Cold. It had been warm before. But something stirred outside and now both the heat and her peaceful slumber slipped away into consciousness. Then in short order the memory of peace and quiet faded and the inside began to feel altogether far too cramped.
Light gleamed in through her shell. The promise of more to come. And something inside urged her to break free from the egg.
Crack.
The egg-horn on her muzzle was perfectly shaped for escaping these confines. Same as her tiny claws. This prison stood no chance. In fact she would be surprised if anyone could be faster...
"And that makes five!"
Six pairs of eyes stared her down. Four feisty and small. Two towering far above the rest; one stern, one tender.
The tender one spoke, "Frosti," and a flood of memories assaulted the young dragon's mind. Images of her mother's past came flooding in. Hunting for rodents. Collecting scraps of metal and meat. Language and instincts all passed down telepathically.
The stern one was much less inviting, "She stands out too much to survive the tundra, why waste your energy teaching her?" which was retorted with a very much not telepathic snarl.
Her siblings were all various shades of grey and blue. Yet, while they all blended in easily with the icy cavern walls, Frosti was an oasis of color. A brilliant blue with fiery lavender eyes.
Frosti was scooped up to the high shelf where her mother sat, away from her siblings and up into the cold. The shelf was made of solid ice. In certain spots you could peer through it, looking down at the distorted figures of her brothers. It was slippery, too. Frosti had to dig her claws into the ground just to keep from sliding towards the wall where her mother rested.
Then again, there was a spot under her mother's wing; enough room for just one dragonet. And it was cold wherever the wind blew, sending a chill down Frosti's back despite her frigid scales. Yes, under her mother's wing was the perfect spot.
It was possible to see through the shelf from this perfect spot. Down below her brothers were finishing their first meal. The last of their egg sacs. Her own must have come off in the egg, for Frosti could not find it.
Her mother said, "Soon, they will see who is the strongest among them. Stay with me until their territorial instincts quell."
Sounds of skittering rats came from the wall behind them. One dared to come closer to scavenge the scraps of meat too small for a dragon to care about. Frosti snorted at it. The rat froze. The two of them stared at each other; one afraid, one curious.
Frosti was pushed out from under the warmth of her mother's wing, "Well? Go get it."
She stared up at her mother, then at her wing, now folded tightly. Frosti wasn't being watched. Instead, her mother's eyes tracked the rats as they scampered to wherever rats go in the evening.
The rats were nice, Frosti decided. She would keep one. With that conviction, she wound up her hind legs...
"Don't think too hard," her mother thought to her, "hunting comes as naturally to us as walking."
Think too hard? Was there more to think about? She turned back to her mother. Those eyes smiled back, an excited mother watching her daughter's first hunt.
When she turned back, the rat had already understood the situation and was scampering away as fast as it could muster. Frosti followed in cold pursuit.
You won't get away so easily. You will be Ratricia, and you will be mine. I will love-
Unfortunately, even the minuscule weight of a dragon hatchling was many times that of a rat. It swerved along the wall, and Frosti came barreling into it headfirst.
"Ratricia" was halfway to the safety of a rat-hole when Frosti's vision cleared. She was moving fast, but her mother faster. A wing-claw gored the rat in a split second; then deposited it in front of Frosti.
"Everyone's first hunt is a little sloppy. And you had yours much sooner than I did! Here, eat up."
Frosti looked at the rat. It didn't look back. Awful, terrible. Did her mother not hear her plan? She roared inside, trying to send feelings the same way her mother shared so many memories. No response; just curious eyes as her daughter pouted in front of a perfectly good meal.
Then Frosti roared for real, and kicked the rat all the way to the rat-hole.
"Not hungry?" an awkward pause, met with a piercing purple glare, "If you didn't want it you could have just said so."
"I did want her! And then you killed her!"
"We are dragons, we have to kill things to keep living. It's them or you; you'll get hungry eventually."
"I'm not planning to kill anything."
"If you really don't want to hunt your own food, perhaps you can get one of your brothers to do it; lord knows I make your father hunt."
It was too late to do anything about the rat. The others had run and hidden. Killing had come easily to her mother. She had seen it in the memories and in her mother's actions. Why didn't she feel the same way?
They sat together after that. Less cozily, but that perfect spot under her mother's wing was too good to refuse.
"Watch, Frosti," her mother cooed, "they each believe themself the strongest..."
Below the shelf, Frosti's brothers were circling carefully. Their claws were out. Each of them looked ready to pounce.
Crack.
Two pairs of horns slammed into each other, eventually ending with one brother on top of the other, teeth bearing in for the kill.
Frosti tucked herself behind the shelf. What were they fighting for? There was plenty of space, and enough food.
Her mother leapt down to scoop up the loser. The winner snapped his jaw up at the unwittingly retreating foe, beaming displeasure at the fight being cut short; his scales were the brightest white of all the siblings, and the only speck of color on his body was the ice blue eyes as intense as Frosti's own scales.
Three remained.
Her mother continued, "...but only one of them can be right."
The weakest brother was pulled up to the egg shelf, and their mom set to work cleaning his wounds, "Only one female, and I'll be damned if I only have two surviving hatchlings."
"Hi Frosti," the loser squeaked, "I almost had him."
"Had him for what?"
"Father's name... and being in charge of the hatching cave."
"You would kill for that?"
"Obviously! If I didn't get interrupted, of course," he shot a look at their mother.
"You didn't get your own name yet?"
Their mother responded for the both of them, "He will be called Snowfall," then set him free, seeing as his wounds were merely scratches.
"Snowfall, apparently. I'm going to go back in there."
Snowfall was grabbed by the tail. Their mother pinned him to the high shelf, "No you don't champ. You've already got your name."
Snap.
This was not a playful sounding crack like before. Of the three brothers remaining in the pit, one suddenly fell limp between the brightest's jaw.
Two remained.
Their mother echoed quietly just to the two siblings at her side, "...and if you aren't the strongest, you must have a better plan..."
The third brother stood silently for a spell. Their mother glared at their father, who seemed all too pleased at his son's display of strength. Then, the third brother bolted.
She continued, "...or an escape plan, I suppose."
The brightest leapt to pursue, but their father called him, "My son! I award you with my own name: Frostbite; and will bring you a meal befitting your dominant performance."
Frostbite senior turned to leave. Frostbite junior was deposited upon the shelf where the other two siblings rested. Immediately he was on Snowfall, preparing to finish what he started.
Their mother slammed her hands between the two brothers, sending them both tumbling away. She snarled at Frostbite, "You have already won. Now relax and celebrate with your siblings."
Their father heaved against a boulder protecting the hatching cavern. The flash of light from outside the cave was brilliant white, a flash in the darkness Frosti had been engulfed in since leaving the egg.
The light captivated Frosti. It twinkled across the tundra and their father's scales. The inside of the hatching cave was suddenly alight with dancing color. She dove to capture one in her hands, but they disappeared as quickly as they arrived. Disappointing. Her father closed the cavern entrance behind him with a heavy thud.
"What's out there?" Frosti asked her mother.
"Snow, mostly. And danger for a dragonet such as yourself."
"Not danger for me!" Frosti proclaimed. Frostbite agreed wholeheartedly, and the two of them set towards the edge of the shelf.
The next images from her mother's mind were haunting.
She was traipsing through the snow with her siblings, their hatching cave many miles behind them. They had practiced their hunting for weeks, and were now able to take down a wolf if they stuck together. A wolf much like the one before her.
It took a lot of patience, but the wolves' tactics relied on separating the herd. Nothing had the stamina to compare with a dragon. And her siblings were smart enough to stick together. Wolf fangs might be able to pierce through her scales now, but in just a few short months her scaly coat would harden and form into nigh impenetrable armor.
But this fight was different. This wolf's pack never turned up. This wolf's ears were large and drooped. He seemed flighty, yet never turned to run. All the same, he never committed to a fight. Like he was waiting for something.
Beyond the hill a creature stood on two legs, pointing a metal stick at them. They locked eyes for just a second.
Bang.
Her brother landed face first in the snow. Breathless.
"My brother never got up. The three of you may grow to be the strongest dragons this side of the great ocean, but you have a lot of growing yet to do."
Frosti was entirely convinced. The memory answered her question, after all. No need to stain another hillside with dragon blood. Her mother probably had more memories to share, and that would have to suffice her appetite for the outdoors in safety.
Frostbite, on the other hand, kept marching towards the cavern entrance, "I'm going anyway. I defeated two", he looked at Snowfall indignantly, "and a half dragons and they had more scales than anyone in your stories."
He left the shelf, but their mother made no motion to stop him. Eventually he came up to the massive boulder. Frostbite sat lopsided and pondered his options for a few minutes. Frosti watched as he tried digging out under it. He also spent a while trying to climb to the top with no success. Eventually, he turned and trotted off into the deeper caves.
Snowfall was not long behind. Their mother tried to convince him to stay and sit peacefully on the shelf, but eventually his constant nipping and attempts to wrestle drained her patience. He, too, was sent to explore.
"Mama, tell me more about outside?"
"What do you want to know? There is a lot of danger, but there are many treasures, too."
Frosti pondered. She had only really been granted a few memories. Some hunting trips. Sleeping under an open night sky. Her mother's warning. And she had no memories of her own! How could she know what to ask?
"What were the lights? In the sky and all over the cave?"
"Not the same. Stars in the sky never change. The gods live there, always guiding us; if you know how to read the stars. As for your father's light show earlier? He's just very pretty. Not unlike yourself, watch..."
Her mother etched out something on the ice shelf. A circle surrounded by runes of a sort. She chanted the words to a spell, not telepathically this time. The words, heavily accented, echoed majestically off the cavern walls.
Then the sigil began to glow, pulling a beam of light from the earth, through the glassy ice, and up onto the ceiling.
"Enjoy, sweetheart," her mother guided her into the light, which reflected off her body. Nowhere near as bright as her father's armored scales. Hers were blue instead of white, and would remain leathery until her first molting.
The light was a joy. She could bathe the cave in sparkly blues, and parade around as the most beautiful thing in the world to her heart's content! Frosti bathed in the light until it faded. By then, her mother was sleeping; unresponsive to Frosti's complaint.
For a while, she studied the dead sigil. The lettering was foreign to her, and no matter what she tried, her claws weren't strong enough to etch the ice the way her mother had. She mimicked the guttural chant, too, to no avail.
Frosti headbutt her mother, "wake up! I want another!"
Her mother shifted in her sleep, rolling... towards Frosti! Her claws couldn't get a grip on the ice. Instead, she ran in place, paws squeaking and scratching across the ground beneath her. The slippery ice was a blessing as much as as curse: when her mother landed on her, she popped out like a curling stone.
It was impossible to steer. She didn't have wings yet. Her claws couldn't dig in and slow her down. All she could do was watch as the curve of the back wall guided her path. At this speed, there was barely any time to realize that the path included the edge of the shelf, and in a moment she was sent flying down to the arena where her brothers had their first battle.
The lower ground was not ice, but was instead a soft stone.
Thud.
Perhaps it was soft for a type of stone. Ouch.
Frosti looked up to where her mother slept. She took up three quarters of the shelf on her own!
The lower level was decidedly more interesting. There were pockets where rats were surely hiding, waiting for the dragons to drop their guard. The floor was littered with interesting rocks and metals, but nothing precious. And there was the massive cave which Frostbite descended over an hour ago.
Frosti looked to the shelf one more time. There wasn't exactly anything to do. The sigil slept as soundly as her mother did. And then she looked to the cave. It was dark, too dark for even dragon eyes. It was, however, noisy. Bats screeching, rats skittering, water running. All knowledge granted to her by her mother's memories.
Perhaps it was time to earn her own memories.