Terror of Talons ✦ A Wings of Fire Fanfiction

Chapter Fourteen

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The camp was teeming with activity as the dragons prepared for departure. Shrike took a deep breath, willing himself to focus. This was no time for lingering fears or doubts. He made his way to the meeting point, where Colonel Puma was already addressing the assembled dragons.

"Listen up," Puma's voice cut through the morning air like a knife. "We're heading to the Diamond Spray Delta. We have a job to do, and I expect nothing less than full cooperation and discipline from every single one of you."

Shrike stood at attention next to her, the weight of his new uniform a constant reminder of his responsibilities. His hundred dragons were a mix of seasoned warriors and younger recruits, all looking to him for leadership. He hoped he was up to the task.

Puma finished her briefing and turned to Shrike. "Colonel, take your wing and lead them out. We'll follow your lead."

"Yes, Colonel," Shrike replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. He turned to his dragons and gave the signal to take off.

As they soared into the sky, Shrike felt a sense of dread settle over him. The sun was fully rising now, casting a golden light over the landscape. The flight was long and arduous, with the wind buffeting them from all sides. Shrike kept his eyes focused on the horizon, trying to keep his thoughts from straying back to the nightmare. 

The first few hours passed in a blur of beating wings and strained muscles, and Shrike's mind wandered despite his best efforts. He thought of Condor, who was probably still asleep back at the palace, and wondered how his friend would fare without him. He thought of Chimaera, and the haunting images of his mangled body from the dream. The blood, the whispers, the endless sense of consternation—it all seemed to close in on him, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

He glanced down at the distant ground and saw the relatively small group of SkyWing soldiers in charge of carrying the cannons. I wonder if they'd rather be flying up here, rather than lugging around those carts of cannons and grenades and ballistae.

"Colonel," came a voice from his right, interrupting his thoughts. It was Lieutenant Strix, flying close enough for conversation but still maintaining formation. "We're making viper-licking good time. Should reach the delta by late afternoon."

"Good," Shrike replied, nodding. He does use a lot more foul language than any other dragon I've met, other than the other street dragons from when I was a dragonet, Shrike realized, remembering Arroyo's unwanted outburst from earlier. "Keep an eye on the younger recruits. We can't afford any stragglers."

Strix grinned, though his eyes were serious. "Don't worry, Colonel. I've got them covered."

The flight continued, the landscape below changing from dense forests to rolling hills and then to the marshy terrain of the delta. As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the Diamond Spray Delta came into view— a vast expanse of water, reeds, and mud, with the distant shimmer of the sea from far beyond.

Shrike signaled for a descent, his wings aching from the long flight. That was something that he'd come to realize about himself— he still had more stamina than the average dragon, but not as much as the other SkyWings did. The dragons landed in a clearing near the edge of the delta, the ground soft and damp under their talons. They were met by a group of MudWing soldiers, their brown and green scales blending seamlessly with the surroundings.

"Welcome to the Delta," said a MudWing with a gruff voice, stepping forward. "I'm General Claymore. You must be Colonel Shrike." General Claymore was a massive MudWing with a broad, scarred face and acajou brown scales.