Clearsight's Choice

Chapter 13. Whiteout. The Night Kingdom.

Whiteout felt a burst of relief rush through her veins when she saw the familiar dragon. "Liste...." she mumbled, sputtering up blood. The colors scared her, so she snapped her jaws shut and began to sob. Tears trickled down the sides of her head. She was so, so scared. Colors of red, blue, yellow, and green raced through her mind. She felt as if she were going to puke, but she didn't know if she had the energy to throw up.

Listener was standing in front of her, eyes wide with shock and panic. "Whiteout, w-what happened to you?" she demanded, trying to examine her wounds without touching them. Whiteout tried to focus on one word in her mind, through the colors, through the memories: Help.

Listener listened to her urgent thought and nodded. "I'll be back, I promise. Just, hold very, very still. Don't do anything that will hurt!" she said, her words tumbling over one another. "I'll go get help!" The NightWing spun around, careful not to smack Whiteout with her long tail, and raced off in the direction from which she came.

Whiteout let her head fall to the floor. She couldn't move anything. Everything hurt. Flashes of pink, red, and blue echoed through her mind, and she let herself cry. She felt her shoulders tremble with each sob, and it hurt like fire. Whiteout tried to stop shaking so much, but that was such an impossible task she gave up right away.

It felt like decades, in fact, maybe even centuries, before Listener returned. Behind her, both with serious expressions, were two older NightWings. Once they saw Whiteout, though, they took the lead and approached her carefully, as if even breathing too close to her would cause her pain.

It probably would have.

Whiteout groaned with pain and tried to move one of her hind legs, which appeared to have some sharp piece of wood caught in it. "No, don't do that." One of the NightWings said in an urgent, yet cautious voice. "Don't move until we figure out what to do with you."

Whiteout gritted her teeth and nodded slowly. Pain flared through her from every angle. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep all of the pain away. She felt exhausted. Three moons, she so badly wished her life was normal. That her father had never been so toxic. That her brother had never gone mad. That her mother had never been tricked into the claws of the IceWing queen.

Another sob caused Whiteout to open her jaws once more. She cried, and cried some more. The three NightWings all gave her pitying looks as they examined her wounds. It must have been bad, for they looked anxious, as if they weren't sure what to do.

After a few moments, the older NightWings gave eachother a swift, certain glance, and began to give Whiteout instructions.

"Whiteout, right? That's your name?" One of them, the skinnier one, asked. Whiteout nodded her head a little. "Ye...s...." she mumbled softly. "Okay, Whiteout honey, we need you to move your wings. Only if you can. We need to know how much you can move before taking you to the infirmary." Whiteout let out another hopeless sob at that. "I-- I c-can't... move...." "I know, I know," the larger dragon murmured. "But in order to get you proper help, you need to be able to move at least a little bit. Just try stretching your wings a little bit, alright?" When Whiteout didn't respond, he said, "Do you understand?"

Whiteout sniffled, yet obeyed. She tried gingerly to stretch out her wings. It hurt so, so much. She could barely move them before yelping in agony. She stopped moving them and lay still again.

The smaller dragon made a tsk-tsk sound. Not like, "I can't believe you," but rather a worried sort of clicking sound. "Is that all you can move?" Whiteout nodded miserably. "My w-wings...." "Shh, it's okay. We'll figure something out.... How about your legs? Can you move them at all?" Whiteout tried, but she was in such agony she forced herself to stop.