Scattered Stars

VII

The harpy led them through the forest, hovering just above the surface of a bubbling river. Thistle felt queasy at the thought of dropping into the water and being carried thousands of miles away; however, she didn’t complain.

As they soared alongside the river, the thick stench of smoke began entering their nostrils. The harpy seemed unaffected by it, while after a few minutes Thistle felt her lungs beginning to burn.

Finally the group came to rest in a field of red-and-orange plume Celosia flowers. The soft scent of nature and earth soothed Thistle’s aching lungs as she delicately perched upon a log, watching bits of pollen drift about in the afternoon sun. Squall flopped on his face into the flowers and, making a loud gasping sound, inhaled their aroma deeply. 

“I guess I never told you my name,” the harpy chirped suddenly. “It’s Xanthous. Amber Xanthous, actually, but everyone in the village calls me Xanthous. I don’t know why. They call everyone in my family Xanthous. They don’t call any other families by their last names. Just the Xanthouses.”

“The only person I ever remember living with is my sister,” Squall piped up. “And she liked to thwack me with her tail instead of talking to me. And she--she never really took care of me that well, to be honest… ”

“Aw,” Amber cooed sympathetically. “I remember there was an abusive father in the village once. When the rest of the village found out, they kicked him out and raised the baby with kindness and love.” Amber chirped happily, shuffling her wings closer to her body. “So I can understand.”

“Abusive?” Squall sputtered. “Isn’t--um--isn’t that a bit… strong of a word?”

“Well,” Amber mused, “abusive means someone that abuses… and if your sister hit you that much…. No actually, it’s the perfect word to describe that situation. Abuse and neglect.”

“Oh. That’s… great.”

“So positive!”

Thistle rolled her eyes. “Can we start flying again?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, yeah.” Amber leapt into the air and hovered above Thistle and Squall. “Are you coming?”

“I don’t know, am I?” Squall muttered, his voice muffled by the flowers he had face planted into. He snorted, blowing a few Celosias around, causing their petals to shower onto the ground in small rainstorms.

Thistle sighed and hauled him to his feet. “Yes, you are,” she answered. “And it’s not a choice. You don’t get to refuse.” 

Squall fumbled to his feet. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But I won’t like it.” He crossed his arms and lashed his blue tail angrily. 

“Why are you so grumpy all of a sudden?” Thistle inquired.

“I don’t know,” Squall huffed. “I guess I’m just IRRITABLE.”

“I can tell,” Thistle grumbled as she spread her wings. “Well, we’re going, whether you’re coming or not.” She leapt into the sky.

“Okay! Okay. I’m coming.”

This was where the thick smell of smoke had been coming from, Thistle guessed, because fire was everywhere. The group had landed next to a sparking inferno in the center of the village, and Thistle could see chimneys with smoke rising from them in the huts. 

“Welcome to Crimson Cove!” Amber squealed, flapping her huge wings in excitement. “Now I’m gonna have to march you over to the Chief right away before I get in trouble.”

“Okay.” Thistle motioned for Squall to follow.

Amber led the group into a large, elaborately decorated hut made of ebony wood (because the entire village was made of ebony wood, flowers and fire.)

“Oh, Chi-ef!” Amber sang as she waltzed into the hut.

The Chief looked up, and right away Thistle felt her heart leap into her throat. The Chief had a scarlet dragon’s body and stood like a human, but that wasn’t what surprised her. 

He was one of the dragons that killed Gargoyle’s parents.