Wings of Fire: Nightfall

Part Four: The Garden Path

The ground beneath Starflight's feet was soft as he trotted along the forest floor. Fresh, earthy scents released by yesterday's evening rain hung in the air, complementing the shimmering dampness left upon the rocks and trees. A cool breeze rustled the canopy above, and every breath felt like a burst of energy injected directly into his body. Natural elegance never easily impressed him before, but today it plucked at his attention like strings, harmonizing with faint nostalgia to sing wistful tones to his heart. As much as he wanted to drop what he was doing, and take it in, such distractions would cost him even greater happiness. Perhaps one day.

Starflight was sure last night's dream was the culprit for such unbecoming reverie. He failed to summon any more details than he could from the night terrors that regularly plagued him, but he distinctly remembered a woodland like this one, as well as an overwhelming sense of peace and serenity like he had never known before. The feelings it left him were so wonderous that despite waking in the middle of the night while the storm still raged, he felt more refreshed than he had in what felt like ages. It had been a welcome reprieve from chronic unease, especially amidst the dragonets' frantic getaway, but all too brief as well.

Before he could close his eyes, and perchance return to slumbering paradise, the unmistakable permeation of a vision seeped into his mind. Starflight was forced to watch as interlopers stormed the caves they once called home. As Dune, incapable, defenseless Dune, was ruthlessly beaten, restrained, and made to prostrate before a deceiver, who uttered death warrants with gleaming teeth. As the claws that had imperiled Starflight the same day ripped away the life of his former guardian. All while being completely helpless to avert it.

Starflight shook his head. No distractions. It was not as if the maimed SandWing was the most favored among him and his friends. Though, it figured he was still obligated to tell the others at some point. Respite was a long ways off yet, so it would have to wait, like so many other things.

Like the new prophecy.

He came to a stop at the base of a tree, random at a glance, but further inspection revealed the span of its branches far exceeded its surrounding kin, spreading and twisting into a vast network above him. The girth of the trunk was likewise thicker to accommodate. He trained his eyes on one particular spot in the canopy. If one looked hard enough, they would notice the texture of the leaves weren't as defined as the rest, the sunlight didn't filter quite the same way, and there was a near intangible outline in the shape of a dragon etched in the greenery. Of course, it wasn't Starflight's physical sight that drew his attention there. 

"I tried to think leafy thoughts, but there's really no fooling you, is there?" Glory materialized into view. She lounged across the length of the tree limb, utterly relaxed, scales casually matching the verdant foliage around her. Her thoughts, however, betrayed her agitation at being made to wait.

"I suppose not," Starflight replied, settling onto his haunches. He made the opening move. "I'd like to make this brief, if you don't mind."

"Brief. Of course," Glory said flatly. She countered with a mental barrier. A gnarled entanglement of thorny vines burst from her core to wrap her mind in a protective embrace, warding against any attempts to reach into its depths. It was a technique she had come to master over the years.

 "Destiny waits for no dragon. Get on with it then."

Normally, Starflight didn't mind such safeguards. Her perceived sense of security put her at ease, making interactions with her all the more pleasant. Today, however, it was an obstacle.

"It's not personal," he asserted, testing her fortifications. "You should know a thing or two about the need to stay on the move."

"Hey, I get it. We all have places to be. " Glory waved a claw. The tangled growth reinforced in response to his prodding. No longer simply a bulwark against attack, the sharp points grew outward, pressing into his own mind, determined to force him out.