They were still arguing. They'd been arguing the whole time they'd been walking.
"So, Cynder, how's destroying us working out for you?"
Cynder began to make a heated reply, but Spyro, thoroughly fed up with the whole ordeal, stopped. "ENOUGH!" He bellowed, eyes flashing. Sparx halted mid-sentence, shocked into silence.
Spyro stamped a forefoot into the dust, "Stop it, both of you! We're going to be traveling together, fighting together, so like it or not, you're going to have to learn to get along. Alright?"
He glared at them, at Sparx in particular. He was the main problem.
The warrior, who was known to all but himself as Hunter, chuckled. Spyro glanced up at him, then met Cynder's surprised gaze.
He wasn't ordering them, she realized, not like her former master would have. He was asking them, pleading. She snorted derisively. Not that he could have ordered them if he tried.
Spyro gave Sparx one last angry glance, then turned and continued forward, "C'mon lets go."
Sparx held back for a moment, muttering resentfully about 'purple runts' and 'lovesickness'.
Cynder ignored him. She'd heard it all before. Spyro did likewise.
Together, the two dragonlings, the nameless warrior, and the indignant dragonfly, walked into the distance, bound by the one goal. Stop Malefore.
End