“Unless you think we should leave,” Marsh said, leaning against Reed’s side. “I’ll do whatever you decide.”
“We all will,” Umber said.
Reed knew they would. But should they? He had no idea what to do — betray his tribe, or keep risking his siblings’ lives?
“You don’t have to decide tonight,” Pheasant said, more gently. “We just had a narrow escape. Let’s go home and sleep. We’ll all feel better in the morning.”
Reed nodded, and they gathered themselves, stretching their cramped wings as best they could under the trees. Showers of pine needles slid across their scales, smelling of winter fires.
“What were those IceWings doing here anyway?” Marsh asked, stamping his feet.
“I have no idea,” Reed said. “It seemed as though they were lying in wait for us, but it’s not like we’re an important patrol. Perhaps they were here for something else and we were unlucky enough to attract their attention.”
“Maybe they were here for the scavenger den,” Umber said.
“What scavenger den?” Reed glanced at him, surprised.
“Can’t you smell it?” Umber asked. “We flew over part of it, too — it’s pretty well hidden in the forest.”
“How do you notice something like that in the middle of a frantic escape?” Pheasant demanded.
Umber shrugged.
“Why would the IceWings care about a scavenger den?” Sora asked softly.
They all thought for a moment, then looked at Reed.
“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. It felt like he was saying that all the time these days.
“Well,” Pheasant said, spreading her wings, “it doesn’t matter. What matters is we survived another battle, thanks to Reed.”
I wonder if they really feel that way, he thought. I certainly don’t.
“I hope we survive the next one,” Marsh said gloomily.
“I hope we don’t have to,” Umber said. “I hope Clay fulfills the prophecy and ends the war and saves the world really soon, before we have to do any more fighting. Don’t you think? Maybe he will?”
“Maybe,” Pheasant said. “I hope so.”
“I do, too,” Reed said. He looked up at the stars. Before the war takes anyone else I care about. Before our village is destroyed; before I have to choose between loyalty to my tribe and the safety of my brothers and sisters. Before we have to kill anyone else. “I hope so, too.”
Where is she?
Starflight suspected that he might be dead, except that everything hurt so much. Darkness pressed against his eyes whenever he tried to open them. His nose and throat ached in a fierce, raw way, as if they’d been scraped out with a crocodile tail.
Is she all right?
He couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed and what was real.
Perhaps he was still under the mountain. Perhaps his friends had never tried to escape their guardians. Maybe this was one long nightmare that had started with the threat of Morrowseer’s visit.
But Starflight was sure he could remember the large NightWing taking him aside. There was a lecture about how “NightWings have a reputation to uphold” and “NightWings are natural leaders” and “you must make the others respect you, fear you, and follow you, or you’ll be the greatest disappointment our tribe has ever produced” … Starflight couldn’t have conjured that from his own brain. That was all real.
He curled onto his side and felt jagged rocks press into his scales.
Was the SkyWing palace real? The dragonets captured before even tasting sunlight. The prison on the tower of rock. The baking-hot arena sands that smelled of blood and terror. Queen Scarlet’s delight at capturing him, a real NightWing out in the world, and her plans to make him fight, and her excitement about the prospect of watching him die.
No, that had to be real, because Starflight remembered being “rescued” by the NightWings. He remembered watching his friends turn into small dots below him, blue and brown and bright, and he knew it was real because it felt so much like this felt: as if he were a scroll ripped in half down the middle so none of the words made any sense anymore.
Will I ever see her again?
I hope she’s not here. I hope she’s safe somewhere.
“I think there’s something wrong with him.”
Was that a voice?
He tried to listen, but his dreams dragged him back down.
There had been another stern lecture from Morrowseer. It was essential for Starflight to be the leader of the dragonets; everything depended on him. And a new order: he must convince the others to choose Blister as the next SandWing queen.
“Maybe they killed him by accident. That’d be all right. Maybe I’ll get to be in the prophecy instead.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, Fierceteeth.”
And then there was the Kingdom of the Sea. No one would listen to him. He couldn’t lead anyone. His friends practically laughed at him when he tried to support Blister.