The Infection. (WOF AU)

Eight

Ptarmigan

"Oh dear. That one seems a bit outdated. Everything there's been completed, Moon, except for the earthquake or whatever. Right?" says another IceWing - I think it's the frost-scale one.

I feel a shiver running down into the tips of my claws, and I think,  I hope she doesn't know.  HOW WOULD SHE KNOW?!?

I glance at Moon and try to bury my thoughts under a blizzard of freezing slush and ice and cold.

I twist my talons together. "The plague thing- that's this disease right now, right? I don't know about the egg thing. The feather dragons-"

"Aren't there some feathered dragons and ones that look like anglerfish, right? Because there's some gossip in Where-the-Whales-Leap-at-Dawn that they rested in Ice floe's cottage before leaving for the major hospital," Cryolite interjects. She hesitates, then adds, "They also arrived in a heavy storm, so that's the whirlwind, I guess."

A red-and-pale-green LeafWing hanging from the ceiling (Maple?) pauses, and comments, "I've heard rumors that NightWing scientists predicted an earthquake decimating Phyrria in a year. Not sure, though, but now I'm, like, ninety-nine percent sure it IS true."

A bluish HiveWing with glowscales replacing normal black ones frowns. "Moon - you don't have any siblings, do you?"

"Not that I know of."

Several hours pass by of arguing and talking and somebody sneezing and lighting a bush on fire and trying to fullfill and avoid the prophecy. One by one, the visiting dragons sent by their queens fly off. It's night when I take off.

I tilt wings tilt upwards, catching an air current, and a heavy shape suddenly barrels into me , and I twist around, hissing, calling my frostbreath up, but another blow from below forces me to cough out  half-frozen saliva mixed with blood from my bitten tongue. I think my one of my ribs is broken.

I twist around in the air and try to look for any identifying clues other than unnecessarily violent and absolutely covered with thick armor that makes claws hurt. Two pairs of wings- there- a HiveWing or a SilkWing.

I turn around again, reflecting the light of two-and-a-half full moons straight into my attacker's eyes and he pauses long enough to try to dive into a dune, get blown off course, swallow a mouthful of sand, and get submerged in an oasis.

I kick the bottom of the pool, sputtering and sneezing sand out of my mouth and nose, and fling out my soaked wings to dry them. I burrow into a dune, dig out a breathing hole, and pack loose sand nonconspiously over the main opening.

I hear metal clank, like armored wings rubbing together, and try to make myself even smaller, even with me being scrunched up like a squashed sea sponge. I wait for what seems like two centuries until I hear loud cursing and the ever-distant metallic flap of wings.

I shoot upwards to cool desert-morning air, stamp my talons down on several fat lizards, and fly in the direction of the Ice Kingdom.

The journey took a few days with frequent stops, but when I get back the palace and the nearby villages are in a state of panic and chaos.

"What HAPPENNED?" I ask Gentoo.

"Queen Snowfall is dead."