Sabria awoke from her fitful sleep suddenly, sitting up in the hollow of the tree so abruptly she forgot to have a care for the low ceiling, head connecting with roof solidly with a dull thunk. "Ow!" she said, falling back onto her nest of dried leaves and grass covered with the more tattered of her blankets. Muttering curses under her breath, she crawled out of her very modest home, shooing a red-stripe squirrel that chattered at her scoldingly as she emerged.

        The frigid winter day seemed quiet enough as she peered about the small glade she had taken residence up in. Other than the wind that whistled through the remaining brown leaves around her, it was quiet. Indeed, it was rather too quiet, she thought when the air was rent with a horrific bellow that dropped her instinctively to the ground, reaching out for anything to use as a weapon.

        Trembling with fright, evergreen eyes were wide, she brushed a tendril of sun red hair that had escaped her braids with one hand, clinging to her weapon with a fearsome grip, creeping through the brush to the growing clamor not so very far away. She froze as sunlight flashed off of silver, but cruel laughter brought a scowl to her delicate features. She pushed the branches of the bush aside, and was astounded by what she saw.

        A man in black armor with a twisted sigil on it stood with his arms crossed, laughing at the silver dragon that was ensnared in some sort of trap. A net fouled the wings of the dragon, ropes tied each foot, one around its neck tightening as it struggled to free itself, or at the very least, reach the human tormenter and tear out his throat before death claimed it.

        Sabria had no idea why the dragon could not just snap the ropes, because they appeared like mere threads to the size of it. Of him. Her years of living among her people, she could see the nuances that distinguished this as a young but mature male dragon. Traceries of blue and green colored his throat, his broader muzzle. But it was his eyes that made her catch her breath again in aghast shock. Indigo, the deepest of the purples. He was a descendant of the most revered silver dragon of all the draconians.

        Without a second thought, even though she was merely half the cruel man's height, Sabria leapt out of the trees with a banshee's screech, brandishing a fire-tarnished old ladle, swinging with the ferocity of a star-crossed bride. Both dragon and man were startled for a moment, but that moment was long enough for that ladle to land a sound smack on a very tender area, felling the human man like a tree. The ladle bent when she swung at his head, but he was knocked out from the blow. It was his misfortune that Sabria continued to pound on him frantically until a deeper calm voice interrupted her.

        "Excuse me, but I believe he won't be causing any more problems."

        Sabria looked up blankly at the dragon. "You-you speak?"

        Indigo eyes narrowed slightly. "It does seem rather obvious, don't you think?" he asked caustically. "Would you terribly mind helping me get these ropes off?" He raised a forefoot, the constricting rope threatening to sever his barely working claws. She touched the rope, and drew back as it stung her. She rubbed her hands hastily on her legs to get the coating off of her own hands.

        "Need something to cut..." she muttered to herself, and went over to the man, pulling his sword free. She recognized the symbol engraved on the blade, and nearly dropped it. "Dragonsbane!" she gasped.

        "Hurry, girl!" the dragon snapped impatiently. She jumped, and obeyed the dragon, cutting him free. However, as soon as he was free, she dropped the sword and bolted into the trees again, ignoring the dragon's calling to her. She could hear the distant sound of leathery wings flapping as the air groaned with the sudden flight of the dragon.

        She continued to look up, to see if the dragon still pursued her, but the branches above her hid the view of the sky. Somewhat disoriented, Sabria did not notice where she was going until it was too late, skidding out onto the mirror smooth surface of the lake. Slowing her momentum, her weight fractured the fragile ice, and she was plunged into frozen darkness. She struggled to find the surface again, but a solid ceiling met her frantic hands, the icy cold water numbing her. Lungs burned with the need for oxygen, and, resigned to her own death, allowed herself to inhale.

        Forest green eyes fluttered open, and Sabria looked around in disorientation. "I-I'm alive," she stated in absolute amazement. Almost able to believe it was merely a dream, the sore ache in her throat spoke of her near death to drowning. She pushed herself up, and looked around in bewilderment. "Where-where am I?" she asked aloud, not expecting an answer. A crystalline cage within a huge cavern imprisoned her, a stone shelf with many soft blankets covering it the place she had awoken from.

        "You are in my home," a voice rumbled, and she nearly gave herself whiplash turning to look up at another ledge in the cavern where the silver dragon perched. It was merely a hop for him to come down to her level, his intense indigo eyes fixed on the girl.

        Sabria managed to frown at the dragon. "So this is the thanks I get for saving your life?" she demanded.

        "I owe you nothing," he snapped coldly. "You would have drowned, but for me. A life for a life. There is no debt."

        "Then why am I here?" The dragon did not say a word, turning his back on her. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

        "Dranadein girl," he rumbled, and she flinched, having hoped that her parentage was not so obvious. "You will be safe here. My caverns are warm, you will not want for food." He paused, as if to say something more, but his mouth shut and he turned his back on her, his wings draped across his back like a cloak.

        "Dragon! Get back here!!" she shrilled after him as he lumbered down the tunnel and left her truly alone, her voice echoing back at her. Her fist fell on the bars of her prison, Sabria yelping as the undeniable reality of pain interposed on her. With a sigh, she decided to explore the limits of her cage, a hole into the wall of the cavern rock shaped something like a doorway.

        Soft, light-bearing lichen illuminated the inner caverns, finding that there were two chambers. A pool of water, fed by a heated spring that entered through a crack in the rocks and leaving through an opposing too-narrow separation on the other side, was in one room, and boxes of things, obviously taken from pirate ships, from the logos that were scratched over more honorable emblems, filled another room.

        A gasp of delight escaped her as she found bolts of fine fabric in one, filmy pinks and lavenders that were the prized choice of nobility in the kingdoms south of the magicked lands that she had always called home until... Her smile faded, a slight frown replacing is as she shook her head sharply to dispel the painful thoughts. Turning her attention to the contents of the boxes, she firmly turned her mind towards far more amusing concerns.

        The silver dragon paused when he returned, looking at the crystalline cage in something akin to shock, which would probably be accurate, as he had never seen anything like what greeted his gaze. Like a web spider's net he had once seen when he was much smaller and tiny things were not so small that the were now merely lost memories, sheer pink and gaudy gold inlaid curtains were hung all over the little cage his dranadein was in.

        He knew she could not have come out. That was impossible, as the bars were magically shaped, and no hole was big enough to allow even her little self to squeeze through, nor was there a door that could be forced opened. Still, it was difficult for him to find her amid that decoration. He lowered his head until his nose barely touched the bars, puffing air at one curtain that was not as secure as the other. It fluttered free, collapsing.

        A bent ladle, part of the belongings that he had located of hers and brought back, suddenly smacked him soundly on his nose. He yelped like a hatchling, pulling back in something akin to hurt surprise. "I could not see you," he stated as he brought one forepaw to rub his nose.

        "That's the whole idea," she snapped, brandishing the cooking utensil like a gladiator wielded a sword. "A girl likes her privacy, even if I am a prisoner!"

        He growled. "You are not a prisoner!"

        Fists to hips, she asks, voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm in a cage like a prisoner. What would you call it?"

        The dragon was silent, the quiver of his wings bespeaking his loss of words. He had a tongue as silver as his hide, and over the past few weeks, he had lavished it on her, even though she continued to ignore him to the best of her ability. It amused her to remember her bardic instructor's absolute horror that she refused to soften her blunt observations in the well known tact and diplomatic manner that the bards had ever been famed for.

        She had enjoyed scandalizing him, and the rest of her bardic instructors, because none of them understood her. Year after year, they continued to pound traditional methods of creating music, and refused to give her the latitude her spirit yearned for. They called her gifted, yet tried to fetter her. Admired her tenacity, but were ever trying to cage her free spirit. Just like this dragon.

        The dragon. She almost sighed wearily as she focused on the present, and the indigo eyed ancient that loomed over her. She didn't know his name at all, nor had she asked for it at all. Her stubborn fury had been like a raging forest fire, bright as her red hair, keen as her wit. But after a while, having little else to do but watch the dragon as he would watch her, her indignation had begun to fade. At least a little, anyway.

        She gasped as the dragon turned suddenly, diving for the cover of her blankets that he'd returned to her as his tail slammed down on the cage. Nervously, she peeked back over, and blinked several times. There was a hole in the side of the cage, and the dragon was lumbering off towards his own sleeping lair. "There," his voice drifted back, echoes of deep pain under the snarling growl. "You are free."

        Sabria edged out of her hiding place, gripping the handle of her ladle in a deathgrip, waiting for the dragon to suddenly appear and... Well, she wasn't sure what she expected. He was a silver dragon, the most notably passive of all the dragon clans. As passive as dragons got, anyway. And she had to grudgingly admit, he had not brought any harm to her, except perhaps her ego.

        Outside of her former prison, she almost bolted for the outside exit, but her curiosity forced her to wonder why, all of a sudden, did this dragon suddenly give her her freedom? Certainly, he could not have really felt that smack on his nose with the ladle. Much. She had put her whole being into that whack. And while it'd felt so good at the time, guilt crawled in over her, the soft keening from farther into the depths of the cavern drew her to silently go look in.

        Evergreen eyes widened as she peeked around the corner, and got her first look at a true dragon's horde. It was everything--and nothing--like she had expected it would be like. Gold and other human trinkets lined the floor, save for the path to his couch. The stuff that was simply tossed to one side, something a king would kill his first born son for to get, looked to be the loot of some very unfortunate pirates. The things that were more cared for were tomes and scrolls and artistic works that would make any scholar swoon. Slowly, she edge her way into the cavern, now able to fully see the dragon.

        Curled into a miserable ball, his head turned away from her, his keening stopped as soon as he was aware of the slight girl. He stiffened like the granite walls of his lair. "You have your freedom," he snarled at her, not looking up. "Go! Begone, dranadein."

        She would have been angered at his sharp tones, should have been angered even. But she could sense a deeper pain. An old pain that had nothing to do with either the mind nor body. A pain that she knew all too well. She turned, her eyes falling onto a harp made of rosewood, her breath catching at the delicate beauty of it. Her hand fell to it, caressing it with a longing she had not known since Before.

        "My name," she said sharply, turning her own back on him, but aware of his eyes on her, a very physical sensation, "is Sabria." With that, she strode out of the cavern.

        Sabria opened one eye as a voice rumbled in honest amazement and confusion. "You are still here."

        "It does seem rather obvious, don't you think?" she said in the same mocking tones and the same words he had spoken to her when their paths first crossed. Laying on her bed, her hand pillowing her head, she glanced towards the silver dragon. He was still as a statue, and if not for his slow blinking of his eyes, or the twitching of his tail, one could have almost believed he was merely a statue.

        "I... do not understand," he finally said. "You have your freedom. Why do you not leave?"

        'Because I'm lonely, too,' she very nearly said, but repressed those words quickly. Instead, she tossed back nonchalantly, "It's still winter. I rather like being warm. So I'll stay here for a little while." Green eyes met indigo ones in silence for a long moment. "Thank you, dragon. For saving my life."

        He moved suddenly, disappearing into his cavern again, and she sat up in puzzlement as he returned. Sabria drew in her breath in a sudden intake of shock as the rosewood harp was gently set just outside of the hole rent in her modest shelter. "My name," he rumbled in quiet tones, "is Vikaelis."

        The small fire crackled merrily as the echo of a song faded. Vikaelis and Sabria sat in companionable silence that was broken by the dragon first. "You are an unbond dranadein," he stated. She flinched, but nodded in admission of that. "There is great power in you, and a kind heart. I am surprised you did not bond in the spring hatchings."

        Sabria cringed, hugging the harp to her tightly at the sudden stab of pain. "No one wanted me," she whispered after many long minutes, eyes fixed on the fire. "There was one..." she said, her voice failing her periodically as the old heartache threaten to send her into the sobs she thought herself well past. "We looked at each other for a long time, but..." She buried her head, falling silent as a muffled sob escaped.

        "She went solitary," Vikaelis rumbled, an understanding she hadn't expected in his tones. "Many centuries ago, when I hatched, I had looked for someone. But there were no companions for me. Then... I had found a mate." Smoldering rage was a physical emanation from the dragon. "Dragonsbane had killed her before..."

        Sabria looked up at Vikaelis, wishing time and again that her dragonhealing touch had been more than simply a painfully keen sense of empathy. But music was her gift, much to her parents disappointment, both dragonhealers. All her siblings had strong gifts in the art that was held nearly sacred among the draconic races. When she wasn't even chosen, the whispers of there being something wrong with her were finally too much to bear. "I'm sorry," she told the dragon. "Truly I am."

        "I don't know why I brought you here," he continued, looking towards the starlit exit, glowing diamonds on the blackest velvet coating the sky with not a hint of moon nor the shadow of cloud in the sky, the night silent. "Even though we are much alike," he began, his voice falling silent as he looked down at the small young woman.

        Gentle notes flowed from the harp like audible water, Vikaelis closing his eyes at the poignant beauty of the haunting melody. The dragon shivered as Sabria's voice joined the melody, the song so very close to what dragons called the dragonsong, the music of their souls that was their true names. To hear it was to know what peace was, to know true love that demanded nothing, but offered everything. The alluring songs of dragons, few of even their own kind able to render it accurately when they chose to sing, was seducing even to humans.

        But in their misunderstanding of dragons, humans were condemned to irrational fears, ignorant condemnation of dragonkind as evil, and denial of the beauty of their own souls, their own songs only hinted at by the truly gifted bards. And even they sought to capture that elusive song that would give them completion, and bring them peace to their own troubled souls.

        But here, in Vikaelis' lonely lair, from the throat of a mere wisp of a dranadein girl, was forgiveness, healing, peace. In her song, he knew her own pain, the agonizing loneliness that being different had imposed on her, the gifts that went unnoticed because they were something new. It moved him like nothing he had ever felt before, and he raised his head, and sang. Sabria looked startled, but did not falter, as the sweet notes that did not seem possible to come from a being so massive joined her own, and soothed her own battered soul.

        In the silence that followed, Sabria and Vikaelis looked at one another. "You are beautiful, Sabria of the dranadein," he murmured. "Thank you for your gift. It means more than I can say."

        "Vikaelis," she whispered, uncertain what to say when the silver dragon hushed her, his huge foretalon gently brushing her lips. She clasped the finger, resting her head on his foot, heavy lashes unable to stop the single tear that coursed down her cheek.

        "You have shown me something I had been blind to," he murmured. "In my clan, there are few born into my Family. We are supposed to be the mageborn. The line of healers is strong, but until now, I had never been able to heal the pain I have endured for centuries." Sabria lifted her eyes to his. "We were meant to find each other."

        "B-but the bond is only formed at a dragon's birth," she argued weakly as realization dawned about the meaning in Vikaelis' words. "And I am too old. Too small. None of my family--"

        "Your physical stature doesn't mean anything, Sabria. You were not meant to lose your magic within the bond of lifemated dranadein, as I was not. It is why neither of us found a traditional partner." He lowered his head, the firelight gleaming off of his burnished silver hide, reflected in indigo eyes so dark, they were nearly black. "We were meant for this, Sabria."

        "For what?" she asked breathlessly, unable to look away from his eyes, a quiver of excitement dampened only by the haze of self-doubt. "I am no dragonhealer."

        "No," he agreed. "You are not a mere dragonhealer. As I am not." Though he was physically incapable of smiling, he almost seemed to then. "We," he emphasized, "are something more. We are healers of the soul. We are," he paused, searching for the right term.

        A sense of rightness flooded Sabria, and she straightened, squaring her shoulder. "We are dragonsingers."