Though he could not see it, Starflight had no trouble hearing the battle.
The furious beating of wings, a flurry of currents through the air. Jambu's panicked screaming, fading into the distance as Tsunami's authoritative voice took control. The flutter of birds as they took to the sky, startled by the impending clash of the sky's alpha predators. Roars, distorted by the trees and distance. The hiss of flame, the sharp screech as claws skittered along hardened scales. Cries of rage, fear, anguish—the sounds of pain and struggle renewed.
War had returned to Pyrrhia. Starflight was almost glad he was blind. The Skywing arena, the Mudwing battlefield, the burning Seawing Summer Palace—none of those were things he wished to see again.
"You OK, Star?"
He felt Fatespeaker brush his left wing, both guiding him through the trees and showing her concern. They bobbed unsteadily in the air, their arms laden with as many scrolls as they could take from the library treehouse. Starflight nodded, the flaps of the blindfold brushing against his ears as the wind blew past them.
"I'm alright," he said. "You?"
He sensed a slight tremor pass along her wing as he touched it.
"Nervous. I didn't think they'd get here so soon. I'm worried about Tsunami—what if something happens to her? What if something happens to the Rainwings? What if the Sandwings find our village?" He heard her gulp. "So many things can go wrong..."
Starflight was just as scared. Always he'd been the one on the sidelines, watching his friends risk scale and wing to protect him and Sunny. He had always wanted to be brave like Tsunami or loyal like Clay, but every time danger reared its ugly head, its cousin fear would paralyze him. He tried so hard to fight it, but every time the mind-numbing panic would win. He despised his cowardice, hated how it robbed him of the one thing he was proud of: his smarts. Without his brains, without the founts of knowledge he'd gathered over years of reading scrolls, Starflight was nothing more than a helpless dragonet. A burden, a disgrace. A failure, as Morrowseer had so bluntly branded him.
Fear was his constant nemesis. Sure, he'd won a victory over it when he saved his tribe from a volcanic death, but still it dogged his every wingbeat. However he did learn one thing. Running from fear would never make it go away. Hiding from it would not make it disappear. Only confronting it would force its paralyzing tendrils from his mind. Now, more than ever, he and his friends needed to face their fears.
"I'm scared too," he admitted, "but I can't let that stop me from helping my friends. We need to get these scrolls to safety, make sure they don't get damaged or stolen by Blister's troops. I have faith in Tsunami—she and the Rainwings have been training constantly these past weeks. If there's anyone who can take on Blister, it'd be her."
Fatespeaker didn't reply. The humid air of the rainforest whisked by, making a soft whistling sound as it passed over the dragons' wings.
"It's OK to be scared, Fatespeaker. We'll make it through this, together."
They flew on in silence. Before long Fatespeaker guided Starflight down with a tap on his wing, saying, "We're here. Careful on the landing, the ground's coming up."
His claws met the soft, mossy turf with a muffled whump. He wobbled a bit, a couple scrolls spilling out of his grasp. He heard the rustle of paper as Fatespeaker bent to retrieve them.
"Thanks."
He felt her still outstretched wing touch his shoulder momentarily. "Let's go. We should store them in the library hut. This way."
They made their way through the village, Fatespeaker guiding him through the crowd that had gathered outside, wondering what the commotion was. He heard whispers as they passed the various huts and lean-tos.
