"I think I need something to do," Tor admits as he finishes organizing his room. "I've been here about a week now, and I'm bored mindless. I can't just sit around and read books all day like you and Xylon can. Speaking of whom... How is Xylon?"

*Much better. He should be back up to par by the end of the day,* Oberon replies levelly. *Why don't you take a walk? Or go for a swim or something? There aren't any sort of carniverous fish this close to Inla.*

"Hmm... Maybe."

*And take your egg with you.*

"Huh? Why?"

*We dragons do not like to be seperated from our bondmates for long. Even while we are eggs. Before Xylon came, I hardly had any contact with anything sentient. Lonliness makes for sad dragons.*

"Ahh..." He paused. "Okay. A walk it is, I suppose."

*See you in a bit.* That said, Oberon spreads his wings and flutters out the doorway, leaving Tor to himself with the egg.

Tor sighs and brushes back the curtain to his balcony, shading his eyes from the bright sunlight filtering through the trees. "Well, what do you say? We take a walk?" he asks the egg, wondering what else could possibly go wrong. He touches the shell lightly, rubbing his hand on the top as if to toussle its hair, were it to have any. After a moment, he nods silently. "We walk."

As silently as he can manage (which isn't very, for the record), Tor treks through the woods, heading towards the leewardmost island of the group. Pressing through the undergrowth and bushes and stuff, he looks up suddenly at the sound of a voice.

"Passen Sie auf, Kip!" it instructs cheerfully.

He sees a smallish ship at anchor a little bit before the shallows of the leewardmost island. A smallish group of people are milling about, loading a pair of small rowboats and unloading them on the shore. There are almost as many odd creatures - draconic and otherwise - as there are people.

*Kipfel,* a quiet, raspy voice resounds loudly through Tor's head as a black dragon - similar to Oberon, though lacking wings and definately more vicious in appearance - hops out of the rowboat, setting it rocking in the little breakers.

"Ja, ja," a tall but nonetheless spritely woman with short red hair remarked, reaching out to settle the rocking boat.

Kipfel stalks over to stand beneath a tree, in the shade. *Ich weiss nichts warum ihr mussen ein Stadt hiermachen,* he remarks haughtily.

"Ausser niemand hierwohnen?" a man with lilac skin and long blonde hair asks, up to his knees in the waves.

*Ja. Ausser niemand hierwohnen.*

"Ignesce se, Tren. Kipfel, machen Sie Helfen oder nichts?" the red-headed woman asks testily.

*Nichts. Ich werde Sonnenbrand haben.*

With a sigh of exasperation, the woman throws her arms in the air and sets to helping the one called Tren unload the rowboat.

Tor shakes his head slowly. These are supposed to be uncharted islands. Ones very very few know about. Without a word, he turns and begins to run through the forest, back towards the Tower. What if they find out about Xylon and Oberon and Virens? Something inside him doesn't want that to happen.

But there are seventy-five islands. How easily will these strangers be able to find the one with the Tower on it?

"Obie!" Tor gasps, stumbling into the Tower. "Obie! There's... people!"

*You act like this is news,* Oberon replies sedately from the stairwell, where he is patiently watering a flowering bush.

"I ... thought it was."

*Nope.*

"What else do you know you're not telling?" Tor pries.

*They're not going to eat you. Go say 'hello.' They won't find the Tower.* Oberon looks up, the red jewel in the center of his forehead glistening in the sunlight. *I think you need new friends, frankly.*

Tor sighs. "Right. I don't know where you get that idea. What am I supposed to do? They don't even speak whatever you guys do."

*I don't have a clue myself. Go on. Have fun. Take your egg with you. Good.*

Sighing, mildly annoyed at having to be sociable, Tor leaves the Tower again, this time heading as far away from the people as possible. He doesn't want to make friends. He just wants a nice, quiet life without all these people. Why does reality always have to get in the way?

Tor had been watching the waves beat and pound on the emerald beach for quite some time before he was pounced from behind by something really big, really heavy, and possessing really sharp claws. He scrambled to protect the egg from being destroyed beneath the mass of his body and his assailant. His face planted rather uncomfortably in the emerald sand as someone came crashing through the forest behind him and onto the beach.

Tor's vision began to swim from the pain of being crushed from his back and crushed into emerald dust. His hearing, however, was still pretty good. While being shoved into the beach, however, his hearing was still pretty good. Between a "KIPFEL! HALTEN SIE!" and loud growling from his assailant, Tor heard a nice, sharp, crisp cracking noise. A soft chirping was heard, and suddenly, the egg seemed to melt away into the emerald sands.

The weight and sharpness was pulled off his back, and Tor sat up gingerly, so as not to frighten whatever the hell replaced the egg. He looked up and behind him to see the woman and the black dragon from the ship standing there, staring passed him. He followed their gazes to see a small blue snake-like thing had smallish horns on his head and dark spikes protruding from his back. How Tor knew it was a male, he had no idea. He just ... did.

Then the thing started chirping. It was more than Tor could take, really. He would have been better off melting into a pile of goo.

Letting out a noise of delight, he reached down and picked up the little blue dragon, hugging it happily before letting out a sickly groan. "Oww..." he remarked, pulling the dragon and his sharp spines away from his chest. During the hugging process, he had forgotten the thing had spines out its back, and had gotten stabbed quite a few times in the arm and chest by them. The little blue affectionately nuzzled him, nevertheless.

Tor blinked before a pyschotic but very entertained laugh shot through his head. He looked up to see the black dragon and the red-head watching the proceedings, very amused.

Tor held the little blue, who was chirruping happily in his arms, and rose cautiously. "Umm... Hi," he said slowly.

"Hallo!" the woman remarked, waving and smiling. Then, very slowly, and with a thick accent, she began to speak something Tor found thankfully similar to English. "We... will not... hurt you..." she said, making each word deliberatly.

*Sprechst für deinen selber,* the black scoffed, glaring at Tor and the blue dragon in his arms.

"Kipfel! Ruhe!" the red-head hissed, and the black subsequently cowed and retreated to the shade of the undergrowth.

Tor held the little blue, who was chirruping happily in his arms, and rose cautiously. "Umm... Hi," he said slowly.

"Hallo!" the woman remarked, waving and smiling. Then, very slowly, and with a thick accent, she began to speak something Tor found thankfully similar to English. "We... will not... hurt you..." she said, making each word deliberatly.

*Sprechst für deinen selber,* the black scoffed, glaring at Tor and the blue dragon in his arms.

"Kipfel! Ruhe!" the red-head hissed, and the black subsequently cowed and retreated to the shade of the undergrowth. "Forgive him," she said with the same deliberate tone as before.

"I don't mean to sound too forward or anything, but who are you?" Tor wanted to know.

"My Namen ist Annabel Oswald, und er ist Kipfel, my Bishen bondmate," she replied slippiing in and out of English, but speaking slowly enough that Tor could understand her.

"Bishen?"

"Ja. Bishen."

"Umm... can you be more specific?"

"I ... don't under...stand," she replied slowly, blinking and tilting her head to the side.

"What is a Bishen?"

"Ooooh!" she replies happily, clasping her hands together and grinning. "You don't under..stand!"

"No. I don't." This is getting annoying.

"Kipfel ist ein full-grown Bishen. Er," she says, stepping forwards and touching the blue snake-like dragon in Tor's arms, "ist ein junges Bishen."

Tor looks down at the little blue dragon in his arms. "He?"

"A green egg will a male dragon be," she replied.

Tor is at the point of wanting to go find a big rock to bash his skull in, but instead he gives Annabel an uneasy look and nods slowly.

She nods along with him and tickles the blue's chin. Much to Tor's annoyance, the blue purrs and chirrups happily before backing up a little and stabbing him all over again.

"Y'know, it's been really swell and all, but I really really really think it's time for me to go now. Who knows? I might be missing dinner." He tries to step back, but Annabel follows closely, saying things in what seems to be absolute gibberish to the little blue.

Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop. OBIE!! Why do I have to do this again!? Thoughts like this race through his head as he thinks of a much more effective way to get rid of her. Thankfully, he doesn't have to think too long, because almost right afterwards, he finds himself in the middle of the Tower's kitchen.

"The hell!?" he asks, compulsively petting the little blue dragon. "What happened!?" He looks around and sees Xylon in an apron, waving a spoon at him happily. "Ummm..." Tor replies before waving back.

"The other kids give you a hard time?" he asks with a mocking tone.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Tor shoots back, collapsing into a chair and letting the little blue slither onto the table. "Very mcuhly Ha ha ha." He narrows his eyes in the Avian's direction.

"That voice hasn't been acting up too much lately, has it?" Xylon asks, totally changing the subject.

A sudden burst of laughter in the back of his mind causes him to raise his eyebrows and reply with a very cool, "Not at all. Why?"

"Curiosity mostly. We could always do an exorcism if it does act up."

"Gee. Thanks," Tor replies, more glumly than before. "I appreciate it soo--- Hey! Knock that off!" Tor yelps as the blue starts using his arm as a scratching post for his spiney back.

Oberon watches the little bishel and Tor with mild amusement. *Don't worry about the exorcism, Tor. Xylon only thinks he can do one because he's been reading books on it again.* He padded over and butted his bondmate's knee with his head to show he was kidding.

Tor looks a little frightened. "Oh. Great." He cleared his throat and started half-consciously playing with the dragon on the table before getting bitten by him. He yanks his hand back and rolls an apple in front of him. "Ooooohkkkkaaayyy. No more hand-eating from you, young man," Tor remarks in a tone that sounds extremely scarily like that of his mother.

*Sooooo... What's his name?* Oberon asks, fluttering onto the table to keep an eye on him.

"Name?"

*Yeah. The little guy needs a name. What is it?*

"Uhhhhh..."

"Don't tell me you don't have a name in mind!" Xylon remarks from where he is stirring something that looks frighteningly like stewing cabbage.

"I haven't really thought about it!" Tor protests, suddenly feeling extremely pressured, especially by the looks the little blue is giving him while wrestling with the apple.

Oberon levels a very stern glance at him.

"Okay! I'll name him George!" Tor yelps, trying to stay as far away from the dragon lest he start rampaging.

A deep growl starts eminating from Oberon's throat. *You. Will. NOT. Name. A. Dragon. GEORGE!* he projected menacingly, stalking forwards.

"MEEP!" Tor relents, and he falls backwards on his chair. "UNCLE!"

Oberon seems to smile, perched on the edge of the table. *That's what I thought.*

"Okay. Then I'm naming him Ira."

Oberon blinks. *Don't you think that's kind of ... effeminate?*

"No." Tor replies crisply, struggling to his feet. "Ira is a name with ... very famous previous bearers. All of whom were male, by the way."

Now it's Obie's turn to say, *Ummmmm...*

"It is!"

*Cite some people.*

Tor sighed. "You wouldn't know them."

*Try me.*

"Arthur Ira Garfunkel. Ira Gershwin. Ira Einhorn."

*You win. I don't know them.*

"Wait a minute!" Xylon interjects. "Wasn't Ira Einhorn a psychopathic murderer guy?" He fixes Tor with a stern glare.

Tor blinks. "Yeah.... What's your point..?"

"You can't name your bondmate after a murderer!"

"Who said I was naming him after him? The idea was he's famous."

Xylon and Oberon stand there, staring at Tor before Xylon's stewing cabbage begins to boil over and he has to concentrate on fixing it with Obie running around, trying to help. In the lapse of stare-age, Tor turns to his dragon.

"So, little guy, how do you like the name? Eh, Ira?"

Ira makes a face that obviously shows his discontent at it before letting out a little yippy growl.

"Sorry, man," Tor replies, smiling. "The thing is, you're just one of many who hates his name." He laughs.

Ira lets out a mildly disgruntled chirp before licking Tor's hand.

"Yeah. We'll get through it alright," he replies, stroking Ira's nose contently, watching with amusement as Xylon and Obie fought over how to fix the cabbage now.

For the next few days, dinner was good. Annabel and Kipfel stayed with the other travelers and began building a settlement, which Tor watched with mild interest with Ira. They always got the idea that Kipfel was keeping an eye on them, and it made Tor feel kinda creepy to be honest.

While Tor wanted to keep as far away from everyone as possible, Ira wanted to go talk to everyone. It got kind of annoying soon.

Occaisionally, he almost met the people more than fleetingly, but thankfully Oberon and Xylon would drag him back to the Tower. They didn't like to hear him panic, or something. Every time, a similar conversation would ensue about how anti-social Tor is and how he needs real people skills.

Each time afterwards, though, they'd let him go watch everyone before he met someone again. Around this time, Tor fully aknowledged he has social issues and probably journeying outside his room for too extended a time is, well, impractical and dumb. He spent a good chunck of hours in his room, teaching Ira to speak.

The little blue took up words very well, but he was very shy, and he rarely spoke, lest he achieve attention from someone other than Tor. Ira also learned from Tor various stories of myth, legend, and gore. However, he longed to be outside, among the creatures and plants and stuff of wilderness-ness.

Finally, one day, he decides to express his concern to Tor, while the latter is trying to scry. *Tor...?*

Tor says nothing in reply. He simply watches the pool of black ink in his hand, staring hard and chanting.

*Tor?* Ira asks more demandingly.

Still his bondmate does not reply.

Ira seeths silently, glowering before very loudly, and very forcefully projecting *TOR!!* It is so clear a projection, that one would have thought it to be actually spoken. He watches with vague amusement as Tor jumps, the ink drying immediately and settling as dust on Ira's head.

"AHH! I ALMOST HAD IT!" Tor exclaims, starting to pace in aggrivation.

*Tor...* Ira continues to call. He does not bother to change the tone of his voice, as he is getting too annoyed to care how he sounds.

Tor continues to pace back and forth, growling about how he lost the scrying pool.

Ira narrows his eyes. *Giuseppe Salvatore,* he growls in reply.

As if programed to reply, Tor looks up and shoots a harsh glare at the little blue wyrm.

Ira returns the look before clearing his throat. *Yes. Now. Let's go outside. You've been in here for about, oh, I don't know, TWENTY HOURS trying to figure this damned thing out. It's not happening anytime soon. Let's take a walk, you sleep, and you can continue screwing around in the morning.*

"I'm not 'screwing around.' This is very serious!" Tor protests.

Ira rolls his eyes and scoffs. *Right. Whatever. We're going for a walk. NOW.*

Tor sighs. "Do we have to walk now?"

*Yes. Stop whining or I'll get Virens to come after you.*

"Virens is scared of me."

*I'll give him good reason to come after you.*

"Like what?"

*Like I'll think of something, now come on!* Ira slithers out of Tor's room and stops at the stairs down. *C'mon!*

Tor sighs and walks out after Ira, picking him up and descending the stairs. "Why are we going outside again?"

*Because. I want to, and you want to make me happy.*

Tor sighs again and flings open the door to the outside. He takes a step forwards and finds himself somewhere totally familiar. The white cushy floor, the table of three for tea, the three scary people giggling along, and the boxes and boxes of plushies, puppets, and clothes. All is familiar.

Tor begins to convulse.

Ira blinks, wide-eyed. *What the Hell kind of loony place is this!?* he demands.

Suddenly, Tor and Ira are standing next to the tea table. Bunni, Muffin, and Mouse are sitting there, playing Old Maid.

Tor clears his throat, and Bunni and the others look up at him. "What do you want now?" he demands.

Bunni begins to laugh hysterically as Muffin begins to explain. "Well, you're going to meet your clone. Or he'll meet his clone. Or something."

Bunni continues to laugh long and hard as Mouse chimes in with a, "Don't worry, Tor. You'll enjoy him. Pity you're not meeting Bob and Provocare." He pats Tor's arm and Bunni stops laughing before playing with cutlery.

"Yeah," she says blandly. "What they said. Now. Am-scray." She snaps her fingers, and Tor and Ira find themselves in darkness.

*OOh. Fun,* Ira remarks, rolling his black eyes. *Just what I wanted to do. Get locked in the dark.*

"Oh stop whining!"

*I'd rather not, thanks.*

Tor glares mootly in the dark at Ira. "Come on. Let's find a way out of this place, wherever it is."

*Can't we just wait for someone to turn on the lights?*

"Yeah. You're a dragon of action alright."

Ira lets out a light growl as Tor runs into something in the darkness. *Door?* he wants to know, not bothering with a complete sentence.

"Yeah," Tor replies, fumbling for the handle as Ira sits there, making sure Tor knows just how much he is enjoying his search for the door handle.

He pushes the door as hard as he can, and it opens after a moment of hesitation. He steps out of the darkness, and the sudden light is almost blinding. Shielding his eyes, colors begin to form and blobs start to refine themselves into shapes and people. Great. More people.

As if seeing wasn't bad enough, they started to approach, and the door closed behind him. Oh yes, welcome to Hell. Ira chirped happily, and the voice laughed a little before subsiding. Okay, so there were people. This wasn't so bad...