The Dragon of Roads

That night, we teleported to a completely different location for some leisure. Naturally, with us not being unwashed savages, we equipped ourselves with the proper headwear for such an occasion.

"And you said that there are multiple books on this topic?" asked Erethel as the eyestalks of her own hat brushed against the low ceiling of the tunnel we were walking through in single file. "As in, someone found this topic fascinating enough to write not only one book, but several."

She was being diplomatic and trying her best to show interest in one of my hobbies, perhaps all for Ribbette's benefit, so I will be charitable in accepting her ignorance and lack of enthusiasm for collecting things.

"Oh, yes," I answered with a little extra zest and merriment, just to hype up the gang. "Six books on subterranean, and a whole four more on terrestrial. I know there are more books on aquatic variants, but I have not been able to get my hands on them. Very few were ever scribed."

In truth, I have already located those books in question, but I left them in circulation so that someone can buy them for me as a gift. It really sorts out who pays attention to what I say and who does not, and who really cares about me (or wants to ingratiate themselves with me), and who has other priorities.

"Fascinating," she replied with a grunt as she squeezed through a narrow gap.

I could have widened the tunnel into this particular cave, but I wanted to maintain the natural beauty of it. I also didn't want larger predators to wander into this cave and mess up the little biome that my books promised could be found here. The air was growing thick with moisture and more than a little warm, not that such trivialities of climate were of any concern to my person these days. However, it was a good clue that I had found the right cave. Well, "cavern", as all caverns are caves but not all caves are caverns (or so my books tell me). It is a little subjective.

Being in the lead, I pushed aside the vines in our way and I was the first to step into the cave proper. The sight before me did not disappoint. Behind me followed Erethel, It-Has-Pockets, Hopper, Ribbette, and Skull, in that order.

"Behold!" I declared with one arm pointed out to the area in front of me. "Singing Star Cavern."

"Woah," most of the gang declared in unison.

"It's beautiful," Erethel whispered with the hint of a tear in her eye.

"Those 'stars' you see flickering around here are one of three species of snails found in this cavern. If you get too close or bother them, they will 'sing' at you in warning, hence the name of the cavern."

We fanned out to appreciate the view and take in the flora and fauna. The walls are covered in vines. Snails live on the vines and feast upon them. Bats that occasionally frequent the cavern feast upon the snails and help fertilize the vines. They are the bulk of the circle of life within this first chamber of the caverns. There is also a massive crystal in the ceiling. According to the book, it connects to the outside and refracts the light of the sun such that it illuminates the entire chamber during the day. Additionally, water leaks in from above and pools into a hot spring in the middle of the chamber, which in turn provides the warm and moist climate.

Hopper and Ribbette wasted no time in entering the hot spring. Their sighs of contentment were clear indicators that it was not intolerably warm.

"Come on in, everyone. The water is fine."

Ribbette still has some croakiness to her voice, but otherwise, her reward of language comprehension and speech (as granted to her from a raid we completed some time ago) has become one of the favorite tools in her arsenal. Not that anyone can blame her for being so inquisitive and chatty now that she has a more responsive means of communication.

"Verily, the vapors soothe the skin as the water refreshes the tranquility of the spirit," agreed Hopper. He tends to be very poetic and flowery with his speech.

The book assured me that there is nothing bitey or pinchy in the water, and even if such critters did exist, my draconic nature and prowess would be more than enough to scare away even the most dimwitted of lower lifeforms, not that they could pierce my skin to begin with. With little more than a thought, my clothes disappeared to one of my pocket dimensions.

Certainly, Skull was not shy, nor did she or It-Has-Pockets have reason to be timid around me or each other. Without reservation, we descended into the water and found relaxing places to sit. By all accounts, the stone here was worn in such a way as to suggest that some individuals in the past have shaped the pool to become rather comfortable and inviting.

Erethel only hesitated for a moment, which would be barely noticeable to normal people. However, we were not normal people on so many spectrums of consideration. With nothing but her birthday suit, some jewelry, and her hat, she found her seat in the water between It-Has-Pockets and Ribbette. We found a comfortable balance of not ogling her beauty overly much, nor in averting our gaze so much that we would appear to be prudish or uninterested in her. It is a fine line to walk when considering the pride of powerful and seasoned individuals.

No one talked for a little bit as we just enjoyed the peace of the hot spring and its mild yet quite real supernatural qualities for refreshing the body. Once everyone acclimated, I made a show of producing pipes of different length, each shaped for a particular note. I know that to be true because I disassembled a syrinx to make them. These ones in particular were made of tin and some sort of crystal that I was not overly familiar with at that time.

"Pick one and pass the rest along," I told Ribbette as I handed her all six pipes.

That got her excited, and she bounced up and down with enthusiasm as the instructions were followed. Most of the rest simply picked one and passed the rest along, all with quiet curiosity. That left me with the pipe least favored.

"Now," I started as I held up the pipe for everyone to review, "These caverns got the word 'Singing' in their name for a reason. I have it on good authority that the snails here will sing back at us for a moment in the same pitch as these pipes. Let's take turns giving it a go, yeah?"

I turned my head to Ribbette, and with glee, she blew on her pipe. A moment later, the snails all around the room responded with the same note, which caused Ribbette to giggle and the rest of us to chuckle. Soon everyone had a turn at it, and then we spent some time playing a few tunes rather slowly so that the snails could follow along, each of us playing our respective note.

After a good soak, we all returned to dryish land and used our various Abilities to dry ourselves off before dressing ourselves. Once adequately clothed and assembled, I addressed the group.

"This cavern is not particularly large. It has seven chambers, and this one is the second largest. Let's split off into pairs and hunt for good specimens of…" I drawled out.

"SNAILS!"

Everyone but Erethel shouted the word for me. It had become a little game, once the hunt proper started, that any time I would go to say the word 'snail', everyone else would shout it instead. This being the first time Erethel had the pleasure of joining us, she was obviously ignorant of such refined cultural norms. However, we would remedy that soon enough and make a proper snail hunter out of her yet. With that rather plush hat of the aforementioned creature on her head (even if it is rather generic), she cannot possibly fail.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I paired off with Hopper, Skull with It-Has-Pockets, and Ribbette with Erethel. Collectively, we curated a respectable inventory of potential snails to induct into my collection. Sadly, we found none with the hereditary abnormality that caused their shell to spiral the opposite way, but I have been on many snail hunts and have only found two of them (up to that point in time) in species where such was not common. Overall, it was a rather enjoyable experience and everyone seemed to appreciate the time spent together.

While I was not directly privy to it at the time, the powers of a demigod enable me to have extraordinary levels of prowess into researching the past. The exact details may be beyond my view, for gods demand some level of privacy, but Erethel did sleep and dream that night. I know that her god spoke to her about something important, and that her time in that cavern that imitates the night sky had something to do with why that happened. A subtle shift in her behavior after that night did not escape my notice, but I did fail to determine what drove it and to what purpose that she dedicated her focus.

Meanwhile, Chooka and Tamadora were in a room at The Wayward Oasis (which is Tamadora's own brothel). There was also a distinguished gentleman that most likely prefers to remain anonymous, especially considering the nature of the establishment and his particular reasons for being there in that room with the two of them.

"I understand the fascination with them," Tamadora communicated to Chooka via telepathy, for the words of Tamadora's own voice are far too powerful for conversation, "But I do not understand 'why' they are so wonderful. I feel like knowing that will enable me to better captivate my clientele."

"I only have my own interpretation of the world to go by," Chooka responded as she finished tightening a restraint. "But it has suited me well so far."

Tamadora's lack of dismissal was seen as an invitation to continue, not that she would dare forestall any effort on Chooka's part to share anything. Tamadora does indeed love and respect Chooka more than anyone but yours truly, and so she was keen to learn from Chooka.

"When we first gain awareness of any sort, we are in a place that is warm, safe, nourishing, and comforting. Then a terrible day comes when we are cast out of that paradise and into a world that is cold and uncaring. Our minds are too ignorant and weak to understand what has happened or why, for we only know that it is the worst thing that has ever happened." She pointed over to Tamadora's hand. "You should probably let him breathe for a moment."

Tamadora removed the tip of her thumb that covered the hose that led to the man's mouth, and he greedily gulped down air from the only source available to him given his voluntary predicament. She also contemplated the truth of those words, for Tamadora had not been born in the conventional way and thus had no experience with what was being discussed.

"However, in most circumstances, all is not lost. For we quickly find love, safety, comfort, and delicious sustenance in the bosom of our mothers. They offer us reprieve from the frightening and the unpleasant. Those twin mounds embody our hopes and dreams, for our first days are spent longing for the moment to return and suckle at those fountains of our youth.

"Then the day comes when we are cut off from our sanctuary. By then, we are used to eating solid food, but it foreshadows a trend. We are still loved and adored, but our first physical manifestation of surety for that love becomes beyond our reach."

Chooka paused so that the man could once again gasp for a sweet breath of air.

"From there, in a conventional and healthy family, we are loved unconditionally until the onset of puberty. For men in particular, that is where life takes an unexpected turn. It is not instantaneous, but circumstances and experiences point to one inevitable and painful truth: they are no longer loved simply for existing. They soon realize that, barring exceptionally favorable circumstances, they will only be loved and respected for what they provide."

More breathing, and a grunt of agreement.

"And so they realize that the ways of boyhood no longer help them to achieve that love. They have to cut their childish ways out of themselves piece by bloody piece, reshaping themselves one rejection and failure at a time. Many give up entirely and become terrible people, while others continue on, succeed, and become respectable providers. But the damage was already dealt, and the lessons were beaten into them too severely to be discarded ever again.

"For men, love is a great labor, one they work for and nurture diligently and patiently. They fail many times in this process, and each failure cuts deeper than the last. However, with fortune and patience, they eventually find a woman that will love and accept them not just for the resources they provide, but for who they are as a person. They no longer need to ceaselessly labor for that love, and, if only for a few moments at a time, they allow themselves to believe that they are good enough, worthy once again to be loved inherently. It is during these moments when men can be most tender, vulnerable, and open, and you should never, and I mean NEVER, betray that trust placed within you, or you will irreparably damage your relationship with him and wound him deeper than anything ever has."

A certain misty-eyed gentleman, able to breathe once more, seemed to mumble something of approval. Unfortunately, he could only catch one side of this conversation.

"And what does that have to do with breasts and why they are wonderful for most men and some women?"

"Because they represent that source of unconditional love that had been offered to them so long ago. A woman, willing and eager to hold a man close to her bosom, to let him dwell there without reservation or judgement, is the height of intimacy and closeness. Years of anguish and trauma can be washed away with five minutes of a man sucking on one, and that can be true for either person in that situation. There is true healing to be found there.

"I have dedicated much of my life to helping others find succor and alleviation of the world's hardships in the intimacy of my companionship. Such tenderness has not only helped those whom I have drawn close to my bosom, but it has also helped me to become a more empathetic person. We don't know the specific heartaches and misfortunes that people have faced in their lives, but, with humility and gratitude for the opportunity, we may have the honor of being there for someone in a moment of need and healing."

The man strapped to the table before them was openly crying as he was permitted the opportunity to suck down a few more breaths of air before Tamadora once again cut him off from his supply. Some Abilities were quickly employed to ensure privacy between the two for the last part of their conversion with telepathy, for even that can be spied upon.

"I love you dearly, Tamadora. You are wonderful and a joy in my life." Tamadora, usually quite reserved, softened her expression to one of contentment at such positive and open admissions. "However, you can be so fixated on your father's love and approval that you can be miserly in opening up to others. You will soon have your own children, and they deserve to be loved and to love. You are who you are, and I am not saying that you need to be as free with your love as I am, but you may find that you grow into a better version of yourself if you practice more empathy.

"And I do mean 'practice' it, for it does not come naturally to some, and at that point, only through a focused mind and effort can one learn it. The world is hard enough as it is; we need not compound it upon one another. It is unfair that, in this world of ours, no one cares what a woman thinks or a man feels. We cannot change that mindset for everyone, but can change it within ourselves, and through that, allow our change to influence the people in the world around us.

"Even if you never become a fountain of joy, that is still okay. I will love you just the same. Clearly, you have customers that appreciate and desire your personality the way it is. However, it may be best to have descendants that embody the full gambit of possible personalities so that there will always be someone compatible with any mortal you come across that has interesting Traits that need to be collected."

On this matter, Chooka certainly struck at the heart of an issue that she and I had discussed in private concerning Tamadora's future. Even if she were "perfect", she would still need to diversify her offspring instead of making copies of herself. Collecting Traits is a vital part of strengthening the flight by creating more powerful offspring, and the best way to collect Traits is through the strong, if fleeting, bond that exists during moments of extreme intimacy.

"You have shared much wisdom," Tamadora conceded as she let the man breathe once more, "I will reflect on what you have said and I will not let these lessons wither on the vine."

A mischievous and predatory grin anointed Chooka's face as she continued the lesson.

"Then perhaps you could try putting what we talked about into practice. This man enjoys how you control his breathing, which is a whole different topic for another time concerning control and surrender. However, instead of using the hose, perhaps you could smother him with…"

Chooka's eyes finished the sentence that her lips need not have bothered to.

Tamadora considered it for a while as the man's face turned red and then blue. Then, with a casual shrug, her robes, which were so precariously perched upon her body that a slight breeze should be able to displace them, fell to the floor to bare her body in full. Without any hesitation, she removed the hose from the man's mouth and, for the first time in the history of her customers, allowed him to continue his experience with a mouthful of the topic of conversation. To his credit, he eagerly and greedily set about his role in Tamadora's education.