A/N: There are times when you just need to drop everything and write. A month or two ago, that's exactly what I did, and this story is the result. This site really needs a Slice-of-Life genre tag, because that's pretty much what this story is. I fully expect that not everyone will be interested in a story of this genre, since it lacks the harsh excitement of most Spyro fanfics, but for all the SpyCy/romance lovers out there, this is for you.

This story is in no way related to any of my other stories. I'll update a chapter a day until it's done (yes, this story is entirely finished). I hope you enjoy the ride. :]

Please note: This story is rated M for inexplicit scenes of a sexual nature, and sexual references. No extreme violence or harsh language.

Distance

1

A week.

A whole week had passed since the end of the war; since Malefor's demise. Cynder sat alone on the eastern-facing balcony of the Temple of Warfang. It was small compared to the old Dragon Temple now destroyed by Malefor, but it was no less grand. Like the rest of the city it had suffered some damage from the war, but its placement in the very centre of Warfang had spared it the worst.

The open balcony afforded Cynder a view of the eastern section of the city, over the tops of squat sandstone buildings and between the majestic walls of high-standing skyscrapers towards the lip of the eastern wall, which was just barely visible on the horizon. Even as she watched, the sky above the wall began to lighten with the glow of the rising sun. Like a wave of fire, it crept across the sandstone buildings and turned them almost gold. The last stars in the sky faded, and Cynder closed her eyes with a sigh.

It was hard to believe only a week had passed since that fated battle with Malefor. She could not reconcile with herself that the war was over. These days of peace seemed strange and awkward. All her life she had been fighting; all her life she had wrestled against the tides of war and struggled in the iron grip of a master who had stolen all freedom of choice away from her.

What was she now if not a fighter in a war or a puppet to a master?

This peace was a strange thing. It seemed as though nothing was expected of her any longer, and yet she could not help but expect things of herself. What was she supposed to do now?

In truth, Cynder did not fully understand why she was still alive at all. For that moment, in the wake of Malefor's demise, she had truly believed her end had come. But life had not ended. She recalled strange memories, if they could be called that—a warm embrace, a void of light and darkness, gentle smiles and guiding paws—and then she had awoken in Warfang, surrounded by the Guardians.

They'd had no explanation for how she and Spyro had survived, but Volteer had firmly clung to the belief that the ancestors had played a part.

"They gave you a second chance," he'd said. "A chance to live the lives you'd been denied."

Even Spyro hadn't been able to explain it, but he'd said something strange when he'd awoken. He thought he'd met them—the ancestors; said that they'd stood around him in the stars and spoken of things he hadn't fully understood. He'd only told Cynder and wisely refrained from mentioning it to Volteer or Cyril, as he had been certain it would set them both off on some sort of tangent.

Cynder couldn't help but smile. Spyro knew them so well; she could easily imagine the two old guardians doing just that. A moment later, the smile withered and fell from her face. She snorted softly and opened her eyes to watch the sun rise.

It had also been a week since she had last spent any good amount of time with Spyro. In a way, it was hard to figure out who was avoiding whom. She hadn't meant to avoid him; it had just happened somehow. Every time she saw him, those traitorous words she'd said would come creeping back to make her cringe, and before she knew it, she'd started evading him without really thinking about it.

This made for particularly lonely days. The Guardians seemed too busy to offer company, and she had never been completely comfortable around them regardless. The citizens of Warfang were, for the most part, friendly enough. Cynder still felt the tension in the air and caught the anxious glances thrown her way by those who still remembered what she'd once been, but hers was a past that went largely unspoken of. Nobody seemed to want to remember it, least of all her. But nor did they seem to want to have anything to do with her, and she found herself feeling likewise.

Without Spyro, she found herself very alone indeed. At least Sparx seemed to have warmed up to her, but he still called her 'Terror' whenever he got the chance—and he was more often around Spyro, anyway.

Caught up in her lonely musings, Cynder didn't notice the footsteps until they were right behind her. Suddenly aware of a presence at her back, she jumped up and whirled around. She had never really lost that reflex, and she doubted she ever would. But as her pounding heart began to slow, she found herself gazing into the face of the purple dragon himself.

Spyro looked somewhat anxiously bemused. For a moment, Cynder could only stare at him and he stared back, his mouth half-open. Sparx was nowhere to be seen; he was likely still sleeping, given the time of morning.

"I...saw you from the hallway," Spyro said haltingly, shifting his paws in what was almost a nervous gesture. Cynder couldn't fathom why he would be nervous around her.

"I was just watching the sunrise," she said, relaxing her stance and inwardly cursing herself for being so highly strung. "Were you going down for breakfast?"

"Y...yeah." He shuffled his paws again, averting his eyes for a split second before glancing back at her.

There was something so very awkward about his actions that Cynder found herself doing the same. A very stiff silence followed, in which she cursed herself again and tried to think of something to break the ice. But those words were back again, repeating in her head, mocking her and taunting her with a memory she wished she could banish. How could she have said something so stupid?

"Have you...been avoiding me?"

Cynder flinched and snapped her gaze back up to meet his, wide-eyed. He was looking at her with an expression caught between worry and hurt. Her heart sank and she found herself unable to hold his gaze. "I..."

Spyro's paw shifted, as though he had been about to step closer but had thought better of it. "Is it something I did? I'm...I'm really sorry, if it is. If you tell me, maybe I can..."

"It wasn't, Spyro," she said quickly, wincing. The last thing she wanted was to make him think he'd wronged her somehow. If anything, it was the other way around. Cynder sighed. "It's about something I did—or...something I said."

For a moment, Spyro just looked more bemused. Then an expression of sudden understanding washed over his face and his eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly. Cynder cringed and looked away, waiting for his inevitable reaction.

"Oh. I-I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, but I just..." His pawsteps edged a little closer. "I didn't know what to say. I thought I might have dreamed it first, but... Well, I guess I should ask—did you mean it?"

He was close enough now that she could almost feel his warmth—the warmth of another body on a cold morning. Opening her eyes, Cynder looked up at him. He was hardly an inch taller than her, and for a moment they stood muzzle to muzzle. She took a step back, her face burning both with shame and embarrassment.

"I don't know, Spyro. I was...scared." She shook her head and met his eyes squarely, daring herself not to look away no matter how much she wanted to. "I thought we were going to die there, I really did. And I...I just wanted you to know how grateful I was towards you, and how much you meant to me. You've done more for me than anyone. I just...wanted you to know that in our final moments."

Cynder bowed her head, unable to keep his gaze. "I didn't think we would survive. I didn't think I'd actually have to worry about saying...those words. But..."

She clenched her jaw, wishing she knew the words she wanted to say.

"I love you?" Spyro asked, and she flinched.

She whipped her head up, half-formed apologies or excuses on her tongue—she wasn't sure which—but found him smiling gently at her.

"Do you?" he asked.

"I..." A warm shiver travelled down her spine and she found herself momentarily lost for words. Did she? "I care about you, Spyro. You've done so much for me and I want to see you happy. But...what I really want is to know you better. I want to spend time with you, and be your friend. I want to know what it's like to be a friend."

She gazed up at him, begging him to understand, and before her eyes, his expression seemed to melt with relief. He gave a kind of shy smile and a small laugh that made her sinking heart lift in her chest. "That's...kind of a relief, actually."

Cynder sat up a little straighter. "Oh?"

Spyro smiled wider, a kind of sheepish grin that made him all the more endearing. "I think I might have been avoiding you too, without really thinking about it."

He stepped up to the balcony to gaze out over the city and she turned to stand beside him.

"I didn't know what to say to you, see," he continued slowly. "Whether I should just try to ignore what you'd said, as though I hadn't heard, or if I should give you an answer. Ignoring it seemed wrong, but I didn't know how to answer, so being around you was kind of..."

"Awkward?" Cynder offered, smirking as her apprehension drained away.

Spyro grinned. "Yeah, something like that. I don't really know what 'love' is, you know. My parents—well, Sparx's parents, I guess—used to tell me they loved me, and I understood that, but... I guess what I mean to say is that I want to get to know you better too. I've kind of...missed you this week."

A gentle smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Guess we've both been kind of stupid, huh? I missed you too. It's been really lonely..."

"I wish I could say the same, but Sparx never stops talking." He chuckled softly, and the last of the ice between them melted away.

Cynder found herself grinning unabashedly. "Yeah, I didn't miss him as much. Have you ever tried locking him and Volteer in the same room? I bet they could talk each other to sleep."

Spyro snorted with laughter and, almost inconspicuously, leant in until their shoulders brushed together. "Y-yeah, maybe we should try that some time, see who falls asleep first."

As though she had meant to do it all along, Cynder found herself leaning into him in turn, relishing the warmth of his scales against hers. "I think you would if you tried to watch."

Their chuckles filled the air and slowly drifted into silence, but this silence was both warm and comfortable. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from her chest, and she felt a little silly for avoiding him this entire week. All she'd done was make it more awkward, and yet it had been fixed so easily. But there was no use dwelling on it any longer.

"So...we're friends?" she asked tentatively, glancing sideways at him.

Spyro beamed. "Yeah. Yeah, we are."

Warmth bloomed in her chest and she gazed out over the city, her heart lighter than it had ever been. Everything was right with the world.

Cynder groaned and opened her eyes, no longer able to convince her mind that she wasn't ready to wake up yet. A sparsely furnished room illuminated by the dim light of the rising sun met her gaze, and she rolled onto her back with a sigh. The sandstone ceiling was likewise washed in morning light, illuminating the hair-thin cracks and other impurities that marred the golden stone. By now, Cynder could trace the familiar patterns on the ceiling almost with her eyes closed—she had stared at them long enough to know where each began and each ended.

Stretching her leaden limbs towards the ceiling with a groan, Cynder closed her eyes and tried to remember the memory she'd been replaying in her head in an attempt to fall asleep again. It hadn't worked, but she smiled when she remembered what it was—the moment when it all had started, when she and Spyro had spoken on the balcony that week after Malefor's defeat. The moment when they had become friends. The moment that had led to what they shared now.

It was hard to believe that had been so many months ago.

The smile fell from her face and Cynder rolled onto her side, gazing with glazed eyes at the empty room and the spare cushions scattered across the floor. Spyro used those whenever he slept beside her. Another sigh left her lips and she pushed herself up, stretching her wings as she gazed towards the tall window to the right. Morning light streamed through, and she could see the tops of Warfang's golden sandstone buildings spreading towards the horizon.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since Spyro had left. Two weeks since he had last held her in his wings. Two weeks since she had heard his laugh, seen his smile, and felt his warmth. Two weeks without him.

It felt like two months.

Getting to her feet, Cynder nudged her sleeping cushions out of her way and padded to the window, glancing at the bookshelf as she passed. Since he had left, she had tried to keep herself occupied with reading, but her wandering mind had not let her concentrate and she'd given up. Now the books, scrolls and tomes lay abandoned on their stone shelves, likely gathering dust.

With a shake of her head, Cynder stepped up to the window and gazed out over the city. It was still early morning, so the streets were largely void of life; most dragons were still sleeping peacefully on their cushions, yet unaware of the breaking dawn. Cynder wished she was one of them.

It had been two weeks, and she still had no word of Spyro and his whereabouts. He'd promised he would write to her if he found a way, and she was certain he would, but who knew how long it took to fly to the northern temple? She only hoped Cyril knew the way and wouldn't get the two of them—or three, counting Sparx—lost. But surely two weeks should have been enough time.

What if something had happened to him? She shuddered to think of it, but as she gazed out over the city, only half taking in the view, she couldn't get that sickening thought out of her head. If something had happened to him out there... If the last of Malefor's forces hadn't disappeared along with him as they had previously thought... If Spyro hadn't even made it to the northern temple... She didn't want to think about it.

"Stop it," she snapped, shaking her head roughly in an attempt to rid the thoughts. "He's fine. Spyro is fine."

Maybe he just hadn't found a way to send her a letter yet. Cynder sighed and sat down, resting her head on the windowsill. Hopefully he found a way soon. She didn't know how much more of this she could take. All she wanted to know was that he was okay. Even a single word...

For some time, Cynder merely sat there and gazed out over Warfang, watching the sun crawl higher with agonising slowness. She didn't know what else to do but wait for word from Spyro, if it would ever come. It was silly, she told herself, to feel so hopeless without him, but she couldn't shake the feeling. With him gone, it was like something was missing—a part of her.

Eventually, Cynder realised her stomach was grumbling and forced herself to her feet. There was no use starving herself; that wouldn't help anything. With another glance at the waking city, she turned around and padded across the room to the door. It was a large round door, not unlike the ones at the old Dragon Temple, and could only be opened by a dragon. Cynder snorted a tiny puff of shadow-smoke onto the glossy round gem in the doorframe, and it turned quickly from white to black.

The door creaked open, the gem faded slowly back to white, and Cynder was just about to step through when a soft shriek stopped her in her tracks. Startled, she whipped her head around, scanning her room for the source. Something moved near the window and she almost jumped when she saw it. It was a bird—a sleek, grey-brown creature about as big as one of her forelegs—and it was sitting on her windowsill.

She stared, and it called again—a high-pitched trill that was more musical than irritating. Curious, Cynder turned and approached it, ignoring the door as it shut behind her. As she got closer, she saw the bird was clutching something in its talons, trapping it against the windowsill. It looked like a roll of parchment. Cynder's heart leapt into her throat. Could it be...?

She quickly closed the distance between herself and the window, and the bird lifted its claw as though offering the parchment to her. Her paw shaking, she reached out and took the scroll from its talons. It clicked its beak and retracted its foot, ruffling its feathers in a manner that struck Cynder as proud.

Her paws were trembling so much it was hard to open the scroll, but she quickly found the wax seal and broke it with a claw. The parchment began to unroll, and she helped it along with as much restraint as she could manage. It had to be. It just had to be.

Her eyes fell upon the first word scrawled upon the parchment, and her heart lifted as though it had grown wings.

Cynder

It was addressed to her. It was his writing. It was a letter from Spyro.

She could have melted with relief, but instead she read on.

We finally made it to the northern temple. I can't believe how long it took us to get here! For a while I thought we'd be flying forever, but Cyril insisted we'd get there. Thank the ancestors he was right. Nine days, Cynder! My wings still feel like they're about to fall off. You should have heard Sparx complaining, and he rested on my head for most of the trip.

I'm not sure when you'll get this, but I'm writing this on the night after we arrived. We spent most of the day getting acquainted with the wind dragons and their Guardian. They're not a very friendly bunch. They seem really suspicious of us, even of Cyril. I don't think the Wind Guardian believed anything he said. If we ever want to bring them back to Warfang with us, I think it's going to take a while to earn their trust.

I think they're worried I'm going to turn out like Malefor. The Wind Guardian—I think his name is Avgustin; I can't quite remember—flat out refused when Cyril said we were hoping they would give me a lesson in their element. I don't know if he's going to come around, but Cyril seems to think so. He says we just need to gain his trust, but I don't think Avgustin wants anything to do with us.

At least they were nice enough to loan me this falcon. Her name is Rosemary, and she's one of a whole network of 'carrier-falcons' within the temple. It's more like a city than a temple, really. I think it's almost as big as Warfang.

I don't know how long it will take to get you this letter, but hopefully not as long as it took us to get here. The wind dragons say their falcons are pretty fast, though. Maybe you can send me a letter back with Rosemary? I'd like that.

To be honest, I miss you already. I mean, it's nice to get to know Cyril one-on-one, I guess, and to spend more time with Sparx—I think he's been feeling kind of left out since we started courting—but without you here it feels like I'm missing something. I really hope you're not too lonely at Warfang. Like the Guardians said, everyone at Warfang knows you as a hero now, so there's no reason for you to hide away from them. Go out and talk to someone. Maybe you'll make a friend.

I just don't want to think of you sitting alone in the temple. If I could be there to keep you company, I would, but I can't. I really wish you were here with me. At this rate, it might be a while before I can come home, but I'll still keep my hopes up that I'll see you again soon.

I think Sparx misses you too, but he won't say it. You know what he's like.

Hope you're doing well, Cyn. Remember, I love you and I'll come home as soon as I can.

Spyro

Cynder stared at his scribbled name, her head spinning with all she had taken in. Then she took a deep breath and read it again. When she was finished, she glanced up to see that the falcon Rosemary was still perched on her windowsill and seemed to be waiting for Cynder to send her on her way, with or without a response.

"Just...give me a moment to write a reply," she said slowly. It felt odd talking to a bird. Rosemary merely cocked her head, but Cynder took that to mean she'd understood.

Standing up, she stumbled over to her bookshelf and scanned it for the scraps of parchment she had lying around. Spotting a roll, she grabbed it, along with a little stone bottle full of ink, and returned to her spot on the floor. She curled the tip of her tail around the quill protruding from the top of the bottle, unrolled the blank parchment beside Spyro's letter, and paused, wondering what to write.

At length, she just decided to start and was surprised by how easily the words came.

Spyro

It's so good to hear from you. I was starting to worry. It's been two weeks since you left now, so I guess it took Rosemary a bit less than a week to get here. The northern temple must be a long way. Is it cold there? I bet Cyril likes it.

Hopefully you're surviving with only Sparx for company. If it was me, I think I'd have eaten him long ago. Is Cyril any less of a stuffy old windbag now that you've gotten to know him a little more? That Avgustin fellow sounds like a right—well, I won't say it. But I guess we can't blame him for being afraid.

I'm sure you've got nothing to worry about. If the wind dragons don't already, I'm sure they'll come to trust you soon enough. You're nothing like Malefor. Any dragon with half a brain could see that. You're kind, caring and loyal, and you're the most selfless dragon I know. They'll see it soon too, if they haven't already by the time you get this.

I wish I had been able to go with you, but it definitely sounds like my presence would have only made things worse. The Guardians were right. The citizens of Warfang might be ready to forget my past, but what about everyone else? If the wind dragons are as untrusting as it sounds, there's no way they'd see me as anything other than the Terror of the Skies. So I guess it's a good thing I didn't come along.

But I still miss you. I've missed you every day. To be honest, I haven't left my room much since you left. I still don't feel all that comfortable in the streets. Most dragons might be willing to forget, but I don't know if I can face them yet. Maybe I'll try today...

Whatever happens, I hope you'll be able to come home soon. It's not the same here without you. And I guess I miss Sparx too, but don't tell him.

Good luck, Spyro. I love you.

Cynder

Sighing, Cynder set the quill down and read over what she'd written. It was satisfactory, at least, though it still didn't seem to say exactly what she wanted to convey. Regardless, she gently exhaled over the ink so help it dry faster, and then rolled the parchment up into a thin scroll. Rosemary ruffled her feathers as though she recognised the action, and Cynder handed the scroll over to her.

"I don't have any wax to seal it, but please take it safely to Spyro," she said as the falcon took the scroll in her talons.

With another shrill call, Rosemary opened her wings and soared out through the open window, disappearing into the cloudy sky above Warfang. Cynder watched until the falcon was out of sight, then turned away and placed the bottle of ink and the quill back on the shelf.

Now it was just a matter of waiting for a response, whenever that would come. It would likely be more than a week, judging from Rosemary's speed. Cynder's heart sank a little. Maybe even another two weeks. She didn't want to have to wait that long.

Shaking her head, she swept the remaining pieces of parchment under one of her cushions and headed for the door again. Part of her was both elated and relieved to have finally heard from Spyro, but the rest of her ached to know that it would be a while before she heard from him again. And even longer before they were together once more.

"This really sucks," she muttered to herself as she stepped out into the corridor and the door slid shut behind her.