Changing Times: Mountains Crumbling

Prolouge

The pale white creature slunk across the coarse sand, lifting his talons high. He hated the sand. It had the most peculiar habit of lodging between his claws, resulting in an uncanny crunching sound when he walked. He hated the heat even more, but the heat was easier to handle. When the day got too hot, he could quite easily find himself a cave or den to nap in, until the sun lowered it's burning head.
But, even when he was asleep, the sand found a way to creep in between his claws.
"How large can this desert really be? I have been walking for what seems like a millenium, and I still can't find the end to it! All I want to do is get out of here!"
With an angry snort, he quickened his pace, lashing his tail for balance.
In times like this, he almost wished that he had wings, like the other ridiculous creatures that inhabited Pyrrhia, just so he could cover more ground faster.
"There is no point in wishing for things you do not have. Just make the best with what you were given."
Sometimes, he wished that he had been given wings, though.
As he continued on his way, the strange creature picked up the faint sound of wingbeats, which were getting louder and louder.
A low growl rumbling in his throat, he spun around, facing the attacker, that was no doubt preparing to land nearby.
"Who is there? Show yourself!" he spat, his pure black eyes glinting with rage.
"Woah, woah, slow your roll! I'm not here to attack you!" a loud, shocked voice cried, as a dusky yellow shape landed in front of him.
The creature standing before him was what the Pyrrhians would call a Sandwing. He had dusky yellow scales, the coloured of sun bleached stones. He was covered in a variety of cuts and scars. His long, poisonous tail curled behind him as he landed. His wings folded against his sides, protectively, as if he was hiding something.
"Who are you?" the white creature spat, venomously.
"I think I should be asking you the same question." the Sandwing replied,  shooting him a questioning glance.
"What I am is very much none of your business. On the other hand, I could quite easily tear you apart, so I suggest you answer my question." he snarled, flexing his stubby, black talons.
"Well, I'm Curiousity. Now, who are you?" the Sandwing replied.
"I...am Rot." he answered, hesitantly.
"Well, Rot, what are you doing all the way out here? Following on, where do you actually belong? Cause, for all I know, you could live out here, or-"
"I do not live here! Nor would I live anywhere on this miserable continent! I come from a place much grander and much more impressive than this dusting place!" he snapped, flicking one talon, disdainfully.
"Alright, geez, I get the message! So, if you don't live here, why are you in the desert?" Curiousity queried.
"None of your business." Rot shot back.
"Alright then, listen. How about you and I head over to my oasis, and we can talk about it there? I'm quite knowledgeable about the area. I might be able to help you." he offered, flaring his wings for emphasis.
As he did so, Rot caught sight of a small silver dagger, embedded in his side, dried blood encrusted around its hilt.
"How did you come across that?" Rot questioned, lazily.
"I'll explain. Once we get back to my oasis." he replied, shooting off into the sky, Rot trundling along behind him.