A/N:

I've been a bit busy for the last month preparing for my finals and exams of that sort, so I haven't been able to attend to my side projects at all recently. Now that I finally have some time on my hands, fortunately, I've decided to write up a short update for this story. I greatly enjoy the Wings of Fire books and I decided that I wanted to write a good story about a hero that we never get to hear about in the books. I definitely hope you enjoy this, although parts of it may or may not contain amateur mistakes. Thankfully, that's what self-criticism is for.

If you have any thoughts, I would greatly appreciate hearing them, whether in a review or a PM.

It was a hot, crisp afternoon when Dust finally spotted his destination, a looming fortress that stuck up from the top side of a bracken, rolling hill like a great brown island in a sea of dry and dirty shrubs interspersed with clumps of weedy grass and dehydrated bushes; choked with desiccated cacti and great sheathes of brown prairie.

From the post office in the desert he had flown many miles to reach the southern island corridor, and then on he had gone due east towards the Seawing kingdom over the Oyster Coast, only stopping at military islands to sleep the night away, to play games with the bored garrison and grab many a bite to eat, only to depart at the crack of dawn; always aiming due east towards the rising sun and rest.

Then he had reached the edge of the rainforest, where the air was languid and sticky and the moisture crept into his scales until he longed for a proper bath of sand. Even the ocean was no longer cool and teeming with life, but was now filled with warming currents and jellyfish the size of which he had never before imagined, nor ever wished to encounter again. He stopped for a day at a supply depot, and was much tentative about the many strange meats.

It took him four, almost five days to bypass that horrible rainforest, and then he found himself flying steadily more north, so that the days became cooler and more cloudy, and the nights more clear than down south, where the clouds would drizzle for days on end, if it was not outright pouring. Funnily enough, the mosquitoes never seemed to be bothered by it, and he was glad to be escaped from that territory. Here he felt that he could be his own dragon again, and he reveled in it.

Slowly he worked upwards until he began to see evidence of the Seawing kingdom's influence, whether it was from an all Seawing patrol canvassing the skies to a stockpile of fish hidden in a cave where he landed to spend the night.

Several times he was stopped by dragons wanting to know his allegiances, mostly agents of Blister, but once of Burn. It was a scary, almost surreal experience when four dragons swept out of the morning sunrise and glided down to where he was preparing to take off, having just caught himself a meal in a pronghorn antelope.

They were Skywings, and they inspected him roughly, asking him whether or not he had any identification. Fortunately he had had the presence of mind to conceal the papers showing his loyalty to Blister under a rock when he saw them coming, otherwise they would have killed him on the spot. When he had satisfied them that he was just a fledgling soldier who had lost his way they pointed him towards the nearest Skywing outpost and swooped off, swearing good-naturedly as they went, and not in the least bit suspicious it seemed, otherwise Dust thought he would have lost it.

And so it was that when he doggedly flew into a Sandwing fort belonging to his allies that he breathed a sigh of relief, even as the MP's searched him and cross-referenced his ID for any errors that might show him to be a spy. None were found, and when he told them he had to deliver a message to the officer who was in charge they ushered him to the dragon commanding the base. His name was Arroyo.

It was nearly dusk when a tired Dust was shown into a cramped brick office. He looked around. A Sandwing secretary sat by the empty fireplace with a quill in one talon and a piece of paper lying on his wooden desk. Clearly the dragon had been filling out forms before Dust had come in; as Dust watched he dipped the end of the quill into the iron inkpot – another thing that he had noticed, nothing out here was breakable -, and wrote something, then shifted the flimsy form aside, taking another one from a large stack.

Behind Dust a page scuttled away down the hall and disappeared, something that didn't exactly lend him any confidence. He didn't like the look of the place much, and the condition of its contents was leading him to steadily more disagreeable conclusions every time he looked at the evidence.

Everything smelled of sweat and grime and dirty armor that hadn't been washed in weeks, though the aide's office had a faint smell of beeswax. The furniture was plain and utilitarian, Dust thought as he took in the room, even for the military. The aide barely looked up as he came in, then went back to his paperwork. For a while nothing was said, and both sides shifted uncomfortably, each waiting for the other to make the next move.

Finally the secretary looked up at Dust as if expecting him to say something. Not knowing what else to do, Dust held his gaze.

"Well?" said the secretary. "Is this an appointment or a complaint? If this is about that scuffle in barracks two I don't want to hear any of it. Damned thing happened near a week ago and they're still complaining about their injuries."

Dust fought the urge to flinch when the dragon swore like that. It just wasn't proper for someone in the chain of command to be so crude, much less the major's secretary. Still, training took over, and he replied.

"Neither sir. I've got a message for Major Arroyo." Then his bravado ran out, and he stumbled over himself with the next few parts. "The officer in charge of this operation. I'd like to know where he is."

The secretary jerked a thumb towards a weathered door on the left side of the room that Dust had originally assumed was for a cleaning closet.

"The Major just got back from the western outposts a few hours ago. You can't miss him, " he said. "My name's Outback."

Dust shook it firmly. "Dust."

He got up and, not knowing what to expect, entered the major's office. It too was a bare and utilitarian affair. A tough-looking wooden filing cabinet stood behind a dented and scraped oak desk, on which sat a mug, an inkpot and yet more paperwork. There was only one window. On the floor lay a beaten rug, and to the side a Sandwing paced vigorously. This, Dust decided, must be the major.

He was an interesting dragon. He looked to be about in his upper thirties, grizzled and with a scar running up the bottom of his chin that intersected his mouth, only the largest of other, smaller scars. Numerous freckles dotted his scales while his eyes were an all-seeing gray that seemed to swallow Dust up in the realm of painful experience.

The major had an imposing build; while he was not heavyset nor particularly muscular, he was still strong enough that Dust could see the large bulges under his skin that rippled whenever he moved, and when he did so, it was with a practiced ease that belied his size. There were tells in the way his eyes looked about habitually, as if he kept an eye open even when he was at rest. This was not a dragon that Dust wanted to antagonize, much less fight.

He walked with a limping gait, and it was only now that Dust realized that one of his wings was in tatters. And while the private had been observing the major. the major had also been watching the private.

Presently Arroyo snorted and his nostrils flared. Evidently he had found something about Dust that he disliked, for he wheeled away and strode to his seat with an air of finality.

"So," he began. "What's this business about a scroll? My men have told me quite a bit about you, Dust, but I want to see you with my own eyes before I pass any judgment."

His voice was deep but clear, and when he spoke there was no trace of the lisp that had plagued many of the city dragons Dust had talked to in the numerous camps and bazaars back in his home country. His manner exuded an aura of confidence, but he was almost unmistakably weary. It was not a physical weariness, nor a lack of fortitude on that front, but a mental sense of fatigue that Dust had never seen before. He looked almost sad.

"I was told to deliver an urgent message to you, sir. There was no one else available for the job, so they chose me to carry it here."

Dust noticed the odd look on Arroyo's face. "Is there a problem sir?" he asked, a sense of worry beginning to creep up on him.

"No, there's nothing wrong." said the major. "Normally I would direct you to take your letter to our post office, but as you can see, I already have plenty of paperwork on my talons and I don't need to add any more to the pile." He gestured towards the pillar of forms on his desk and smiled.

The ice was broken, and Dust began to relax, although he was still tense.

"Pass me the letter, and I'll see what this is all about."

Dust dutifully gave him the small piece of parchment, letting the major take it and open it with his thumb. He watched as the dragon began to read. At first Arroyo seemed bored with it, as if it was just yet another official letter that he had no care for. But then his expression became steadily more concerned, and then alarmed. When he reached the end of it he rolled up the scroll and resealed it, laying it on his desk, putting on a straight face for the confused private in front of him.

What could have concerned this grizzled war veteran so much that he had lost his composure in front of a new recruit? Dust didn't know, but he was intrigued all the same.

By this point it was almost dark outside, and Arroyo brought out several candles from within one of his drawers, setting one on his desk and two others around the room, then lit them gently with a puff of his firebreath. Instantly the walls flickered with crackling orange light and a dragon-sized shadow leapt into existence behind him.

"Do your orders dictate that you're just passing through or are you staying here?" asked Arroyo when he had finished with the tapers. "Our front lines are stable, but only just, and I need extra dragons to buffer them wherever I can."

"I don't know, sir." admitted Dust. "I was only told to head to Fort Pitt and deliver my message to you. I didn't receive any other orders." He kept the little factoid that that was because he'd been forced to leave more quickly than he'd liked to himself.

Arroyo snorted, although he tried to hide it. "Looks like the brass was in such a hurry they forgot to give you another set of instructions. Out here it'll be months before anything happens to you. The best I can do is give you a good unit, one that will take care of its recruits."

He rapped his talons on his desk a few times, thinking.

"Before you go, ask Outback to assign you to forty-fourth brigade in the north. It's hard fighting up there and they've recently suffered some casualties, but they're experienced. They'll show you the ropes."

"Yes sir."

"And you don't have to say sir all the time. We're at war now, and there's no time for it. Call me Arroyo, and major whenever we have visitors, if only to keep up the proper decorum. I'll give you a night's rest, you've certainly earned it. Report to Sergeant Savannah in two days. He'll give you what you need. That will be all."

It took Dust a moment to realize that he was being dismissed, and he saluted hastily, then turned to go, nearly stumbling over himself as he crossed the threshold, closing the door with his tail as he went. It shut with a muffled thud.

Only once he was away from the major did he realize that he had never asked about what was in the message, and he would've slapped his forehead except for the fact that he had been trained out of it in boot camp by his sadistic drill sergeant. He didn't want to think about that, didn't want to think about - no, stop.

Outback was still in his office, which Dust had come to think of more as a lobby, writing to himself on a piece of paper that did not appear to be a standard form; and he quickly slid it under his desk when Dust approached.

"I saw you doing something just now. What was it?" Dust asked.

"A letter. It's nothing important." said Outback, sounding rather vague.

"Is it family?" said Dust, thinking wistfully back to his own, who were still living in the desert town where he had been born, close to the dangerous no-man's land between the northern edge of the rainforest and Burn's fortress. The family that was left, anyway.

"Yes. I don't see them much these days."

"Okay. Well, I'm just stopping by 'cause Major Arroyo told me to ask you to put me in with the forty-fourth brigade, and I need you to do that for me. Sir."

Outback's face immediately took on an expression of annoyance. "Alright, alright. It beats filing complaint forms any day."

"Paperwork is always boring." said Dust, and Outback gave a wry smile.

"I should know. Still, it has to be done."

He began looking through his drawers, and then, as if he had suddenly remembered something, turned around and started shuffling through the filing cabinet.

"Hmm." he said as he lifted up a folder and looked at the title, then shoved it down again. "Was it the forty-fourth brigade or the forty-eighth?"

"Forty-fourth."

"Courier work?"

"No. Just as a regular soldier. I'm leaving day after tomorrow. I have to get some rest from that long flight."

"How long?" asked Outback.

"From the southern side of the Sandwing kingdom all the way up here, straight. I did it in less than a week."

"That's almost two-thousand miles. You're a strong flier. Did you win any awards?"

"No. More's the pity,." said Dust. "I hated that jungle."

"That's always the worst part of the flight, what with all those mosquitoes."

"The rain never seems to bother 'em. They always bit me just when I was the most cold and wet."

"Me too."

"You sound like you've made the flight more than once."

"Five times, actually. Once here, once back to see my family, then back here again, then three months of leave, and then another flight to the fort this spring."

"You're a busy secretary."

"I prefer the term 'aide'. It's more dignified," said Outback, turning his attention to the files. "Aha! Here they are. Hang on one moment for me to get all the information; then I can sign the nine-forty and you'll be out of here."

"Let me see. Forty-fourth, forty-fourth. Looks like a tough assignment Dost."

"It's Dust, actually."

"Sorry, sorry. When you have to deal with half the base every week you tend to forget a few names here and there."

"It's alright. Now what's this about forty-fourth being a tough assignment?"

"Let's just say that forty-fourth has been in a tight spot this month."

"What kind of a tight spot?" asked Dust, still too naive to guess what that really meant.

"There we are," said the aide, pointedly ignoring him. "They're currently at Fort McCracken with the thirteenth tagging along."

"That wasn't what I asked," said Dust, who was still being ignored.

"Normally I'd have Lieutenant Savannah do this, or Sandstorm or Mesa, but you're a special case. Here's the nine-forty."

Outback starting writing in the form, then stopped.

"What's your last name?"

"Sonderi."

"That's a good name, old too, though I'm not sure what it means."

"It's been in the family for generations, but I probably know less about it than you do," said Dust, as Outback finished his part of the form with a flourish. He pushed it forward.

"Sign here."

Dust scanned the form quickly. The top part was far too thick with legalese for his poor reading skills, and the aide seemed to have it covered, so he skipped to the bottom where the important parts were.

'This document certifies that Private Dust Sonderi has been assigned to Forty-Fourth Brigade as of July 5,006, standard, by Second Class Warrant Officer of the Army Outback Betru.'

Beneath that was Outback's signature, and next to it was an empty space for his own. Dust wrote his name in practiced but still bad cursive, and it was done.

"I seem to have better handwriting than you." said Outback, looking at the page.

"It's fine. Where I come from, you're lucky if you learn how to read."

"Ah."

Dust took the paper and tucked it away inside his military issue satchel.

"Anything else, or should I head to the barracks now?"

"Nope. The barracks are full right now, actually. You'd be better off sleeping in the triage camp outside the fort. There's more space and they've already set up some temporary accommodations."

"Where's that?"

"Just go through the gates and look left. You can't miss it."

"Thanks." said Dust, and walked out of the office and into the hall. It was two flights of stairs to the bottom floor, and Dust, tired and sore as he was, fought back a groan every step of the way. Still, he soon found himself trotting outside, past a set of alert guards and through the gate, towards the savory smell of meat being roasted and quiet laughter.

The fort sat on top of a large, rolling hill, and around the stone walls was a huge field of tents and campfires that stretched away for a hundred yards in all directions almost to the dwindling forest – a little wasteland in the bottoms punctuated by tree stumps and tough-looking weeds that covered the ground like the healing tissue of a giant scar.

It looked like there was half a battalion camped out there, at least, and maybe another brigade and a few companies on the side. Perhaps a thousand dragons in all, not including those who bunked inside the fort.

"Halt!" said one of the dragons, a big, gray and blue Seawing who stood in front and noticeably away from a lively campfire. Even in the dim light Dust could see that he had bandages in a wide swathe across his chest, and his front leg was wrapped in gauze. "What's your name, stranger?"

He swung a spear towards Dust's neck, and the glinting, deadly point stopped just below his chin.

"Private Dust, sir. I have the papers to prove it." said Dust, using the default Sir that he had been taught to use 'when in doubt of another's station'.

The sentry grudgingly lowered his weapon and pulled it back to his side, although he did not relax his ready posture.

"Minnow." he said, gruffly, and frowned. "There's no need for me to see your papers; the Corporal will take care of that for you. Come on, I'll take you to him."

And with that he turned and started trotting to a line of tents, and Dust followed, stepping past the fire and the three injured dragons beside it. They watched him go with what seemed like pity, then went back to talking among themselves when he had gone. Their actions set the theme for the rest of the camp.

True, there were some who played poker around tables and enjoyed themselves in telling old jokes to their own, but the atmosphere was mostly grim with only a hint of excitement, which Dust guessed came from the prospect of a hot supper.

They passed formerly white tents and soiled gambesons set out to dry on what looked like old laundry lines but were now covered in mud and dirt, until Minnow stopped in front of a wooden longhouse that stuck out like a sore thumb. It too was dirty, although not as much as the other dwellings in the camp, and worn stairs suggested that it had seen frequent use.

Minnow stepped up to the porch and knocked on the door with a loud rap, five times. There was a pause. "Hold on, there's a guy knocking fit to break down the door, go get it." said someone inside, and presently it was opened by a rusty claw and the two younger dragons shooed in.

Two Sandwings sat before a checkerboard, evidently playing the landlubbers version of the game, and it was a Seawing who had opened the door.

"Come on in Minnow." he said. "Who's your friend there? I don't recognize him."

"A newbie from the western front. His name's Dust."

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed this update and I had a lot of fun writing it. I definitely appreciate thoughtful, constructive criticism and I would like to hear your thoughts in the review box down below.

Made while listening to... Well, nothing actually, because my speakers broke, so I'm pushing out an update before I have to get my laptop fixed, which might take some time or might not. I have a friend in the tech repair industry who might be able to hotwire this thing, so I'm crossing my fingers as to whether or not he can pull it off.

Cheers! B. Avar.