Another Way

Interlude III: Distance

For once, her escape had been swift enough.

The Windrider gradually slowed down to her equivalent of casual stroll, relaxing from flying faster than all terrestrial beings ran to only flying faster than most of them could run. Her body was used to so much more than this, velocities which could kill many lesser creatures on their own from sheer inertia.

Alas, her age would only let itself be temporarily overlooked, but never forgotten.

Despite her relatively sluggish pace, she was still making progress towards the next stop on her journey, and it was all that mattered. Or at the very least, all she knew she should've been focusing on, on the mere fact of progress instead of fretting about its exact pace.

Easier said than done.

...

Blast it.

The low thrum that left the dragon's throat went unheard above the calm waters, not a single fellow flier sharing the afternoon sky nearby. She thought she had remembered the direction to take, that her long sharpened sense of place in the world would let her find her way without any aid.

And yet, she wavered, gradually stopping in the middle of the vast ocean.

She wasn't doomed, nowhere near. Even if she were to become truly lost, her return would merely be delayed until she made it to shore somewhere and then followed along with it. And that was the worst-case scenario.

Latch's foresight made sure of that.

Once the Windrider had stopped, she opened the thick canvas bag affixed to her red wings; telekinesis ruffling through the assorted junk until she'd pulled out a small, metal item. She may have been living amongst the people of Golden Sky for over a century by now, and yet she felt no less distant from them and their inventions of brass and iron.

If not for her and one of their greatest tinkerers having taken a liking to each other, she would've probably long since left them for good.

Even despite the accomplishment she thanked them the most for.

Shaking that thought aside, the dragon thought back to her friend's instructions on how to use the supposed navigational tool. Two needles spun freely in a circular brass chassis, moving through a dense forest of unfamiliar symbols.

The red, iron one always pointed south, a feat accomplished though means beyond the Windrider's comprehension. The green, silver one, however, pointed to a beacon at the location Latch had specifically arranged for to be her resting spot on her way back.

It was a provision the dragon was simultaneously deeply grateful for, and equally worried by.

Was her diminishing strength that easy to sense?

The remainder of her journey towards her resting spot for the night was spent in annoyed silence, verbal and mental alike. She ignored her body's complaints, forcing them silent despite their best efforts.

She hadn't even crossed into her sixteenth century yet; she couldn't let herself be overtaken by such annoyances.

And so, she raced on, chill air staining her down with salt as she passed by any onlookers in a red and white blur, much too fast for most to even react to before she was long gone.

Her destination was almost too small to even be called an island.

It wasn't just small enough for her to run circles around, but even for most terrestrial beings, she imagined. A tower of stone and brass took up a non-insignificant part of it, housing the beacon that had beckoned her over, as well as its singular maintainer. Surrounding it was a grove of trees small enough for one to see the base of the tower from the shore.