Entry 12 - Book 15

I was granted a very special opportunity to witness a breathtaking tradition and cultural merge. In Northern-Eastern Lieo, Dracos lay their eggs among a flat snowy field. Rather than protect the eggs as is traditional in every other form of the species, these parents leave their unborn in the care of a small tribe.   When dusk set they insisted we travel on foot, away from their home and out into the middle of the nests. A group of children, their faces lost among the layers of clothing, played a myriad of games with a string of blue lights along the way. High-pitched whistles and snow drifting lazily across the ground contradicted the warmth and stillness of the nests. The eggs glowed, candles surrounded them and the children who ran around circled one of the eggs. They shifted, sliding the lights and adjusted more than once.   The tribe dispersed around the nest, one member seemed to inspect them, another eagerly hugged on an egg and basked in the warmth. Something about the nest gave a calm atmosphere, whether it was the glow of the eggs or the subtle lights of the sky. The cheerful nature of the people eased any worries and doubt in my mind over the nest or how the mother Dracos would respond to my presence.   The eggs burned and vibrate to the touch, a burgundy hand-print faded slowly back to its original yellow. They are unlike anything I have experienced before, to say the least, not many get the chance to be so up close with Dracos eggs. The closest comparison I can think of is that of the Aura Crystals in the Remnants of Halo; both give off the color and metaphysical effects of Citrine crystals.   The mountains crowned by the Borealis lights are reminiscent of something not quite explainable, a memory of a place that does not exist. Staring at it, eventually, it feels like an ocean of color, the only thing that kept me tethered to reality among those beautiful lights was the impatient tug at my sleeve. Nothing quite made sense in the moment, white noise took hold of everything before gradually settling, and there he stood. Scrawny and only about hip height, how could a child not get cold in this weather with a jacket such as his?   He did not speak, and at that moment I could not recall a single moment I ever heard him say anything during my visit, but he was obviously focused on something important that I was not seeing. I meant to approach the child hugging the Dracos eggs until the silent one pulled hard once more, it wasn't until then that I noticed a dark shift far out near the mountains. Before I could react, the child looked to me and the orange glow reflected on his eyes gave his smile something more kind in nature. I chose not to share with the tribe what I saw, as normally the adult Dracos were in another place entirely to hunt, and I feared what would happen if that one were bothered.   The rest of the night was gone in a flurry of cheerful serenity and childish games, the adults played along in bouts of tag, chase, hide and seek, and guessing games. In moments of calm, the older members told stories of past seasons, how Dracos who were hatchlings once protected them, surprise visits from families of Dracos that have not been here in generations. Through all this, I had an epiphany of sorts, the thought that there was a spiritual connection that could last generations beyond one's life between the Dracos and this small tribe had never occurred to me.   I found myself unable to sleep when it was time to that night, I laid in bed with thoughts of the future, whether I would encounter a Dracos and if they would remember me. It is not entirely unheard of, the tribe people recounted stories of past visitors who met the Dracos as young hatchlings or even eggs only to have them remember and stick to the visitors like glue. This trip surprised me in more than one way, and I'm not entirely certain what it is about these eggs that have fixated since my arrival. All I can say is to anyone who receives an invitation to the Draconis Borealis tradition, I implore you to accept it.   I hope to visit here again and see the eggs as young Dracos, and the children as adults, if not soon then at least before I die.   -Prof. Mourningfaun

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