their hearts and the flow of their blood, just as the fire dragons dance to the flame and the storm dragons crackle with the energy of the lightning.
But the water has another song, a voice that beckons to Aymeri. Following its call, he flies over his eyrie’s traditional hunting grounds, ascending high into the mountain ranges of the mainland to the great falls that are the source of the river that twists through the valley below. It is a place without a name, shunned by all dragonkind because of the fae magic that permeates the very air here. Fae magic is dangerous, even when dormant, and in this place it is sharp and very much awake.
Transforming as he lands, Aymeri hesitates on the shore. This is where the water’s song lead him, this place where dragonkind’s deepest superstitions forbid him to be, where every fear instilled in him since his days as a juvenile becomes real. This was a foolish plan, and he should flee now, back to the safety of his eyrie, the warmth and comfort of his clutch.
He rolls his shoulders back, inhaling the mist that rises from the falling water, tasting the magic on his tongue, letting it fill his lungs, and steps one foot into the cold mountain tarn, followed by the next, treading in until he’s in waist deep. His fingers graze over the water’s surface, feeling the vibrating song on his skin. The roar of the falls is deafening, drowning out the call of birds and the chirps of insects, but he still hears the voice, louder here than anywhere else.
“I am here,” he answers it, wondering what he expected to find, and whether this was all he would achieve from this illicit adventure, more doubt and questions.
The ground slips away beneath his feet, pulling him down with force of a tide, taking him under.