Argonaut opened his eyes, and found himself surrounded by blue.

Wait, that can't be right.

A featureless blue hung above. A featureless blue rested below. The two blues separated by a perfect line in every direction. A horizon.

The deeper blue resembled the sea. But it was utterly still and smooth. No rolling waves as far as he could see, and no discernable smell.

The blue above looked like the sky. A cloudless, windless sky. The brightness and warmth he could feel around him suggested it was mid-day.

His scales felt dry. Looking down, he discovered he was sitting atop this strange… floating thing. It looked like a bunch of straight wood pieces tied together in a square shape. He was out of the water only high enough that he didn't touch it.

He also realized, when he lifted a talon, that he wasn't casting a shadow.

He looked straight up, there was no sun. Despite everything being bright and warm, the light wasn't coming from anywhere in particular.

What?

For some reason, he didn’t like that light. It made him uncomfortable.

He decided there was a pretty good chance he was dreaming. Which in of itself was a little weird, given one usually didn't realize he was experiencing a dream until he woke up. Or he may realize he's existing in a dream, at which point he would immediately wake up.

He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He was still floating within a featureless sea.

Weird.

Argonaut sighed through his nose. Just his luck he'd get stuck in a dream world with nothing in it.

It all felt pretty real, though. Maybe he could go for a swim. It had been a while since he'd been able to do that.

He looked over the side of the floating-thing. His own face in the dark-blue stared back. It definitely looked like water, although it was completely still.

When he thought about jumping in though, he was overwhelmed with an inclination that he really shouldn't get off the floating thing.

So much so that he couldn't push himself forward.

He leaned back, and the inclination faded. He tried again, once again unable to make himself jump off. He repeated the process a couple of times. To no success.

Frustrated, he sat back, sighing again.

This is incredibly strange. Even for a dream. Figures I would get a lucid dream and still not be able to do anything.

It was at that point he realized he wasn't alone on the floating-thing. He wasn't sure how, but something tipped him off.

He turned around, and behold, there was a scavenger on one corner of the floating-thing. The corner opposite the direction he'd been looking this whole time.

Somehow, he simultaneously was and was not surprised.

The scavenger didn't acknowledge his attention, or move at all. It just stared out at the horizon, seemingly at peace.

Even more confused, Argonaut squinted at the creature. He can't remember what it looks like, whether like a normal scavenger or one of the weird new ones.

The SeaWing blinked. He cannot remember what the scavenger looks like. Was that even a good way to describe it? It wasn’t as though he couldn't see the scavenger, or suddenly forgot what scavengers looked like, it was right in front of him! He can't remember what it looks like, despite looking right at it. As if it were not registering within his mind.

He shook his head out. Three moons, all this time I've spent stuck with these scavengers is making me as crazy as they are.

The paranormal dream scavenger in question finally moved. It turned to face him. Argonaut still cannot remember what its face looks like. It said nothing, made no noise. At least, not that he could recall.

The scavenger calmly picked up something from somewhere. It held it out to him. The thing, at first glance, appeared to be a simple ring. Relative to dragon size, anyway. It didn’t look like treasure, not being particularly shiny.

Argonaut eyed the scavenger suspiciously. Whether or not the scavenger reacted or responded, or simply remained placid, he cannot recollect. The ring continued to be held out to him.

Argonaut had never been a dragon for treasure. Not that he wouldn’t appreciate it if he could have any, rather that he was from an enclave out in the middle of nowhere not important enough to even be given a name, and worth to his tribe just about as much as to be drafted into the general army and assigned to a position with an infamously low survival rate. Treasure wasn’t something particularly within his reach.

What could be the harm in taking a boring-looking ring from a weird dream-scavenger in a dull dream? He thought to himself with a hint of irony. Truthfully, he hardly cared either way.

He reached out and hooked a claw in the ring, pulling it away from the scavenger towards himself. Sure enough, there didn’t appear to be anything special about it. It was a kind of off-gold color, in between copper and the treasure metal in hue. It didn’t even have any shiny jewels or anything embedded into it. Just a bunch of rough eye symbols that looked like a scavenger’s eyes carved into it both on the inside and outside of the loop.

Hmph. Even the treasure in my dreams is boring.

Nonetheless, he decided to slide the ring onto one of his claws. As best he could, anyway. Rings weren’t the most popular jewelry item among SeaWings, due to their webbed talons. He could, however, just slide it far enough that it fit over the knuckle-bulge where his actual claw connected to the rest of the digit.

Argonaut looked back to the scavenger he cannot remember. “Are you happy, now?” He snarked, not expecting a response.

You have work to do.

The SeaWing froze. The frill along the back of his neck standing straight upright. He knew something just spoke to him.

The next instant, the ring on his claw felt warm. Then it felt hot. It grew in heat, starting from a gentle warmth like the feel of sunlight on his scales, and growing until it felt like a burning candle on his claw tip. Still hotter it grew.

And then he woke up.

***

>Excerpt from Petty Officer Olson’s personal report_

Fantastic progress with the local language has been achieved. Already, we have several interpreters from both sides fluent enough to engage in technical, diplomatic-level discourse. For the most part.

Following various official technological demonstrations and meetings with important figures in the local political system, local applicants attempting to learn English have multiplied to a nearly exponential level. Rapidly exceeding our capacity to teach them. It is likely that the various socio-political bodies within this town are literally hiring subordinates to become translators. Official ESL programs will need to be set up. Many civilians among the merchant marine are volunteering.

Major commendation must be given to PFC John Barley and a local woman by the name of Rosemary, Interpreter, for their especially hard work and dedication in the language-translation efforts. Not only are they among our most advanced translators at this time, but they are also largely responsible for multiple deals made with aforementioned local socio-political bodies. Their request to divert attention towards the written side of both English and the local language has been granted.

On the note of deals being made with local organizations, hypothetical designs for infrastructure buildings and implements updated to conform with local architecture layout have already been received from a local institution best translated to English as the “House of Artisans.” These people are moving way faster than we were expecting. Speeds and enthusiasm at which locals are trying to adopt and actualize post-industrial technologies exceed what can be reasonably expected if economic expansion were the primary motivation, suggesting other motivating factors are at play.

At the rates at which things are progressing, I personally doubt we’ll have nothing to do around here but sit around and watch our supplies tick down for long.

On a less positive note, almost no new intel had been acquired from further study attempts with the captured sea dragon subject. So little progress has been made in regards to determining the subject’s spoken language, or even if it has one, that initial hypotheses regarding these creatures possessing sapience in ways technically or philosophically comparable to us are being called into question, and suggestions to simply release the thing are mounting.

It is possible we have, this entire time, been trying to talk to some rough equivalent in this world to a carrier pigeon. We don’t have many other plausible explanations for the subject’s seeming utter refusal at verbal communication attempts.

However, we still have a few ideas left to try, involving making use of the supposed “dragon scroll” acquired from one of the destroyed night dragons to refocus communication attempts to the written script on that parchment. It’s possible it could work, given our approach with the local humans was overwhelmingly verbal-based during the initial stages.

We have also received reports from a couple Germans from the lone submarine about sea dragons similar to the captured subject responding to Morse Code being flashed out via signal lamps. Why exactly, we don’t know, but we’ll still try it. I’ve also gotten word from some of the boys directly interacting with the captured sea dragon on a daily basis noticing a distinct general behavior and attitude shift. What that means, and what caused it, they don’t seem to know.

Whatever the case may be, and whatever answers they get, I hope they are discovered soon. We need to formulate what our official course of action will be regarding these dragon-like creatures to ensure our safety.

I will say that I personally do not subscribe to the theory that these creatures are simple beasts. I was personally part of the small team translating a local guide to various dragon-like creatures they are aware of, and had several stories about what these dragons are known to do to people recounted to me. If these accounts are at all true, it provides a serious counter-argument against these creatures only being like animals. Mere animals are not capable of that kind of cruelty. Sadism, I should clarify.

But then, this could all be something of a misunderstanding, on our parts. The way the locals describe the dragon-like creatures makes them sound like natural organisms. Often comparing them to hunters or predators. However, it is known that these creatures must in part be supernatural, given the ways their bodies work not only defy what is possible through known biology, but the laws of physics as well.

However, local descriptors regarding these creatures’ known behavior and abilities do not line up well with many old myths from our own culture, suggesting these dragons are not ‘simply’ some form of extremely-powerful spirit creature or something. Dragons seem to be, more often, used as a metaphor for ‘everything that sucks’ in old myths, anyway. At least so I hear. Where exactly this line is drawn, between biological organism and supernatural creature, and the implications of this, we don't know.

I should state: PFC Barley reported something rather interesting regarding his interactions with local bureaucrats. He said that some mentioned offhand something like these dragon-like creatures having queens of some sort. Whether this was meant kind of like anthill has a queen, like a country has a queen, something in-between, or as some metaphor, requires further investigation. That could perhaps be one of the only pieces of useful intel about these creatures we’ve gotten since we pulled those night dragons apart and autopsied them.

***

>Just Outside Safe Harbor_

Matrosen Hans Fischer felt like he was pretty out of his depth, but that was kinda how he always felt.

At least he was actually happy to be doing something that he was supposed to be doing, for once. Although ‘supposed’ could be debatable.

He had no idea what he was supposed to be doing right now. None of his crewmates did. Not even the Kapitän did.

He didn’t even have any idea how he got here.

It all started when he was told to pop the hatch and see if U-178 had run into anything. She did, in a sense, run into something. Or maybe that something ran into them.

And Hans was kind-of-maybe-sort of sure that thing was named “Cuttlefish.” Pretty sure, anyway. He wasn’t actually sure, but he was going with it.“Grrahckt’lliu” was the noise he made, while pointing with a claw to a picture on a piece of parchment of a cuttlefish. Hans assumed that noise meant ‘cuttlefish,’ and that the dragon was referring to his own name. Assumed.

‘Cuttlefish’ was a kind of funny name for a dragon. Or so he thought, anyway. Wasn't it weird that a dragon of all things would be named after a tiny cephalopod? He thought it was a little weird.

Then again, he wasn’t the one that named him. Probably. The water dragon-that-waved-at-them seemed to indicate that his name was Cuttlefish, but how could he know for sure from here?

It was certainly better than half the names some of the other crew members came up with after they first saw him, that’s for sure.

He wished a little that he could go back out on the water and find the friendly(?)-looking dragon again. Only a little. He didn’t want to get trapped in that boat again. He also knew the odds of finding that particular sea creature in a whole ocean were very much against him.

On the plus side, those water-dragons they met out on the seas weren’t the only ones around! Or maybe one of them had followed their boat all the way over here or something, but still! The Americans had caught one of them with a stray depth charge and crane, and Hans had somehow become one of the main guys trying to see if communication was possible.

This one was a lot bigger, greener, and less friendly-looking than Cuttlefish, Hans could tell. Or he thought he could tell. It was a little hard to tell a reptile’s emotions from a facial expression.

In fact, that was what he was going to do now! The communication-attempt thing, that is. Marching through the strange middle-ages country town, on the way to where the dragon was kept at, trying not to stare at the peculiar sights and people of the town or at the Americans that were both his technical co-workers and escort. It wasn’t polite to stare.

The Americans took this whole thing pretty seriously, as far as he could tell. They were always careful to write down everything Hans could get the dragon to say in notebooks. They also carried recording equipment with them to record what the dragon himself says, so they can keep track of what noise phrases go with simple pictures.

Not a great way to decipher a language, if that was what was really going on. But that was all they could get this water dragon to respond to. As cool as it was that they had found this entirely new creature, in this totally new place, and that it was supposedly capable of talking. Supposedly. None of them really had a reference to go off of, and this water dragon didn’t try to talk very much. Apparently Hans is one of the only people around able to get responses out of him.

It was very easy to tell the apparent non-cooperation got on the American’s nerves, but Hans thought it was hilarious. It reminded him of a cat. Specifically his cat. Specifically the housecat, a black-and-white named Oskar, his family had before he had to go.

When he was younger, he would often try to play with that cat because his bigger brother Archie would usually rather be buried elbow-deep in an engine block, and his little sister Annelise would rather be trying to break into Mama’s makeup box, and Mama was allergic to dogs. Oskar, for his part, reciprocated attempts at play from his silly human masters with about as much eagerness as can be expected from a cat.

The bored, grouchy, mildly annoyed expressions the big green water dragon gave that reminded him of his old cat were both funny, and made him miss home a little less.

The green dragon wasn't cute and fluffy like a cat, but he did have pretty scales. And a face more expressive than his instructors at the training facility. Hans also really wanted to see what would happen if he tried to pet him.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

Probably nothing good, but one could hope.

Hans really liked animals. Visits to his Uncle Bernhard’s estate even farther out in the German countryside than his own home were one of his favorite things to do. They had a small stable with horses. Uncle claimed they were purebred chargers back in their day, but Hans doubted those gentle old mares would even run a 300 meter dash.

Those were the biggest animals he'd ever been around. This water dragon, though, was much bigger. Hans figured he could go up to 3 meters when standing.

Also, there was the part about him being an actual dragon. That was maybe a little weird, too.

Or was encountering an uncanny reptile inexplicably similar to a- very generic- depiction of a dragon from the old stories normal now? Just another Tuesday, in these lands. Although he would expect a sea dragon to look a lot more… Serpent-like. Hans thought those huge bat-like wings wouldn’t make swimming any easier.

I wonder if there are also dwarves, forest elves, sprites and all other sorts of crazy creatures from the old stories running around somewhere in this land. It’s possible, if we’ve already happened upon a sea dragon.

Although if his luck was anything to go off, all they would probably run into are beerwolf, orks, lindworms, and maybe fänggen for good measure.

By that logic, it was peculiar they’d discovered and defeated the dragon first. That was supposed to be the ultimate summit of the adventure.

No matter, we'll just have to backtrack and brawl a kobold horde later.

As if the idea of accidentally stumbling backwards through the hero’s journey by accident wasn’t funny and weird enough, his current ‘job’ was. Hans had made the mistake of mentioning their previous encounter and his potential relationship with the water dragons after the Americans pulled this one out of the water. Long story short, working alongside the Americans to try and talk with the captured water dragon is now more or less his job.

The Kapitän said it was because it would do well to potentially improve their precarious situation. The other seamen said it was because he ran his mouth too much.

Either way, Hans was willing to do just about anything to keep from getting stuck in that awful boat again.

At least some of the other Americans had warmed up to him a little. A little. Hans had always been good at making friends, at least quickly. His brother said it was because of his ‘insufferable cheerfulness.’ He didn’t know how being optimistic was insufferable.

His English wasn’t great, but he could more or less keep up with a conversation. More or less. It was a choice between English or French for tutorship that was offered, and he went with the former. His pronunciation had definitely improved since he started this, though. It kind of had to.

But that was a whole thing for another time. Kind of. Right now, they had just entered the American land encampment, and were quickly skirting around to reach where the water dragon was.

Hans caught a glance of a handful of Americans who presumably either had free time or were civilian crew from transport ships, one holding a white and black football. They were seemingly trying to explain stuff to some puzzled-looking natives.

Hey, that could be fun! Hans had always rather sucked at football, but he couldn't help but notice a strange lack of ball sports among the local people of this town. Maybe they'd be on his level.

Although, the Americans would probably try to get them to learn baseball or basketball or whatever.

Eventually, once they were on the opposite side of the encampment to the town, did they come into view of the algae-green water dragon in question. He was still in the same spot, still restrained there by a couple of spare chains the Americans had on their ships.

Notably less than when they first brought the dragon here. Then, they had the dragon almost completely tied down at first, now he could move around more freely- but couldn't move far from his spot.

Call it parole for good behavior, or something. He didn’t really know.

For a dragon, he had apparently surprisingly little in terms of escape attempts. At least somewhat content with lying in the sun and sleeping most of the day like…

…Well, like a reptile.

Go figures, I guess. I'm glad I'm not one. It seems boring.

Today was a little different, though. Because the green water dragon was looking right at him as he came into view. He didn't usually do that. Recently, the green has shown some rather interesting behavior shifts. Prompted by what, they did not know. But they had taken notice, and had decided to switch up their approach strategy to try something new today.

Hans moved to the forefront of the formation, and opened up with his regular greeting phrase:

“Hello, Water Dragon! Hello, Quar’rahckt’lliu!”

He always made sure to at least say that when he arrived. Both because it was friendly, and because Hans knew it was a good idea to be consistent with animals.

Hans had a pretty good guess that this dragon did have a name, which he was pretty sure he had just pronounced correctly, but the young sailor had no idea what it meant.

The Americans, for whatever reason, had unanimously decided upon dubbing the green dragon simply as “Kevin.” By what mysterious process of decision-making this came about, Hans had no clue.

The water dragon, whatever his name was, actually reciprocated the greeting with a grunt. That was unusual. Even a little exciting!

Hans refrained from prattling on. He had a habit of letting his train of thought and tongue go loose whenever he got excited or distracted. He could see it got on the nerves of people around him regularly, especially those who cannot understand German, which he tended to switch to whenever he got going.

That habit of course made him extremely popular on the submarine, where getting stuck stationed next to the chatterbox while trapped in a claustrophobic steel box at least half-submerged at all times was any stir-crazy seaman’s favorite pastime.

Totally.

As he always did, he sat down on the bare ground before the green dragon, who Hans figured wasn’t actually that big for a dragon. A weird thing to say, given he had no other precedent for how big a dragon-like creature was supposed to be. Just his imagination.

Nonetheless, the grouchy green dragon was still huge relative to real-life animal size. But not fantastically huge. Closer to reasonable size for a physical creature.

In previous days, Hans had deliberately sat down within the water dragon’s potential reach. He wanted to see how he would respond to trust. The Americans, though, evidently did not share Hans’ confidence that the water dragon wouldn’t hurt him, because they didn’t let him sit that close.

Perhaps it was for the best. Maybe these Americans had seen more from these dragon-like creatures than they had. Hans could already hear Archie making fun of him for being too trusting, as he had before. He could also hear Anneliese calling him silly for being willing to be so close to such a potentially dangerous creature, given how jumpy he is.

Hans mentally harrumphed at the memory voices. Getting called jumpy by a girl. His little sister, at that! He was not that jumpy.

He’d always found it cool how gentle big animals were, when around smaller humans. Those big mares Uncle Bernhard had were always noticeably careful, when the then much younger and smaller Hans and Anneliese were near them. As if the horses recognized and accounted for how much bigger they were compared to them. He wondered if the water dragon was capable of something similar.

Hans instinctively flinched when he felt a hand connect to his shoulder.

“We’re tryin’ something a little different, today. We’re gonna try your idea with the lights.” He heard the voice of one everyone else only refers to as ‘Joe.’ He knew enough English to at least understand sentences like that.

Hans was a little surprised. He’d pitched the possibility of using electric torches or something that can rapidly strobe light to accompany their speech attempts. Given that the other water dragons for some reason used their bioluminescent lights to blink in a manner similar to Morse Code when they first appeared, it was possible that this water dragon in particular would be more responsive to it.

Although, Hans had never seen this dragon light up his lights once.

He wasn’t sure if the idea would help any, but he was surprised it had been listened to at all.

Sure enough, electric lights were produced, one of them passed to Hans. He fiddled with the weighty metal device a little, until he could turn it off and on quickly.

From there things proceeded pretty much business-as usual. Hans and the other guys took turns pulling out paper cards with simple sketches depicting everyday stuff, usually proper nouns. They pronounced each word as clearly as they could, and tried their best to signal to the water dragon with hand gestures that they wanted him to say whatever equivalent word he had, if he had one, for the thing they were presenting. They never did get very far doing that, but they couldn’t think of anything else to try.

Except today, in which Hans tried his best to blink out the word in Morse Code using the torch as well. He obviously didn’t expect the dragon to understand that, but he hoped it would help a little.

The dragon, for his part, didn’t seem to carry the same bored, indifferent look he always wore. Hans wondered if he was imagining it, but it looked almost like he was regrading them with surprisingly thoughtful eyes.

The dragon seemed to be staring at them, but at Hans in particular, with an almost heavy look. Staring directly into Hans’ eyes. As if he were thinking.

Could that mean he has found a reason to take us more seriously? Or that he’s at least capable of taking us seriously?

Hans didn’t really know either way, but the prospect made him excited! But then, so did a lot of things.

***

Argonaut wasn’t really sure what to think about any of this.

On one talon, this was hardly any different than what had been happening to him for the past number of days.

On the other talon, his world, or at least a pretty big part of it, had been grabbed, shaken around, and tossed back to him unceremoniously.

At least, that was probably the closest way he could describe how it felt.

He still couldn’t quite get his head around the idea that these scavengers were trying to talk with him. As if it just didn’t compute.

Even now, while he watched them cycle through small papers with simple pictures on them- all pictures that he’d seen before- all pictures that he knew the dragon word for- slowly pronouncing a single phrase for each example however they spoke it, he still heard whispers that these scavengers were simply trying to mimic his speech. Or that they were somehow copying dragon behavior. Or even that magic was somehow involved.

Such thoughts were quickly banished, however. Argonaut didn’t know where from. He wondered if the faint itching sensation on one of his claws had something to do with it.

Perhaps it helped a little that these scavengers had evidently decided to break their usual pattern, now including a strange blinking light that he could not fathom the nature of in their ritual. He had no idea what this blinking light-thing was or how it worked, but it clearly wasn’t using fire to make its glow.

The scavengers, particularly the small skinny one he was starting to allow himself to call ‘Haans’ in his head, used the strange light-sticks in close congruence with their paper pictures, somehow blinking out sequences in a manner uncannily similar to how SeaWings use their own glowing scales to communicate underwater. Relatively speaking, anyway. These scavengers were only using one light, while SeaWings used almost all their light-up scales when speaking.

Even then, Argonaut could imagine a certain pattern in the way they flashed their single lights.

While maybe their phrases and simple pictures could perhaps be rationalized as scavengers copying behavior of other land-dwelling dragons or things they see everyday, it was much harder to say that they were somehow copying something only underwater SeaWings do, which many other dragons from other tribes weren’t even aware of.

Argonaut wasn’t dumb enough to seriously think that scavengers, even if they did suddenly become master mimics, would be able to copy and adapt something from dragons, specifically SeaWings, that they would have no way to even see. If they really were using these flashing lights as a kind of communication system, even a simple one; they would need to have come up with it themselves.

Perhaps in hindsight, it should have been more obvious from the start.

What if he was dumb enough to assume that scavengers could somehow simply mimic SeaWings communicating in Aquatic, even though they should have no way to? What if most dragons were, or are?

What if whatever the tides had come over him that convinced him not to try to attack the scavengers around him and felt like it was related to that weird dream, hadn’t?

Right now, from his current perspective, it was obvious that pretty much everything these scavengers were doing, from the ones standing guard, to the ones conducting the daily ‘display-paper-and-bark-at-dragon’ ritual, were…

…Well, trying to… talk. To communicate.

Even now, he couldn't help but wince slightly at that thought. The emotions conjured from it, too complicated and conflicting to put into words for him.

But he was honest enough to admit, before all of this, that he would not so much as give even the idea of scavengers being able to talk even a sliver of serious thought. He would have dismissed all of this as simple mimicry and his senses playing games with him. He was sure, with a grim certainty, every other dragon he knew would as well.

It was only because of all this happening to him that he dared to differ from those others.

But all that begged the question: Why him? Why some random SeaWing from a remote enclave so unremarkable that it didn’t even have a name?

Argonaut didn’t have anything special about him. No unique circumstances at hatching, not a drop of royal noble blood in him, no special abilities, powers, or attributes. Not even any treasure to his name.

He was just another green SeaWing among thousands more. His only use, as far as his tribe’s concerned, was to be drafted into the general army and immediately sent to a position where average soldier lifespan was usually regarded in weeks or months. That was why he was even stuck here in the first place.

Not to mean that he was in any way bitter at them for that, of course not. That wasn’t… It just wasn’t. Couldn’t.

And why his tribe, anyway? Weren’t NightWings supposed to be the ones able to give prophecies and have special powers and all that? A NightWing should be the one getting weird dreams of scavengers passing off jewelry and making his brain feel all rattled. Not a SeaWing, of all things! Often regarded as, and mocked by other tribes for being lesser dragons on account of their inferior flying and lack of fire or other ranged-attack.

At least, that was a jeer he’d heard shouted at him plenty of times.

Why had whatever fate that set all this mess in motion chosen him of all dragons to be hit in the face with all this? Why not choose someone more special, more powerful, more remarkable? Or at least someone less boring? Why not give some setup, like with that silly dragonet prophecy he’d heard circulating the barracks?

In fact, why was the first he’d ever heard anything of what was going on around him? Argonaut certainly did not consider himself an expert on prophecies, but he kind of figured a scavenger den suddenly developing several dozen castle-sized metal constructs, weapons that can reduce full-grown dragons to eviscerated piles of gore, what looked suspiciously like a military encampment if he thought about it, and the ability to talk would merit at least some form of forewarning by the NightWing future-seers.

But none of that had happened. There was no prophecy, as far as he was aware, about any of this stuff around him. There was nothing particularly interesting about him. He’d never given hardly a fish’s tail about scavengers until now. There was no reason he should be the one having to deal with the fact that they were now trying to talk to him.

There just couldn’t be. Shouldn’t be.

He sighed. Nevertheless, it was all still happening to him. Whether he liked it or not, he was the one having to deal with this.

If that was the case; then deal with it, he must.

He felt that itching sensation on his claw again.

Alright, then, think. I still want to get out of here. I know that, at least. Why am I even here in the first place?

He knew these scavengers had captured him through means known only to them. The question he was interested in now was why.

Why had these scavengers gone to all the trouble of hauling him out of the water and chaining him up over here?

Try to think like them. Alright, I’m a scavenger. I walk around on two legs, I live at this den with a whole bunch of other scavengers. Dragons probably come after me all the time, that doesn’t sound like fun. I’ve just gotten my paws on some manner of weapon that can knock dragons out of the air, or make dragons underwater feel like they just got slammed in the head by a rock. Now I’ve just caught a dragon that was nearby my den using this thing. What would I do with him?

Well, if Argonaut was honest with himself, if he were a scavenger and just captured a dragon stalking around nearby his den, even if said dragon wasn’t looking to attack, he couldn’t imagine himself leaving that dragon alive.

It wasn't as though SeaWings let dragons from other tribes that got too close to their Summer Palace live.

But alive he was. If these scavengers had a means to kill a threat but didn’t, they must have a reason. They must want something from him.

They must want something!

Alright, there’s a start. But what could these scavengers want from some random SeaWing?

If they wanted treasure, then he couldn’t help them. What else could these scavengers want?

While Argonaut pondered the question, his mind eventually wandered back to why he himself was even here in the first place. He was here because he’d been sent here by his superiors. They sent him here because apparently there had been a report of several NightWings getting blown apart over this scavenger den. And apparently that report had been taken seriously enough that they’d dispatch a patrol wing all the way over here. His patrol wing was the first one of Commander Shark’s disgruntled subordinates had made eye contact with, so dispatched he was.

From what he could see, that report had most likely been correct. If what was left of that NightWing he'd seen underwater, as well as his own experience, was anything to go off of: these scavengers evidently did not like the idea of dragons getting close to their den.

That actually gave him an idea.

A fishbrained, poorly-thought-out, dubious idea, but an idea nonetheless.

If these scavengers don’t want random NightWings or other dragons coming by their den to hunt, and also clearly seem to want something out of me. Maybe they think that I, maybe even to some extent other SeaWings, can do something to help them.

Or if they didn’t, maybe he could convince them of that.

Sure, it was completely crazy. But he didn’t think he had many other options. Even if he did manage to convince these scavengers that he could get other SeaWings to cover their den from attacks, there was no chance that he of all dragons would be able to convince the respective SeaWings to suddenly begin extending patrols to ward off other tribes hunting near this den. Especially not with how stretched those patrols already are keeping encroaching dragons out of the Kingdom of the Sea and away from the Summer Palace.

Seriously. Who would be crazy enough to actually think that dragons would ever go out of their way to protect a bunch of scavengers?

Besides, even if the SeaWings authorities did for whatever reason want to provide protection for this den, there wasn’t much they could even practically do. They had a hard enough time keeping other dragons out of their own territory. He would know.

But none of these scavengers knew any of that. Nor do they need to.

For the purposes of simply giving himself a means of moving forward, and of getting out of this strange predicament…it could work.

The hard part would be actually convincing these scavengers that he could help them. Or if they- for some reason- already thought that, convincing them that he agreed to it.

‘Hard’ was of course a relative term in this case. Compared to what his usual lot in life had become: a thankless daily cycle of flying for hours and probing for SkyWing ambushes; trying to communicate with a bunch of weird scavengers that were already trying to talk to him seemed like a swim in the lagoon.

Well, certainly not that easy. Argonaut granted. Swimming about in a lagoon was something menial that many dragons, or at least many SeaWings, had done regularly for many years.

Trying to talk to scavengers, on the other talon, was something that no dragon had even so much as deign to imagine doing, much less actually done.

But maybe Argonaut had long since given up living to dignity that would befit a dragon. Fish tails and sea snot was all it had done for him so far, except deem him expendable.

That a bunch of scavengers seemed to think him more useful than his own tribe did should perhaps have been a crippling blow to his own self-esteem, but his mind already felt like it had been fried by an electric eel by the realization these scavengers were trying to talk to him.

Perhaps he’ll just have to be a pioneer among dragons in trying to talk to, and getting stuff out of scavengers.

If that was his best hope for getting out of here, because he had a sneaking suspicion that these scavengers would be able to do to him whatever they did to those NightWings that apparently attacked them if he broke out. Also because he knew for certain that his fellow SeaWings would not be coming to his rescue. No tribes ever came for their prisoners.

If convincing these scavengers that he could somehow be of help to them were his best hope for freedom, then pioneer he shall. He’ll actually have to figure out how to talk back to them, first.

Perhaps he should be grateful that they seemed to have some strange communication system that corresponded to Aquatic. By reasons and means known only to them, of course. It might make this process a little easier.

It didn’t take him that long to learn Aquatic. If he could learn how to speak dragon words through a series of talon gestures, blinks and flashes with his scales as a dragonet, then he could totally learn how to do the same as an adult, right?

But with scavenger words.

And with seemingly only one light, that was rapidly strobed in a rather precise manner and with very specific patterns.

If anything else, Argonaut certainly did have work to do.

Wait, didn’t I hear something like that from somewhere?

He didn’t really remember.