“Mmm,” the second set replied, “I could do with a snack.”

Piscalo breathed out, his momentary concern instantly replaced with a frown. “Zalc, Jikkol! Stop playing around. We’ve got a lot to do!”

Two bodies slid out of the darkness. Both were dragons, though minuscule when compared to Gresset—each only twice Piscalo’s height in length—and of a much lighter shade of green. The one in front had a long face and horns just beginning to sprout from the top of his head, while the other had no horns yet and a short, snub-nose.

“Brother,” the horned one, Zalc, said, “do you smell something?”

The snub-nosed one, Jikkol, flicked out his tongue to test the air. “Now that you mention it, yes. What is it?”

Zalc’s head bumped into Piscalo's chest, and Piscalo couldn’t help but laugh as the budding horns poked him in a ticklish spot.

“I think our hairy friend has soiled himself in fear.”

Jikkol gave a disgusted snort. “I don’t eat wet meat.”

“Must be why they call him Piscalo.”

Jikkol laughed and then clacked his teeth together as if he had just thought of something. “Reminds me of that yellow you scraped against.”

Zalc hissed a warning, but Jikkol ignored it.

“You reeked of her for a week!”

And then the two were rolling across the floor with each other, mock biting and beating the air with their wings.

“Quit that!” Piscalo snapped.

Two heads lifted out of the mass of claws and scales, looking innocent as hatchlings.

Piscalo scowled at them. “We should hurry. Gresset could be back—”

He didn’t even notice the tail coiled around his leg until he was lying on the ground, coughing in surprise.

“Lord Gresset, I’m sure you meant,” Jikkol said, having already untangled from his brother.

“We can forgive many things but not a slight to our clutch father,” finished Zalc.

Piscalo rolled his eyes, thinking of the countless names that the two dragons had come up with over the years for Gresset, like Lord Lump, Moldy Monarch, Father Fern, and Star Slug, the last of which Gresset really hated.

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“Fine, fine,” Piscalo said as he stood, “but we ne—”

“And you are right,” Jikkol said. “It is time for you to leave.”

“What?”

Zalc wrapped one wing around Piscalo's shoulders. “Are you saying you want to be here when Gresset returns?”

“Of course!”

“When he is overcome with rage? When he is melting the very rock with his fury?” Zalc tilted his horned head. “Is that what you want.”

“Well, no, but—”

The youngling dragon gave him a push down the tunnel, away from the main cavern. “Then wait in the lower passageways.” His mouth pulled back into a sharpened smile. “We will finish this and come find you when it’s safe.”

“After everything I’ve done to get ready for this?” Piscalo sputtered, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You expect me to just...go play with the snails?”

“Go to The Commons if you want,” Jikkol said. “You should have enough time.”

“But—”

“Go!” the brothers yelled.

Piscalo threw up his hands and stormed off into the passageway, quickly discovering that it wasn’t one of the well-lit ones. Instead of going back and getting an earful from the brothers though, Piscalo fished a thumb-sized burning bulb from his pocket. It was wrapped in shed hatchling scales so it didn’t light his pants on fire, and he gently peeled one of the soft scales back, bathing the tunnel in a light much brighter than the cave moss produced. Dasha weren’t allowed to have fire—such was the purview of only lesser and greater dragons—so burning bulbs were used instead. If the plant was exposed to dragon flame, it burned hotly for two full days and could be relit multiple times for a month or more after being plucked. Due to their utility, all the broods used them, but it was green that grew and cared for them. Piscalo was thankful for that because he had learned early in his adventures with the dragon brothers that it paid to always have a lit bulb on his person and being a member of green brood meant that he could usually get one.

Using the small burning bulb to light his way, Piscalo grumbled to himself about the brothers and how they better be following the plan as he headed downward through the spire. It didn’t take long for him to get tired of clomping along alone though, and when he did, he began to idly fiddle with the meat stuck to his arm, though he was careful not to let the bulb get too close to it. Gum root sap solidified when heated, and the last thing Piscalo wanted was to have the rabbit permanently attached.

In a pique of curiosity, he peeled one of the thin strips off and gave it a chew. Gresset’s summons had come during breakfast, after all, so he hadn’t gotten to eat anything yet. Surprisingly, the meat wasn’t half bad, the sap making it almost sweet. He was about to take another bite when a sudden coughing fit got the better of him. Piscalo’s tongue gagged out, scraping against his teeth, and he gave a final hack. He held the meat beside the burning bulb. The light of the plant illuminated the cooked rabbit clearly, showing bits of hair stuck to shining bubbles of sap.

“Eeeeew!”

He let the meat fall to the cavern floor and peeled off another strip. Unlike the first, he noticed very clearly the pinprick pain as each thread of hair was ripped from his arm. Piscalo yanked the third off quickly and gave a startled yelp. Fast was definitely not better! Frustrated, he dropped his hand, letting the remaining strips stay until he figured out a better way to remove them.

Since Gresset’s cave was only partway up the green spire, it only took a few more twists and turns before Piscalo could see the exit to the tunnel he was in. He folded the bent hatchling scale back over the burning bulb, sealing it, and tucked it into his pocket. That done, on a whim, he gave the last rock he encountered on the path a hard kick. It flew straight and true out of the spire, right into a pair of men carrying a huge, curved rib.