Hi! I'm back, after a long break from writing –I won't get into the details, but now that school is over *happy dance* and I have more free time, I'll definitely be online more. Feel free to bug me about my Dragon Guardians story; I seriously need a big push to submerge myself in writing again.

Anywhoozle, this is a oneshot for my epic friend Jadeypoogypsywoman96, who wrote me a story and who deserves one in return. Thank you for getting me back on the writing track! :D If you've seen the episode "Rune", I think it is? then you'll understand what this story is about. If you don't, please PM me and ask! :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Jane and the Dragon. If it had continued, like it was supposed to, there wouldn't be as much trouble. But I'd still try to own it… go figure… XD

-x-x-x-x-

The day is cold. Icy winds that really don't belong in this season have slipped down from the far North, and seemed to have taken root in the valley; they tug mischievously at the man's worn cloak with claw-tipped fingers, pulling at the buttons with a sort of impish delight.

But the Weaver has not the time for these foolish winds today (although he cannot recall a time when he ever did) and can only mutter a mild curse under his musty breath in reply to the shrieking screams of the devilish air.

Why did the noise have to come from such a high place? He thinks irritably, as another chunk of rock slips from beneath his thinly booted feet and tumbles down the cliff side. And of all the high places in this settlement, this one has to be in the midst of the most dangerous area of the mountain…

It seemed like a good idea at first: spend the first free day he has had since the hurry to build the new castle commenced searching for the source of the strange noise. Who would turn down the chance to seek out the mysterious creature making such pained, wailing cries in the mountain crevices (and scaring all the villagers silly)? It was the perfect opportunity to not only skive off another hopeless day of symbol research and weaving, but to explore this newfound kingdom as more than just a conqueror.

But now, shivering slightly in the thin clothing perfectly adequate in the valley, and constantly having to pause as the weak rock crumbles beneath his shoes, seems more like a death sentence than an adventure –even the idea of inspiration is beginning to seem like a bit of a long shot.

I should never have bothered. The Weaver swallows hard at the thought, while once again the mischievous wind giggles in his ears and tugs at his silvery hair. What a waste of time…

And yet he continues on, feet scuffed and body shivering at the growing cold, as far off in the distance the sobbing wails echo like a crying child.

~o~o~o~O~o~o~o~

The day is beginning to weary of existence as the Weaver staggers weakly up the highest edge of the mountain like a wandering minstrel. His dark eyes are worn with exhaustion (no break was even considered, as the weak stone is incapable of supporting even a weight as light as his for too long, and in some places the rock is more fragile than others), and his vision, normally as sharp as a hawk's, is slightly blurred from the long trek. And as the wide opening of the gigantic cave yawns before him, all he can really do aside from smile a little at the accomplishment is reach out and lean his hand against the side of the mountain with a deep breath.

The wind has picked up even more here, he notices with distaste as he rubs a free hand across his lined brow, damp with the sweat accumulated from the unexpected exercise.

"Maybe this could serve as a sort of hideaway should we ever need to eva-" The Weaver starts loudly in an attempt to defeat the silence, but a sudden noise, one that echoes above the hissing laughter of the wind, stops him.

"Wha-"

There it is again, the wailing cries that serve as a source of creepy stories reverberating loudly in the gaping cave just before the Weaver; nervous, the man removes his hand from the stony wall and leans forward into the darkness, heart thumping like a drum.

The sight that meets his bleary eyes is almost enough to knock him senseless.

A little dragon sits not ten feet from him, like a scaly sheepdog calling for its mother.

With a shocked gasp the Weaver leans farther into the cave, just in time to hear the tiny creature let loose a deep, bellowing cry that reverberates in the hollow space and bounces about the cave like a ball. The little, grass green form shakes slightly with the loud wail, and its bright eyes, wide and pained, blink slowly as each sorrowful sob leaves its mouth.

"A… dragon…" The Weaver chokes out as the miniscule creature howls again, the slender tail whipping against the cold stone. "I thought… they were…"

But even as disbelief resounds in his shocked skull, and the frail baby dragon hunches over protectively at the sight of him, the Weaver can already feel his shaking fingers reach for the tiny roll of parchment he always carries in his cloak pocket.

The symbol of Kippernium has been found.

-x-x-x-x-

And there you have it! I'm sorry for any weirdness and the choppy transitions, and although Dragon probably was a little older than I made him, I just thought it'd be sweeter if he was a baby. *shrug* Ah well^^.

So please review, I'd be so incredibly grateful. Thanks!