In the darkness, the top of the mountain had a strange line of lights that lead all the way to the peak, like those along the larger streets in the city below. He dismissed it as a puzzle to be unraveled later and landed on the darker side of the mountain. Not only were there fewer lights on this side, but there were fewer roads and houses as well. It was puzzling, because this side had a more accessible slope and faced the larger of the two rivers that met at its foot.

The large stone outcropping he'd chosen was surrounded by tall trees, but they seemed… too young and uniform in age. Perhaps a fire had burned hotter than normal and cleared a wide area at some point, the mountain was prone to seasonal lightning storms.

The youth landed beside him, and he released the tightly compressed state that he'd been holding himself in, and instructed the child, "Return to your accustomed shape."

--

The vampire did not squeak in surprise, he had just… landed a bit hard.

The other of his kind had shaped himself into an enormous, colorful, serpentine… dragon. Like his name? For a moment the words in that strangely resonant language that he could somehow understand, but not speak went completely unheeded as he gawked up at the dragon form that was so large that it seemed to block the sky.

Dragon, who had taken a dragon shape that was bigger even than the largest cloud form that Chris could maintain, demanded impatiently in the same tongue, "Release your compression! It will make the language lessons significantly easier."

He puzzled at the words, and finally paid attention to what had first been said. His accustomed shape? He wondered how the other knew with such certainty that he had one, but he did have a face that he tended to return to every few generations.

He didn't have anything as dramatic as a promise, or an oath, or even a strong logical reason for it. It was just a whisper of nostalgia, a small comfort. An intangible thread of connection to the one who had been his first friend, who had called that face brother.

He wondered how the shape would help him speak, but he shifted his form obediently.

--

He peered at the young dragon doubtfully. He thought that the shape was slightly different than the one he had worn in the hivelike city of the mankind, but it was still definitely of that species. Was the child unable to understand as much as he'd thought?

He opened his mouth to repeat the insistence that the child release its compressed form, but the youth spoke uncertainly in his poor standard, "Uncrush? Unbind? I not understand."

He opened his true eyes fully, and examined the young dragon, while he tried to think of another way to describe the decompression. The child truly seemed to have obtained an effortless balance with his current shape, wearing it as easily as he wore his wings.

He suggested hopefully, "Let your heart and eyes expand to their truest shape."

The young dragon let his heartbeat slow, and opened his own true eyes, without altering his compressed form. It was frustrating that he could obviously understand at least some of what was being asked, without being able to grasp the intent.

The youth stared up at him curiously, and said clearly but softly in the old standard tongue, "Light. You are full of light." The simple words once more carried the hum of song beneath them, and the child seemed to radiate amazement.

He hesitated as he met those eyes. It wasn't that the words could be considered untrue exactly. Every living thing carried its own complex energy pattern, just as the world carried its complex pattern of strings. He had always suspected that if one could fly beyond the reach of the air, to the height of the moon, that one could look down at the world and see its full pattern.

Light was not an incorrect term for that radiance, but a horrible suspicion was forming. A reason that many of the oldest might have abandoned a hatchling before it was old enough to speak properly.

He closed his true eyes for a moment, and gazed doubtfully at the pale color of the child's true eyes. He had never been able to see his own true eyes with his physical sight, and the pale surface could be part of the child's compressed shape… but he had looked upon the true eyes of others who had worn other forms.

It was not done, it was an offense great enough to excuse even death, because it left a trace on the victim. A trace as strong as though you had force fed them a bite of your own heart. By forcing your own imprint upon another, your will, you gave them the right to devour your heart later without blame, without consequence.

When dragons had been less, when the world had been young and dangerous, it had been their defense. It had let them eat their enemies. And it had let them share a fraction of their memories, their selves, and their strengths, when they had not cared about the difference between you, and I.

He opened his true eyes again and gazed into the child's eyes. And then he… pushed a single intent. Not a binding, not a hurt, it was a simple demand. "Release!"

A sigh that seemed to flow all the way from his toes slid over his tongue and steamed in the cold air, as the child suddenly decompressed, and gazed up at him with wide frightened white eyes.

--

He became a snake, and he panicked, but… he didn't flee, because he felt the sorrow.

He silently cursed himself for his own stupidity. He could impose his will on others with his gaze, what on Earth had made him think that meeting the true eyes of another of his kind was a good idea. But… he was also confused.

'Release.' He was certain that that was the demand his body had answered. For a moment he'd lost control of himself, every muscle had gone flaccid, and now… he was a snake. Wasn't he? Was he?

His toes curled in fear and he froze and looked down at his own hands. They were small, scaled, and had… claws. Like some kind of snake cat.

"Blink," suggested a voice that was gentle with sorrow, while being large enough to make the trees around them tremble.

He blinked, and then he wondered fearfully if he'd been forced to blink. He scuttled backward, feeling his snake belly rub against the cold stone. He blinked again, and then closed his true eyes and shifted back into… his accustomed shape.

The biting cold made him take one step forward to snatch the remains of his clothes, before turning to run. They had torn when he'd changed and fallen when he'd retreated. And the sheer idiocy of a human (or a vampire) running from a dragon that was larger than a house made him stop three steps later and turn around.

Dragon… the dragon, looked sad. He could still feel that sadness. He opened his mouth to ask why, and the sudden realization that he knew the word held him frozen in a different silence.

Dra… the dragon sighed again, and asked curiously, "Why return to that form?"

The words were more than meaning, they were words. Chris, the vampire who had once lived as a snake, and who had been a snake with hands just a moment ago… right. Chris cleared his throat, and realized that it was the wrong shape to form a reply. He felt certain that he could open his throat the same way he could open his true eyes, if he just…

--

"This is the shape… I… that my first brother cherished," the child explained awkwardly.

He could feel the fear, and confusion. He should apologize. He was old. Older than many of those who might have abandoned such a child. But he would not. Had not.

But still, this child was not completely blind like that one. It could at least see something like light where it should see patterns. It seemed that he should also teach the youth about basic biology. "Dragons cannot interbreed with the mankind. They are completely separate species."

"They are called 'humans', and I know that!" the little dragon snapped, but then it froze and whispered, "Dragons?"

"You are speaking very well," he complimented the child curiously. "Was it only that you did not remember how to return to the shape of your own throat?"

The child's feeling of horror when it looked at its own hands, and its quick retreat into the shape of the mankind… into a human, made him think that it might actually be possible for a child who had held another form for most of its life to forget how to release the compression.

"Didn't you… didn't you teach them to me when you… did that?" the child asked uncertainly.

Release… that had been all he had sent. Even if he was so far gone as to break the taboo, he had been careful to minimize, to contain… he had reduced it down to pure intent and the emotions were already fading to what could be carried in the song of words.

Suddenly, he was very, very angry…