Daine is totally not my character, but I found myself writing a little drabble about her and her relationship with Skysong, which I always thought was sweet.

Feeling rather perplexed, Veralidaine Salmalin uncertainly tucked the downy blanket around the gray infant flamingo that rested peacefully—at present—in its crib. As this shape, its sex was not immediately apparent, but Daine rather suspected it was male. She was very much looking forward to the naming day of her son or daughter; her mother was very capable of whipping a child into shape, even one whose shape and even gender was quite undecided. I hope it's a girl, she thought, touching the small, awkward bird with a mother's tenderness, for all it did not look as though it was any offspring of hers. I want to name it Sarra, maybe, for Ma. It stirred, and she quickly withdrew her hand. She desperately did not want to wake it; it would shape-shift quicker than Daine take action against it, and though the crib had been heavily reinforced when Numair realized his child's oddity, if the baby decided to occupy the body of a whale pup, the crib would probably not remain sturdy for long.

Daine tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door softly behind her with a quiet click. She kept her hand on the doorknob for a minute, smiling. However exasperating it was to deal with a stubborn changling of five weeks, it was still her changling—or, rather, her and Numair's.

A sharp trill behind her jolted Daine out of her reverie. She pivoted quickly to face the small, dusty-blue dragonet Daine had long ago, before she had ever considered to bear her own child. Skysong sat back upon her haunches, her long neck stretched upward to get a better look at Daine's face. She chirped again, demanding and loud in the silence in which the baby slept in.

"Kitten," the Wildmage scolded. "Be silent. You know the baby's sleeping now."

The color of her scales became a little dustier in appearance, now more gray than blue. Kitten mumbled to herself, dropping back on all fours and glaring resentfully up at Daine, who could not for the life of her figure out what exactly was wrong with her dragonet these days. The young immortal was always cross now, and it did not take a scholar to figure out why, really—Daine shrewdly, and she thought correctly, guessed that she was jealous of the new addition to the Salmalin household. Never could Daine forget that Kitten possessed an intelligence that was, at the very least, equal to that of a mortal human being's, but it was easy to forget that Kitten, for all her cleverness, was not only a baby in dragon terms but also one in human terms. So Daine felt her anger subsiding a little as she gazed down at the baleful face, understanding the emotion behind its unhappy countenance.

Daine crouched, reaching for her, and frowned as Kitten backed stubbornly away, her scales now a very clear, petulant gray. As if in spite, she let out a piercing whistle that lanced through Daine's head. They both paused, listening for the typical rustle and cry. There was, indeed, an odd little sound, but no cry—the baby, perhaps, had simply shape-shifted, and apparently not into anything that was uncomfortable sleeping in the crib, for it slept on without a sound.

"Skysong," she began angrily, her short temper flaring again.

The dragonet hissed, the first time she had ever shown such direct opposition to her foster mother, arching her back up so that she looked like a spitting wildcat. Her scales were a myriad of subtly changing colors: sometimes gray for her petulance, red for her anger, and still more colors, reflecting her pent-up unhappiness, her confusion. Daine felt confusion and worry replacing her fading antagonism, watching this phenomenon in front of her—was this her Kitten, who was with her from the beginning of her new life, who she rescued literally from death, and who returned the favor, tenfold?

Yes, she realized, suddenly understanding it all, yes, this was her Kitten. This was her dragon-daughter, who wanted nothing but her human-mother's attention and was determined to get it any way she could.

"Oh, Kitten," she sighed, the guilt tugging at her heartstrings, "I've neglected you so, haven't I?"

At those words, the weak little wings lowered, she stopped glaring, and there she hovered on the cusp of uncertainty. Daine struggled with her compassion, understanding everything so completely it was like a bottomless well—she kneeled, and perhaps Skysong recognized her expression, for she crept up to her, the picture of apology and shame. Daine clutched at her, hugging her close, stroking her tender belly, enjoying the rasping of scales against clothing. She had taken so much joy in the baby, for all its hardships, because it was something between her and Numair, almost some kind of cement that linked the together, come what may. She had forgotten that some things were hers, and hers alone—that some things Numair could not share, not because she would not allow it, but simply because some things could not be shared.

It was not Numair who laid his hand on the breast of a grieving mother. It was not his power that was ripped out of him to breathe life into what had not even began. He did not suffer, as Daine had, the death of a dragon as repayment for the life of her child. He did not search, diligently, for the cave where she had been born; did not take her into his arms, his heart swollen with sympathy for the big-eyed motherless creature. He could match her colors to her moods, but could he read the shades and nuances and in-betweens of her colors? He might know her favorite game was hide-and-seek, but did he know where her favorite hiding places were? He would willingly read her a story if she wanted, and even make one up for her, but did he know that the very best thing was letting her curl up in his lap, head against the beating of his heart; did he know that the very best thing was his breath against her head, his arms around her; that sometimes just the closeness of a mother was what a baby—of any kind—needed?

Numair loved the dragon, deeply, for he had an open heart and Kitten was simply a child needing a family, much like he needed, and Daine as well.

But it was Daine who revived Skysong when she was dead in the womb; who wept for the mother whose death was the price willingly paid for the life of her baby. It was Daine who took the dragonet into her arms, and forever vowed to be everything that she lacked; who knew every subtle change in moods, expressions and colors alike. It was Daine who played games with her, and enjoyed them, and pretended not to see the little tail poking from behind the draperies; who knew every hurt Kitten had suffered from and every battle she had fought in.

It was Daine who was her mother, who had always been more than just a foster parent. Daine had spent so much time fretting about the baby born of her flesh, wondering what to do and how to do it, when the entire time she had known, because she had had a baby once before.

Kitten's scales were their normal blue again. She was okay, now, and so was Daine. The baby was crying, but she barely noticed. Only when Kitten disentangled herself did she hear it, and she stood up to go, knowing it was okay now that she did—she knew Kitten understood it now, too. Actually, she felt better than she had for a long time. The war with Scanra was waning, the baby would be permanently fixated in a week, and Kitten was hers again.

Maybe later, when Numair came home, Daine would pester him for a walk. It would be a nice break from work, a rare chance to spend time together. And, of course, they would bring their children.

Both of them.

Well, it was shorter than I thought it would be. Not much else to add, though, eh? Reviews would be appreciated!