Hello! I come bearing sandbags, shiny objects, and the newest hatchling!
15. What We've Got Here...
Twiggy took off for the fifth time in one afternoon. It was a struggle, with her wings clawing the air the whole time and the muscles in her chest burning, but she finally looped back around and landed heavily in the grass.
Taking off was getting easier, but she was falling so far behind. She paced back and forth, needing to rest yet too frustrated to stay still.
Flying lessons used to be fun.
Gust said she needed to follow the schedule Oobleck gave her, but he kept changing it. If he didn't know how much she was supposed to carry, how was she supposed to get better? What if he made a mistake and didn't give her enough weight, and then she could never carry Jaune?
Twiggy was so lost in thought that she almost tripped over another dragon's tail. She jerked to a stop and apologized—then reared in alarm when she realized it was Mudslide.
"Move," Mudslide snarled... but it wasn't very intimidating. She was carrying a lot of weights, and didn't look like she'd have the energy to start a fight. Still, Twiggy apologized again and backed away. She didn't want Mudslide to be angry at her.
As the other dragon walked away, Twiggy stopped and sat down to watch her run the ramp. It was obvious she was struggling. When she reached the end, she roared and beat the air with her wings, rising sluggishly.
It had worked. Twiggy looked around and saw that there was a small pile of weights nearby—probably there in case one was dropped or broke open. No one was looking.
She grabbed one gently in her teeth and craned her neck to deposit it on her back. But no, it would just fall off in the air. She thought for a moment, then wedged it between two other sandbags that were properly tied into place. It would stay. Probably.
Another two weights later, she turned her attention to the ramp and flared her wings. She would carry Jaune. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, she sprinted up the ramp. Every step burned, but she kept going. She had to keep going.
Maybe she was small, but Jaune had kept her anyway. There had been so many lessons that were harder for him because of that...
The end of the ramp loomed. She felt herself slowing down, roared in frustration. Jaune kept her. She had to be able to do this. Everything narrowed to the ramp, to the leaden feeling in her legs as she pushed off. Her wings flared out, catching the air. She flapped twice, felt herself lifting off... and then, fire.
Twiggy howled, listing in midair as one of her wings went limp. She flapped frantically with the other, trying to glide to the ground, but then she tipped and rolled and all of a sudden she couldn't even tell which way was up—
Some instinct made her angle herself so that she hit the ground with her hind legs rather than her fragile wings. Grass and dirt flew everywhere, and she rolled four times before eventually coming to a stop. One of the sandbags fell off and burst where it landed, scattering its contents everywhere.
Somewhere high above her Titan shrieked in alarm. Then, seconds later, Jaune tore across the field, Pyrrha only a few feet behind him. Twiggy shook herself, testing for injuries. Her hind legs hurt, but she was pretty sure that was just soreness. One wing was fine, but the other still wouldn't move. The muscles in her chest on that side hurt too much.
Slowly, she started walking towards her rider, head hanging and one wing dragging.
"Twiggy!" He threw both arms around her neck. "Are you okay?"
She tilted her head in a so-so gesture and tried to move her wing. He ran his hands over the joints, checking for fractures. Pyrrha joined him moments later, and after her Gust landed with Doctor Oobleck.
The professor examined her wing, poked her a few times, before eventually touching her chest and frowning at her wince.
"Pulled muscle," he decided. "It'll be right as rain after a week or two of rest."
Jaune sagged with relief.
"No flying lessons of course—"
Twiggy whined indignantly. She was already behind!
"None of that," Oobleck said, giving her a very stern look. "It might take months to heal if you get impatient and fly again too soon."
She looked to Gust. "But—"
The older dragon gave her a sympathetic look, but shook her head. Her tail drooped.
"Now." The professor gave Jaune a piercing stare. "I notice there are quite a few more weights in that saddle than I recommended."
"What?" Her rider looked at the saddle and paled. "But I didn't—"
Twiggy whimpered and covered her head with her paws. "Muh... me," she admitted.
"Ah. I see. In that case..." He gave Twiggy a serious look. "I'll need to let Dragonmaster Ozpin know, but I believe you've already learned your lesson."
She nodded vigorously.
"Yes. Quite." His expression softened, and he patted her gently on the shoulder. "There is no shame in needing a little more time spent on conditioning. You're already well ahead of where I expected you to be by this time."
Twiggy blinked at him. What?
He noticed her expression and smiled. "Of course. I planned to keep you on the same schedule as the other earth dragons, pushed back by about two weeks. That seems to roughly equal the difference in size... but I've needed to adjust it several times based on your progress."
She wasn't behind? Or she was, but she'd thought it was much worse than a few weeks. Her ears drooped as she realized that after hurting her wing, she really would be as far behind as she'd thought.
"It's okay girl," Jaune said, stroking her neck. "Think about it this way—maybe you can't practice while you're healing, but you'll still keep growing."
Twiggy perked up a little at that, though she was still frustrated with herself. She hadn't thought to ask Gust how Oobleck was planning her weight schedule. Then again, they hadn't thought to tell her either... maybe because none of the others cared as much.
Jaune led her back to her stall, with Pyrrha and Titan accompanying them. Jaune and Twiggy both tried to tell them that they didn't have to skip class, but it was hard to walk with her wing hurt. The two humans let it rest on their shoulders, which was a much better angle than dragging it behind her on the ground. Titan carried a sack of ice from the infirmary in his jaws, which Twiggy could curl up with to soothe the injury. Specter had offered to visit her every so often to make sure it stayed frozen.
Finally, after Pyrrha and Titan had said their goodbyes and gone back to their flying lesson, Jaune sat next to her and leaned against her shoulder. She put her head in his lap, purring quietly. Her chest still hurt, but the ice helped.
"So..." Jaune scratched behind her ears. "What was that about?"
Twiggy whined again. "Suh... Lo..."
"Slow?" He frowned. "What was slow?"
"Mme."
Jaune shook his head. "You're not slow. Everyone else just has a bit of a head start, that's all. It's not your fault."
Twiggy let out a frustrated huff. She wanted to say all those things about how he'd picked her, even though it made everything harder for him. How she wanted to take off with him on the same day as all the others. How much she hated the thought of watching him sitting on the sidelines, all alone, while the rest of their class took to the skies and she kept struggling with the stupid sandbags.
Maybe he guessed some of it from her expression. "Hey. Don't do that, okay?" He kissed her nose. "You're my best girl, remember? I'd rather wait an extra month, an extra year, than have you hurt yourself."
She warbled, torn between guilt and comfort, and buried her face in his shirt. He made a small grunting noise, and she realized belatedly that she might be getting a little big for that. She let up a little and, this time taking extra care to be gentle, nuzzled at his cheek.
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "I love you too."
Night was falling.
That told Whitley absolutely nothing—he wasn't even sure what time zone he was in anymore. Glacier had wandered into a forest, and now the only landmarks they passed were fallen trees and streams. It definitely wasn't Atlas, because there wasn't room for a forest this size. It wasn't Mantle either, because then he'd be able to see Atlas... and he suspected there would be more snow.
Whitley shivered. It was plenty cold enough as it was. He tried to shift his position on Glacier's back, then stopped when he scratched himself on one of the dragon's spines.
"Glacier?" He turned his head, deep blue eyes blinking guilelessly back at Whitley. "I want to go home."
Blank stare.
"Home. Schnee manor. Atlas." He glanced at the sky, guessed which way was west based on the setting sun. "North," he said, pointing.
Glacier followed his index finger, staring into the woods for several long seconds. Then, apparently satisfied, he ignored Whitley and kept walking roughly southeast.
"Glacier!"
The dragon turned his head and whistled.
Well. At least he knew his name. "Home! Fly home!" He pointed again.
Blank stare.
"People!" Whitley shouted. "Find people!"
Glacier tilted his head to one side.
"Father! Go to father. Your rider.
Still nothing.
"Jacques Schnee!"
At that, Glacier perked up. He chirped happily and sped up to a trot... still heading the wrong way. Whitley nearly screamed in frustration.
As the last of the sunlight faded, the temperature plummeted. Whitley tucked his legs underneath himself—still in his dress shoes, his socks still soaked through. Glacier's hide was cool to the touch. Soon he was trembling so badly he had to hold onto the spines to keep from falling off... or impaling himself by accident.
"F-fire." He wasn't sure why he was bothering. Glacier couldn't make a fire even if he wanted to. "Find p-people," he tried again. "Glacier!"
The dragon's only response was a placid stare.
Whitley couldn't stop imagining what they'd say on the news. Schnee heir escapes the White Fang on dragonback... dies of exposure hours later. Weren't dragons supposed to be smart enough to understand human speech?
"Come on!" He whacked the back of Glacier's neck—
The great head snapped around, eyes narrowed to deep blue slits. Hackles rose to reveal teeth as long as his fingers. Mist spilled out from between the terrible jaws, rolling over him, the cold sinking right down to his bones. A hiss like a thin layer of ice over frozen depths, creaking in warning...
"I'm sorry!" Whitley blurted, raising his hands. Glacier's hiss rose in volume—he didn't understand the words, and the tone was panicked. He put his palms down flat on his knees. "I'm sorry," he said again, this time doing his best to sound calm, reassuring. "I won't do it again."
Slowly, warily, Glacier closed his mouth. He kept glaring at Whitley a moment longer. Then, finally, he turned back around and kept walking.
Whitley slumped in relief, then yelped when he pricked himself on one of Glacier's spines. Blood beaded on the inside of his forearm. His head swam. This was the most he'd bled... ever, as far as he could remember. (He didn't want to think about what the White Fang were about to do, why they were filming and what all the guns were for...) Not knowing what else to do, he pressed the cut against his pants and tried to ignore it.
Still shivering, he drew Rusty's coat around himself. It wasn't enough. He took off his socks and shoes and, despite the fact that it looked absolutely ridiculous, hung them on Glacier's spines. If the dragon noticed, he didn't seem to care—and it would be harder to prick himself on them now. His feet he curled under himself, trying to get as much of his body as possible beneath the jacket.
It was going to be a long night.
Something was wrong with the small Jacques.
Glacier checked over his shoulder. He was still shaking. Fear?
Should he not have hissed at the small one? The attack hadn't hurt very much—he might not have noticed if it hadn't made a noise. But why was the little human angry with him? He huffed, making pretty patterns on the trunk of a tree. Had he done something wrong?
The small one shuddered, his teeth chattering. Glacier whined. Even if he hadn't done anything wrong, he hadn't wanted to scare him. He licked the human's face in apology. A startled noise, then more shivering.
He didn't know how to fix it.
Frustrated, he sped to a trot. It was harder to move fast now than it had been when he was a hatchling, and soon he had to slow down to breathe. The stings from the big needles ached. His chest heaving, mist spilling from between his jaws, Glacier wondered what he should do next.
He didn't want home. He wanted Jacques... but Jacques was home, and anyway Glacier didn't know where to find him. A high, keening noise started somewhere in his chest. Up and down... but he couldn't remember the pattern. Couldn't do it fast enough. Not the same.
Why was he walking?
Glacier stopped, meandered in a little circle, and lay down. What else was there to do but go to sleep?
"Glacier!"
He opened one eye. The small one was nudging his side—gently, now. No hitting. Good... The eye slid shut.
"Glacier!" Then many words he didn't know. Loud. He looked at the small one. Still shaking. Still scared.
He whistled a few notes, and the small one went quiet. Glacier's eyes fluttered shut, and he kept singing, trying to find... but he couldn't remember. Eventually he went quiet too, opening his eyes to look at the little Jacques.
And just like that, it was obvious.
If he went home, they'd take the little Jacques away. The thought ached... the small one was good. Hands on his back. Not the cherished ones, the ones that had faded into hazy memory, but still good. And if one small one was good...
There were others. The steely one, and the singing one. If one made him feel better... maybe with three, he'd feel whole again.
Light!
It danced across the floor... paused. Trembled. It felt fear. Good.
She pounced!
The light darted away. She hissed, drawing herself up. Distantly, she heard a giggle.
Again. It approached, dancing between her legs. Mocking her! Her teeth snapped shut, but she tasted only dirt. A claw slammed down on the ground, but the light slipped between her claws and escaped.
She growled. It had been under her paw, she knew it had! Her head tilted to one side. Watching, motionless, as the light circled her. Sometimes it would vanish, then reappear again a little further away.
It couldn't touch her shadow!
She tried to trap it by making a ring with her tail and casting the shadow around it. The light skipped through it. Where did it go when it disappeared like that?
She turned herself, held out her tail again. This time, when the light jumped over her shadow, she saw it flash across her scales. It was on her! It must be destroyed.
The light always jumped on the same side of her tail when she held it out. She turned in that direction, stalking closer and closer. If she kept going, surely the light would eventually be trapped.
Instead, she found one of the faunus doing something strange. It was the one who smelled like Justice. In her lap, a strange object. A shiny object. She tilted it back and forth, back and forth... and the light danced.
This was its source!
She pretended not to notice. Kept chasing the light in little circles... always coming closer and closer to the faunus' feet. Then she coiled herself up, tensed, staring at the bright spot in front of her... but gauging the distance to her left. Wait... wait...
She pounced.
The faunus yelped and fell off the crate she was sitting on. The shiny thing was in her paws, now. She bit down. It tasted... oddly blank. A little like metal. She chewed.
Laughter.
The big man with no face had come up from behind a nearby tent, chuckling at the fire rider. Both were speaking. Harpy tilted her head and listened, her prey still trapped in her jaws, trying to parse the unfamiliar words.
Eventually the fire rider took the shiny thing away. She tried to bite to defend her prize, but the faunus was too quick. The big man walked away, his boots passing just inches in front of her.
He had the stinging smell on him.
She followed in his footsteps, snapping playfully at his heels. A little while later he stopped, bending down and pointing at the ground—that meant he wanted her to stay. She tried to follow. He picked her up and placed her on the ground, then jabbed his finger into the dirt. More firmly this time.
When she stayed put, he turned and vanished into the big tent—the only place she wasn't allowed to go. She'd never seen anyone go inside it before. Usually it was sealed shut with metal teeth. She crept closer, waiting for an opening...
He closed the tent behind him. She wilted in disappointment, but only for an instant. As the opening sealed shut, she noticed something she had missed until that moment. A metal tab, sticking out from the canvas. He had pulled it to make the teeth open and close.
Like the shiny thing—pretend not to notice until they let their guard down. That game was much more fun than the ones the faunus played with her on purpose.
She wandered back to Sienna's tent. As she waited, she chewed through a sack and found oats. Boring. She dried out the oats until they crumbled into dust, and played in the bag for a while. Sneezed. Still boring. She poked her head outside and eyed the big tent, but... no. Too soon.
Some time later, light spilled into the tent. And a smell—the best smell. Sienna.
She charged, concentrating hard to keep her legs under her, and plowed into her rider's legs. A startled laugh from above her. Then strong hands under her forelegs, lifting her up until they were face to face. She licked her rider's nose, watched her scrunch up her face in response.
"Look at you..." A finger tickled her forehead. She purred, eyes going halfway shut. More words she didn't understand. She squirmed and clambered up onto her rider's forearm. From there she leaped, flaring her wings to turn her fall into a clumsy half-glide.
Sienna sat down and let her curl up in her lap, falling into a drowsy half-doze. And for a few hours, she didn't even think about the big tent. Her rider was busy, though, and had to leave much too soon. She waited a while longer after that, chewing on a piece of rope outside the tent. Slowly, the sky turned from blue to purple. It was time.
She knew that Sienna would want her to be there when she got back to her tent—but that was always when the sky turned from purple to black. In the meantime she approached the big tent, careful to meander as she went. She chased a butterfly for a few minutes, then pretended to be enraptured by a shiny rock on the ground a little closer to her target.
Then, when no one was looking, she pounced. Her whole body buzzed with excitement as she grasped the little metal tab in her teeth and pulled. It took a long time to get it to open wide enough to slip through, and by the time she was done her mouth and the muscles in her neck ached.
Inside, the sharp smell was much stronger. She almost turned around and left. Except... there was something familiar about it. And when she looked up, she saw glass tubes that glowed pretty colors. Strange metal tools on shelves. Eggs nestled in gigantic machines.
And, towards the back, another canvas door—this one with no teeth. She sniffed at it and recoiled. Something else, something worse than the sharp smell. Slowly, she poked her head through the gap.
Two sun-yellow eyes, wide and staring. Two glassy green ones, staring blankly back.
She squeaked in terror and pulled her head back, heart pounding. Then, when no one came for her, she approached the flap again. Dread pooled in her stomach. She didn't want to look... but she couldn't go away without knowing.
There was another hatchling inside. Not moving. That was where the worst smell was coming from, the wrong smell. The death smell. He was curled on his side, motionless. Faunus crouched over him, prodding at him with metal tools, talking to one another. The words cascaded down around her, incomprehensible, all except for one.
Their tone was casual. Uncaring. And the one word was, "Again."