[evening, in the hatching cave]

Roderick dragged the burlap sack to the cavern entrance and dumped its 
contents, adding to one of the many piles of debris that slanted away from 
the wall.  The worst of the rubble had been cleared immediately after the 
cave-in - the safety of the eggs was paramount, it seemed - but there was 
still a fair amount of waste rock to be cleared before the place would be 
comfortable again.  Not that rolling around in a caveful of sand sounded all 
that comfortable to begin with, but he supposed that dragons had different 
standards for such things.

Well, no matter... it was a task that needed doing, and he was a man with 
too much time on his hands.  Perhaps when this was done, he would see about 
borrowing some tools and doing some caprentry, as he had told Arri he might 
do...  it wasn't smithing, but it would give him something to do while he 
recovered his strength.

<Busy all right, will be> a strange voice assured him.

Roderick froze, the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.  
Slowly he glanced around for the source of the sound.  There were several 
other warren folk helping clear the sands, but they all seemed intent on 
their work and too far away for the quiet murmur he had just heard.  He 
adjusted the lantern to shed more light and looked around some more.

"What are you?" Roderick demanded under his breath, "Some kind of ghost?"  
With a pang he thought of the friend he had wronged, and Roderick worried 
perhaps that the man's shade had followed him all the way here to haunt him 
forever...

<Good jest!> the strange voice laughed.  <Ghost of your new life, am I, 
coming soon to claim you!>

Dropping the sack, Roderick bolted.  Outside the cavern, surrounded by 
reassuring starlight, he stretched and took a deep breath.  Hallucinations, 
nothing more, he told himself.  He'd experienced plenty of phantoms during 
his struggle for survival, figments of a mind weakened by starvation and 
exposure to the elements.  He had hoped those days were behind him, now that 
he had a home again, but perhaps the ordeal had permanently damaged him, so 
that from now on he would see and hear things...

<Not figment,> the voice said indignantly, though it seemed fainter here.  
<Real, and part of you, soon to be!>

The former smith clutched his skull.  "Shut up!  Shut up!  Shut up!" he 
bellowed, drawing stares from passers by.  "If you're part of me, I command 
you to stop tormenting me at once!"

<Command me?> the ever-fainter voice seemed amused.  <Not yours to command, 
Meat Boy.  Go play with metal and wood, keep yourself out of trouble until I 
am ready.>

Roderick cried out in fear and ran all the way back to the quarters he 
shared with other refugees.  It was at least an hour before he felt like 
emerging, and only then to stagger down to the dining commons in search of a 
stiff belt of whatever might be good to drink around here...

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

[NRPG  optional tag... anyone want to encounter Rod in the dining hall and 
talk to him about his hair-raising experience?]

Respectfully submitted,

M. David Lankford

    Arkt'han/Auram, Marrid
    Roderick, Xylian


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