Instinct only takes our kind so far. It is in the depths of our greatest understanding that we learn the best practices for the continuance of our species. For which otherworldy creature would believe that both kobold and wyvern hatch from the same egg? Therefore, children of my mother, listen to my words that you might someday be wilier than I.
The birth of a dragonkin comes at the hatching of an egg. Whether an egg of a great Mother (Wyvern) or the smallest sure-climbing kobold, the process is the same. In the time before this, the mothers take from the fathers (Wyveran) the seeds of life. In our village, all the males and all the mothers try to exchange within a few days. Some are unable, either because they are unwell, old, or otherwise unable, of course, but from these acts of unity, the next generation is seeded.
The mother’s body swells slightly to build the eggs, and then to a nesting place she goes. In the nesting place, she deposits her burden, and must care form them in relative solitude for many sleeps. In this time, young sure-climbers, you must take to her as much food as you can—think of the future not of the present; do no impoverish your body, but take to her all that you can spare. For her solitude in this time is long and she must defend herself as needed.
In due time, the smallest of the eggs hatch, and the mother counts and guards her own young—little sure-climbers—for many days. When the middling eggs begin to shake, however, the sure-climbers know that they will not live long if they remain, and begin the perilous climb down to the general living place. Should they fall, little prevents their falling all the way to the forest floor. You, my sure-climbers, are the survivors of this dangerous climb unremembered.
In due time, even the middling-egg-hatchling, we of wyveran, dare not stay with our mother. For the violence of the great-egg’s rupture is profound. Those wyvaran who remained are frequent first-meals in that primitive place. We too must climb down, for our wings are then untested and the climb is dangerous. When one does fly, it is a sight to see, and a true omen that good things are arising.
At the thundering of the great-egg’s hatch, the new mother is born and for twelve sleeps she is another mouth that the old mother must feed. Eventually, her wings are ready, and the two mothers rejoin the tribe as a whole. In the whole process, sure-climbers, your contribution is of great importance. For if you should cease to feed the mother, her eggs may be crushed by her corpse. Therefore, do as you must and abide the temperamental tidings of the mother’s season.
Wokt, On the Birth of Our Kind