Just a little WoF drabble I decided to write up. T for the many references of blood. It isn't too graphic, I don't think, but if you don't like even the slightest mention, I recommend that you don't read this.
Blood was spattered – well, everywhere that the young MudWing could see: across the rocky soil, over the scales of fallen dragons, on the trunks of the thick, shag-bark trees and tall pines that grew in the mountainous regions of Pryyhia.
He himself had several open wounds and bruises, caused by taller, stronger enemy SandWings beating down on him and slicing through his underbelly and legs, the weaker areas of his anatomy. He could feel warm blood dripping from his body, sprinkling the ground. No grass will ever grow here again, he thought, his stomach tightening with a feeling of horror. He looked around, taking in all the sights, all the smells. MudWings and SandWings lay across the ground, dead or dying for nearly a mile, covering the steep slope of the mountain. The dying were groaning and gasping, crying out for help and not caring how they were put out of their misery, through death or healing.
Only a few were still standing, and all of them were MudWing warriors. Bog, the young MudWing, was one of the few. He stood knee deep in a pile of tumbled stones, his forelegs barely able to move after they had been nearly crushed by these boulders. He didn't want to move, anyhow. He was trembling and panting while his fellow warriors, none from his group, moved slowly around the battlefield, checking for those who could still walk and talk. They can't get anyone who isn't in good shape, Bog realized. If they can't walk, or be moved, their dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead.
This battle had to been one of the most fierce fights in this entire messed up war, and over what? A couple of wild pigs, all of which were missing now. A hunting party from both the SandWing and MudWing encampments had been chasing after three boars when they ran into each other on the slopes. Instead of competing for the animals, though, they'd attacked one another. The skirmish had gone too far, much to far, and both sides had called in reinforcements. In a few minutes two regiments were battling to the death. Bog had been a part of the hunting party with his siblings, Adder and Bullrush. He couldn't find either of them. All he'd seen of his sister was that she'd been rushing beneath the legs of a massive SandWing, and then Adder had disappeared. Bullrush had been tossed down the slope and into the side of a sharp crag sticking up from the soil. Bog had opened his jaws to scream and run to get him, but he'd been intercepted by an enemy dragonet.
His only hope was that Adder had slit open the belly of that SandWing, and Bullrush hadn't broken his ribs or spine when he'd knocked into the rock. He closed his eyes. If they were dead... First Gator and Mosquito. Then Mossy. And then Adder and Bullrush. He'd be the last dragonet standing. He didn't want to be. War activists, mostly SkyWings that passed through MudWing lands, always said 'The tallest on the battlefield is always the last dragon standing', but right now, he wanted to be short, dwarfed by Bullrush's massive wings. The last dragon standing definitely had some scars to show, and a lot of things bottled up inside.