(OOC Note: A rewrite of the original RP since I wasn't satisfied with it.)
His earliest memories were of fire and bloodshed.
The fight had been one that was just waiting to happen. For months, mounting tensions over territories built between the Fire and Earth Paragon tribes, and one day it all finally boiled over. Though the Fire dragons had anticipated invasion for days, they could never have expected the sheer brunt of the Earth assault that struck them on that summer evening. There must have been hundreds of enemies pouring into their lands. Everything was a whirlwind of locking claws, beating wings, and lashing tails. The grass at the foot of the Fe'gan mountains burned as Paragon wrestled each other.
Back then, Trattam was too young to fight. He was hardly a teenager and lacked the muscle he would gain in puberty. The venom that coursed through his fangs was not potent enough to take down any enemy, and his fighting performance, while admirable for one of his age, did not suffice for a real encounter on the battlefield. Thus, he was relegated to the shelter, a small series of caves and tunnels some distance away from the heart of the territory, where he waited with elderly, frail, and young members of his tribe for the clash to pass. He hated being down there. He could hear the screams of his fellow Paragon, but he could do nothing about it.