Raised of Fire (a WOF story)

Chapter Four: Blood, Sweat, and Tears

Amaranth poured her blood, sweat, and tears into training herself.

Her uncle taught her some basic skills and exercises, but she took up the brunt of the task on her own. She read scrolls to learn the history of the war first so she would have an idea of what was going on outside her kingdom.

An unknown assassin had killed Queen Thorn, forcing Sunny to take the throne. She offered a reward to any dragon that could bring her tribe justice. The only evidence had been a scrap of red wing membrane. Full of excitement, the MudWings had taken to the skies when they heard the news and attacked the Sky Kingdom, killing innocent dragons and imprisoning several survivors of the violent carnage. Amaranth had boiled in rage while reading it. She smiled when she saw that they retaliated. Revenge is a beautiful thing.

As time went on, she read less and flew more, going much higher every few days before the winds exhausted her. Glide had generally ignored her, which she was glad of.

Days turned into months of grueling work. Those months became years. At age seven, most dragonets had formed close circles of friends, but Amaranth had not had a friend. When she was not outside, she was pouring over scrolls and memorizing battle moves.

She returned one evening to Glide meeting her in the living room. "Where have you been all day?" she huffed.

Amaranth sighed and met her gaze. "Doing what must be done," she said simply and tried to move past her.

Glide blocked her with a wing. Amaranth thought that the membranes had gotten paler yellow every month. She sighed again and looked back at her. The pale dragoness was giving her an odd look.

"What did I do?"

Glide had a triumphant look as though she had been waiting for that question. "You never do anything around here! I get stuck to do everything while you're off trying to become a superhero. No wonder you have no friends," she hissed.

"You're kidding me? You're mad at me for not doing your job? Also, excuse me, but who here actually has the ability to hunt food for your lazy tail?" Amaranth snarled, tail lashing.

"I'd tell you to go to your room, but you'd be happy. When I get back, I want this room shining." Glide said with a low growl. She stalked awkwardly outside, muttering under her breath. Amaranth watched her go, seething with a boiling hate for that useless dragon. Her claws clacked on the stone. Also muttering obscenities, she entered her room without a second thought.

A pile of scrolls were heaped on her rock nest. She sat down and pulled out a few; personal accounts from the war. She began to read, but her mind drifted off to her day's work. She kept trying to focus on the scroll, but she kept picturing herself in these battles. Fire, agony, hatred. Her claws twitched. Glory, honor, revenge.

This is what she had been pouring her essence into. Blood, sweat, and tears. She wanted to fight these dragons. Her heart thundered excitedly every time she pictured her claws raking through throats of vicious dragons that wanted to hurt the dragons of her tribe that had not wanted to enter the war in the first place. Blood, sweat, and tears.

She twitched her claws again. Glancing at the scroll in her talons, she read, There is more to fighting for the SkyWings than glory and revenge. We do this because we have something worth fighting for.

Amaranth glanced around her room. What was she doing this for if not revenge? Her home was small and nothing special; she wasn't close enough to any of her relatives; and Glide was...herself.

What was she fighting for?

The gilded eyes of her mother flashed in her mind. Honor? Glory? Love? Amaranth regarded the paintings that hung in her room. She had not painted in a long time.

Her claws grasped a canvas and some paints and brushes. She flicked open the reds.

Amaranth dipped her brush into the scarlet substance and created a cloud-like mass on the top of the canvas. Crimsons and vermillion a flashed across her painting. The colors were spread down the material in droplets, creating dark, madder rivulets that gathered to form the silhouette of a dragon. The canvas was stained with the color of blood. The painted dragoness slowly began to transform into the body shape of Dawn. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Her brushes filled in unbroken black in the negative space. She realized that her layers weren't bold enough on the silhouette, so she added more paint. The substance gathered in droplets and ran to the bottom of the canvas.

Amaranth traced the outline of dragon eyes in the cloud of blood. She realized as she painted the eyes that they were squinted with tears. Her own golden eyes.

The memories boiled to the surface and she found herself painting in the tearful eyes. The tears trickled down the canvas and outlined Dawn's body before coming to a poised droplet painted on specifically. Blood, sweat, tears.

She did not hear the claws scraping on stone. Her mind shut off anything other than her paints, her thoughts, and her canvas.

"Amaranth," Glide said as she shoved open the door to the room. "Did I not specifically tell you--" she broke off when she saw the painting.

Amaranth's finishing touches were the words, Blood, sweat, and tears trickling from the fluids in the eyes and in the mass of crimson. The poised teardrop towards the lower center of the canvas had trickled down to spell out tears.

"Oh moons," she said. "Your mother was right."

Amaranth fixated her with a questioning gaze, entirely bemused.

Glide did not take her eyes from the canvas, as she whispered, "She knew you had some talent in you."

Amaranth glanced awkwardly from Glide to her painting. She didn't personally think it was that good.

The red dragonet watched as, eyes looking watery, the dragoness left the room. "She knew you had it in you. She was willing to pour her blood, sweat, and tears into you."