The Golden Dragon's Hoard

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Younglings needed constant attention; warmth and care and a steady source of food.

They were hard to come by with so few of their species left and the ones that do exist are treated as the most rewarding of treasures. They aren't abandoned and they certainly aren't hurt by those in their den.

This hatchling must have been taken from his clutch, must've been stolen.

For nothing good, Atty knew. The sight of the scars made his scales itch, fury and protectiveness raging through him like a storm.

If he ever found those who left even a single mark on this young one...

Well, it would be a swift end. But it wouldn't be a very pleasant one.

As the baby whined softly in his sleep, little wings fluttering just a bit, the ancient dragon leaned down and blew little sparks against the other's scales. The heat made the youngling sink further into the blankets, a pleased hiss coming from tiny jaws.

Content, Atlas scooted closer, curling further around him, tail over his paws.

He rested his head next to the hatchling, simply watching them.

When he wakes, they might be able to get more answers—he hopes the little one will be able to communicate further than the instinctual fear responses from earlier. If not, he hopes the little one will at least eat.

If they won't be able to understand what led the baby dragon here, they can at least take care of the small one.

Hatchlings deserve someone to care for them, to love them.

Athanasius, despite what a lot of people think, has a lot of love to give.

He'd happily welcome the hatchling into his hoard, happily be his protector.

The baby, though, might not be so happy with that. Especially after being forced to fend for himself for so along—and after what created those scars.

Trust won't come easy.

-——-——-

It's one of those rare times that he's left the nest—for the past three days while the hatchling recovers from his exhaustion and panic, safe and warm for the first time in however long it's been for him, Athanasius has stayed diligent in watching over him.

His partner has brought him food and water, yes, but there's only so much Erasmus can provide before he is forced to leave the little dragon's side.

He doesn't like it, and neither does his instincts, but this is a must.

Besides, it is only him in the home.

Oziamon and Ras are below, in their shop. There's been a big order placed for an upcoming union for two of the human families in the town—they want the best flowers and herbs for the day.

And though he isn't one to feed into his witch's ego, Oz does have the best of the best.

"If you need us," Ozzy had said, forehead pressed into his own, eyes closed and hands resting upon his shoulders. "Please, don't be afraid to ask for help."

"I won't." It's true, even if Atlas is a prideful creature with a painful past, he would not risk the hatchling's care for that pride. "I'll be callin' ya if I need you."

"Promise?" Erasmus, from next to them, asks, wings spread wide just a bit and his feathers rumpled. His partner's blazing blue eyes are narrowed at him, expression soft but stern. "I know we're... different, that we do not know all your past, but we love you and we're here."

"I know, Ras," the ancient dragon rolls his eyes. "Now get goin', you got a shop to run."

And he has a hatchling to look out for.

"Fine," Oziamon finally pulls back, playfully scoffing. "Getting rid of me as soon as a new guy comes along, I see how it is."

"At least you're aware," he pauses, then drawls out, "Nerd."

Ras had pulled his pseudo son away as soon as he realized their witch was going to try to play-fight him. Which, honestly, would have taken too much time.

Time that now, he needed to use wisely.

Letting out a sigh that blows a cloud of smoke through his nose, Atlas stretches out and brings his head down to the little dragon.

Sniffling the youngling, he ensures that he's content and safe before he dares to move away. Shifting, the ancient dragon shakes his limbs out, skin feeling awkward after spending so long in his scales.

He tucks the little dragon in further, encasing him snuggly into a thick blanket, but making sure that he leaves his snout poking out so he could breathe. Then he builds up the edges of the den, high and tight—he'll know if anything or anyone dares to mess with it.

It does take some self-convincing to be able to leave the nest, but Atlas manages.

Usually, there would be more than one dragon for every hatchling, but not here. Here, there's only him... and there's been only him for a long time.

He doesn't like to think about why that is.

Atlas, after using the restroom and giving himself a quick wash down, and rushed his way to the kitchen. There's adrenaline pumping through him, worry and anxiety. He hadn't wanted to be away from the little one for so long.

Quickly, he grabs some dried meat from their cupboards and retrieves a bowl of ice to ensure that both he and the hatchling remain hydrated.

Atlas is many things, but a bad caretaker is not one of them.

When he comes back to the den—the warm, safe den—everything is how he had left it. The nest is formed high and secure, the youngling is asleep and purring, hidden from anyone who would dare interfere with his rest.

It's okay. No matter what happens, no matter who has hurt the baby, it will be okay.

Athanasius is the only dragon in his coven.

But he is not the only one in his coven. He has his witch and his partner. He is not alone and this little one, this hatchling, will no longer be, either.