Lost and Dead - a Wings of Fire FanFiction [Book 1/5 of The Corrupt Continent]

Chapter 8

So apparently Jackalberry liked to sing.

Frost groaned, covering his ears to keep the awful sound out. It had a nice warm feeling, but it still sounded like his knife grating over stone. He squeezed his eyes closed and brought his wings over his head, trying to shade himself from the bright light of the morning. Apparently the sun rose earlier the more east he went.

"I know you're awake," Jackalberry said suddenly, yanking Frost's blankets off. Frost yelped, jumping to his feet as the chill of the early morning hit him.

Jackalberry chuckled as he started folding the thick woollen blankets. "Aren't you snow dragons supposed to, you know, not be cold?"

Frost shook himself, brushing his mane out of his eyes. "We can withstand low temperatures, yes, but that doesn't mean we don't get cold. We just... don't die."

Jackalberry rolled his eyes and chucked the folded blankets back at him. "Well, as soon as you get used to it, come and grab your bags. If we want to be home before sunset, we need to leave soon."

Frost nodded, still shivering slightly. Rubbing his talons together, he looked around. It was already dark by the time they set up camp, so he hadn't seen much of the area around him. Miles south, he could see a splotchy dark shape sticking out from the flat grasslands, pointing up like the top of his father's crown.

Blood. Screams. Tears. Laughing.

Frost didn't even know what happened. One second he was back in the day his parents died, the next he was being held close by Jackalberry who was whispering reassuring words in his ear and touching a place on Frost's head. A warm liquid trickled down his forehead and onto his snout, where he could see it. It was red.

Frost's heart dropped. Oh, King's Soul, no. Not again.

When he was younger, in the years closely following his parent's death, he hurt himself whenever he got the flashes. Usually he raked his claws over his head or punched himself, desperate to get the images out of Frost's mind. Being around Mistral helped. Being in dark spaces didn't.

He must've hurt himself again when the flashes came back a minute ago. But why now? Maybe because Mistral wasn't around now. Actually, this was the longest he'd ever been apart from her since... forever. They used to do everything together, but now... he didn't even know if she was alive.

Frost bet back the sobs forming in his throat. He was not going to let Jackalberry see him like this. He let himself be held by the big MoorWing, pressing his head closer to his friend's chest. He could hear Jackalberry's heartbeat - a buh-bum that sounded like it was going a bit too fast.

"Frost? Talk to me, please. What happened? I just turned around and you were scratching at your head... Please answer me..." Frost felt Jackalberry's breath on the back of his neck as his talons pressed down on the cuts on his head.

"... I'm fine," Frost croaked after a moment.

"No you are not!" Frost was shocked at the anger in the MoorWing's voice. "This is not normal, Frost! Dragons don't just hurt themselves like this for no reason!"

Frost was silent. "I have a reason," he said finally.

Jackalberry quieted down, caressing his head more gently.

"I have these... flashes. They take me back to a bad day. It was over ten years ago, but... They don't leave. They just wait until something reminds me..."

Frost felt tears dribble from his eyes. Jackalberry wrapped his pale green wings around his friend, clutching Frost as close as he could. His wings were odd - they looked like bug wings, but they felt just like normal ones, and somehow bent like normal ones too.