How to not tame your Nightmare [Scorn]

[Brand Curador]

Time and date :: Early morning, March the 14th

Weather :: Cold, a bit cloudy. Temperature got a tiny bit warmer due to Spring's approach.



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There has been many things done within a month, mostly by Brand's parents in their free time since their son was wandering there and there, learning and doing stuff. The most noticable thing was the kind of hangar they made next to their hutt, large enough to hold a single adult Monstrous Nightmare. The materials used mainly were gathered from what was left when SoftSting's own shelter was broke down to gain place. Brand's father even found one of her scales : it would be a nice birthday gift.

Trying to make Scorn understand that he could sleep there instead of the usual home definitly has not been an easy task. The only way they could keep Scorn inside at night was, most of the time, to make Brand sleep in there too so Scorn would not be alone nor feel put aside. The viking did not mind this much about that but the first days were a bit difficult to handle. No one knew if Scorn ever accepted the hangar as his resting place but everyone hoped he did so their home would stay safe.



And it was time for it to be done, Scorn being too large to pass through a door or a window. Only his head and neck could with a bit of his wings but more would mean breaking the poor hutt. With this problem solved came another one.



Brand had to tame Scorn. A dragon he still did not name. But no name came in his mind wishing to truly get the dragon's behavior before naming him. Otherwise he was thinking about a regular name.



The human barely slept that night, many thoughts shaking his mind and preventing him from sleeping. He would know that the Sun rose only when some light passed through one of the wooden hangar's windows.



What a wonderful rest he had. Today he would bring Scorn to the dragon academy and hope he could do something.

[Scorn]

Scorn, although getting bigger, hardly realized the burden his large size posed to his family. Throughout his younger years he could clamber around the viking hut with ease; he had finally mastered the dreaded stairs, but just as he had the hut seemed to get smaller. And smaller. And smaller. Suddenly there was hardly any room for him any more. And somehow, because the house had shrunk, Scorn was banished to this little, cold shack with this weird straw stuff rather then the wood he had grown accustomed to. This straw was prickly and odd. But it did make for a comfy resting place. For now. Still, when Scorn had first been moved there he had tried to fit his head in the door way, waking the family until his human came down to see him. After that, his human made his new bed with Scorn. Scorn appreciated this, but it didn't make the move any less painful.

Often Scorn would day dream about romping through the hut, leaping on the chairs and tables and nabbing a piece of morning grub from the kind female human. Those days were over, he supposed, and it wasn't easy to accept. Yet just as he was reminiscing about this, having laid awake for a while, he felt his human stir. He craned his neck to his human, running a long forked tongue over Brand. He kept on washing his face eagerly, his tail beginning to wave back and forth, shaking his whole rear half of his body as he laid curled around Brand. His tail flinging back and forth was dangerous in its own right; he didn't realize how easily it could hit and severely injure his human.

Just then Scorn bounded up from his laying position, bounding out of the hangar and circling about in the snow. As he did so his flames on his back sparked. He still had yet to gain control of them. And there was one thing he had never done yet; fire a flame from his throat. Only mature dragons could do this, but his time of being able to do so was nearing. Little did he realize that often learning about flame throwing was even worse then lighting oneself afire and learning to control that. Combined? Deadly.