Hello! I come bearing dragons that fly, climb trees, and play with fire.

18. Breaking Point

"Glacier... no. Don't do it."

Whitley tried to shove the dragon's head out of the way, shielding his little campfire with his body. Glacier's tongue lolled out, his eyes fixed in fascination on the flames.

"Hot," Whitley said, exasperated. "Very hot. It will burn you."

Glacier's head slipped under his arm, just close enough that he could touch the fire with his tongue. He reared back, hissed, and blew freezing mist from his nostrils. Whitley sighed, prodding the rabbit he'd been trying—and failing—to cook. Ice crystals had formed over its charred skin, and when he cut it open it was raw inside.

"I don't know what you expected to happen." He glared at the dragon. "Have you never seen fire before?"

Glacier cocked his head to one side.

"Ugh." Whitley dragged more wood into his makeshift fire-pit and started fussing with the book of matches. He still had eighteen left. Enough for eighteen more days, if all went well. Probably closer to nine, with his luck. He'd have to find another town at some point, preferably one with an airship. Or, at the very least, somewhere they didn't keep their only scroll locked in a safe.

He eventually managed to thaw the rabbit, then burn it the rest of the way through. As he ate, he leaned against Glacier's side, remembering Klein's crepes. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket and curled up under the dragon's wing. In his dreams, Father opened his mouth and made a deep droning noise. Like an engine.

Whitley snapped awake. It took a moment to untangle himself from both blanket and dragon. When he did, the airship had already passed overhead.

"Up!" he shouted, pointing. "Glacier! Go up, now!"

The dragon stared at him.

"Come on!" Whitley snarled, kicking at the fire—nothing but ash, now. "Fly! You have to know what fly means!"

Glacier sniffed his hair.

"Fine." Whitley slung his backpack over one shoulder and marched off in the direction the airship had gone. "Follow me, or go away."

Glacier picked a third option, grabbing Whitley by his hood and picking him up off the ground. He yelped, kicking his legs, and paled when he realized what the dragon was about to do. "No!"

Then he was falling onto Glacier's back. He landed on his side, staring down a spine that jutted out less than an inch from his face.

"Don't do that," he snapped, once he'd pushed himself back upright and settled into his usual spot. "You do realize you're pointy, don't you?"

No response. Whitley sighed and glanced longingly at the place where the airship had disappeared. Glacier was, naturally, walking perpendicular to where it had been heading.

"You know what I think?"

Glacier whistled a few notes.

"I think it's all a conspiracy." Whitley picked absentmindedly at the fluffy lining of Rusty's jacket. "Riders only pretend dragons can understand them, because..." He couldn't figure out how to end the sentence, so he abandoned the theory. Maybe it was just a problem with ice dragons?

No. He'd met Steele, and there was no doubting that he understood basic commands.

Glacier whistled some more. Whitley's eyes drifted closed, listening... until there was a run of notes that touched an old, long-faded memory. He opened his eyes as the dragon did it again, obviously pleased.

"Where did you hear that?" No answer from Glacier... and none from himself, either.

He listened for a long while as Glacier walked and sang, pausing every so often to stare at the moon as if transfixed. Whitley wondered whether he'd been able to see it through the window in his stall.

The music was interrupted when a twig snapped. Whitley sat up straighter, eyes straining to see into the gloom all around them. Glacier stopped walking, sniffing the air. Leaves rustled.

It might be a deer, he told himself. Or it might be a person with antlers... and a gun.

"Hello?" he called out. If it were an animal, he thought it would probably startle—and if it wasn't, it wasn't like he'd be giving himself away. Glacier wasn't exactly subtle.

There was no response. No panicked doe bounding away from them. Just silence.

He gripped a spine on the dragon's back in one hand, felt corded muscle with the other. Trying to reassure himself. Glacier stretched his neck forward and hissed. And, as if in answer, something growled.

Whitley hoped it was the White Fang. Hoped it would be some massive bear faunus, to be able to make a noise like that.

It wasn't.

A patch of shadow slid out from behind a thicket. Whitley didn't need to see it properly to know that no animal would have that silhouette. He tried to count the legs, anything to keep himself focused when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide.

Red eyes opened. There were six of them, and suddenly Whitley couldn't keep counting legs, because he had to try and count heads. He couldn't see much, except that there was something about the shape of them that seemed canine.

"Glacier," he whimpered. The dragon still hadn't moved. He was crouching, his eyes trained on the Grimm, not moving a muscle except for a slight twitching in his tail.

One of the heads reared backwards towards the sky and started to laugh. The other two joined in, and then there were three of them cackling in unison. Whitley shrank against Glacier's back. "K-kill it! Kill it!"

One of the heads stopped laughing and rolled around to stare at him. It was close enough now that he could make out the lines of red on its bone mask. The body moved strangely, limbs jerking and twitching as it stepped closer, still laughing.

"Glacier!"

No movement. The Grimm kept coming. Whitley hid his head under his arm—and then the laughing was replaced with an eerie shriek.

When he looked up, something dark was dripping from one of the Grimm's faces. Glacier bolted into the woods, tearing his way through the undergrowth as the uncanny laughter started again.

A tree loomed ahead of them, thicker around than the others. Glacier leaped at it and dug in with his claws, scrabbling at the bark. Whitley shrieked and grabbed the spines on his back as he was turned sideways. He just managed to hook one foot through the strap of his backpack before it fell.

Below them, the Grimm had reached the tree and was tearing into its trunk, making the whole thing shake as splinters flew everywhere. Glacier clawed his way higher, his wings spreading to either side. Then, he jumped.

Whitley clung to his back, to shocked to make a sound, his legs wrapped tight around Glacier's neck. Pale wings came up on either side of him. He felt the muscles flex as they came down. Wind tore the hood away from his face and whipped his hair into a frenzy as Glacier gained altitude. When he looked down the world had turned into a painting, or maybe the view from some far-off tower—dappled greens and browns down below, shattered moon and scattered stars overhead.

Belatedly, Whitley screamed. It turned into a laugh halfway through—mingling with the distant cries of the Grimm they were leaving far, far behind. He craned his neck to stare at the ground, his heart beating in his throat. Instinctively, he squeezed with his knees to hold on better. Glacier hissed. Whitley let go, and spent the rest of the flight trying not to do it again.

Not that the rest of the flight was very long. Glacier landed heavily several minutes later, panting, his tongue hanging out. Whitley patted his neck, glancing fearfully over his shoulder and hoping they were far enough that thing wouldn't find them.

"So you can fly, then."

No response.

"Right." Whitley looked skyward, drinking in the broken moon. It seemed further away, now.

The cave was empty.

Blake limped forward a few steps, turning her head this way and that as if Brand would suddenly reappear out of thin air. She could hear Pit's walking a few paces behind her. Other than that, everything was silent.

The tungsten chain lay by the wall, coiled into an unassuming heap. As Blake approached it, one of her crutches struck something hard and sent it skittering across the stone floor. She limped over to where it had stopped and leaned over to see.

It was an open link. She could see the scratches the file had made on one side, the slight bend in the other where it had been forced open. Hazel had finally gotten through.

Slowly, wincing as she put a bit more weight on her bad leg than was probably wise, she snatched it up and weighed it in her palm, watching the light from the entrance play across its surface. She pocketed it.

She didn't like how nervous it made her, knowing he was free. He deserved this. He deserved to get out of this cave and fly again. Brand had never wanted to hurt anyone.

"Come on," she told Pit. "We might as well go back."

"Awn!"

Twiggy bounded down the hill towards her rider, moving so fast she almost bowled him over. Both wings flapped wildly at her sides, as if she was showing off the newly healed one. He hugged her around the neck, laughing as she lifted him off his feet.

Mudslide growled and snapped at her as she passed. Twiggy didn't even notice.

She trudged in the same direction, much more slowly. The joints in her wings popped when she opened them. Cardin met her at the field with her tack, tossing it over her back and yanking at the straps. Twiggy was about fifteen feet away, running circles around her rider while he held up her saddle. Mudslide glared at them, squaring her shoulders as the first weights were tied in place.

"Remember!" Jaune held up a finger and bopped Twiggy on the nose. "No extra weights. And you're only carrying half today, to make sure you're all healed up."

Twiggy rolled on the ground and pretended to sulk.

Cardin glanced over his shoulder. He snorted. "Idiots."

Mudslide glared at the other pair. She couldn't understand why Twiggy got rewarded for being useless at flying. Glancing around the field, she noticed Pit waiting patiently while Blake tied on weights—way less of them than she was supposed to.

Another weight was settled in on her back. Ozpin made a final round, checking—as every teacher had since Twiggy had hurt herself—the weight on the backs of each dragon. When he got to Cardin and Mudslide he stared at them for a long moment, his lips pressed tightly together.

"What?" Cardin patted Mudslide's back. "You can count, right?"

A muscle in Ozpin's jaw jumped. He moved on.

Cardin tied on the last few weights, smirking at the professor's back as he did so. None of the other students seemed to have noticed—they were all too busy double-checking their dragons' burdens. "Forty pounds ahead," he said, with deep satisfaction. A traitorous warm feeling settled in Mudslide's stomach. "At this rate I bet I'll be the first one in the air!"

Mudslide's ears went back. She pictured flying with Cardin on her back and smothered a low whine, forced her tail to be still. She wanted Sky. That was wrong, wasn't it? She chose Cardin.

'But you were only a baby,' Jade had said. 'Shouldn't you be able to choose again, if you want?'

It didn't matter anyway. Sky was gone.

"Professor?"

Mudslide's head turned. Specter and Titan were both standing with their riders, their heads tilted curiously to either side. Weiss had called Ozpin over, one hand resting on Specter's saddle.

"Yes?"

Pyrrha stepped forward. "Both our dragons are carrying our weight already. We weren't sure if we were supposed to keep adding more."

Ozpin smiled at each of them in turn. "Yes, you should keep following the schedule as before—but I'm glad you asked."

Mudslide flicked an ear irritably. Show-offs.

When she glanced at Cardin, he was scowling. She edged a little further away. Without warning, he turned and walked off towards the enormous heap of sandbags. He came back with one in each hand.

"There," he said, grinning. "Now I'll be all caught up."

'He's nothing without you,' Jade had said. 'He's weak.'

And Sky, kneeling with her head in his lap, holding a carrot in one hand and stroking her brow with the other. 'He doesn't deserve you.'

She'd been trying for a long time to understand why she couldn't earn his love. But now, for the first time, she wondered what he'd ever done to earn hers.

He was already tying one of the weights to her saddle. She reared her head back and rammed her shoulder into his chest, sending him sprawling. Then she leaned down close to his ear and roared, "No!"

His face turned red, then purple. She almost backed away—not sure if she was angry or scared or just dizzy—but then he made a small, choked noise. His mouth hung open, his breathing coming in tiny gasps.

Mudslide reared back and howled. He wasn't breathing right—was something squishing him? She couldn't see anything... Had something broken? She'd hit Twiggy much harder than that when they were smaller, Cardin had to be stronger than the little runt!

He groaned, tried to roll over. She nuzzled at his side. He'd get up, he'd get up now and he'd be fine, and maybe he wouldn't try to put so many weights on next time and—

Cardin cried out when she touched him, his face going from purple to white. He wasn't even looking at her. Wasn't looking at anything. His eyes were fixed on the sky, unfocused.

And all around them, the others were closing in.

Ruby heard the roar from all the way across the field.

She was in the air, on Storm's back, practicing turns with the other wind riders. The noise had come from the other side of the training field, where the rest of their class was working on conditioning. Already people were clumping together into a crowd, with a single dragon in the center.

It let out a long, low howl. Angry. Panicked.

"Let's go," Ruby told Storm.

If anyone tried to stop her, she didn't notice. Storm furled her wings and dipped into a shallow dive. As they approached Ruby picked out more details. It was an earth dragon at the center of the chaos, snapping and snarling at anyone who came too close. She recognized Mudslide's dark brown scales.

Then Storm banked sideways, and Ruby got her first glimpse of the shape crumpled on the ground behind Mudslide. A person. Cardin.

Ruby started unbuckling her legs.

When Storm landed she was already sliding out of the saddle, hitting the ground and breaking into a sprint. Most of the students were keeping well back, now, but she could hear Ozpin's voice. He was murmuring soothing gibberish, but Mudslide kept snapping at him, her tail whipping back and forth over her prone rider.

Ruby pushed her way between a startled Sun and Neptune. From the front of the crowd she could tell that Cardin was moving, but he was obviously hurt. She couldn't see anything nearby that might have done it. How...?

She stepped out of the crowd of students and locked eyes with Ozpin. He frowned when he noticed her, but he didn't try to stop her. Mudslide's eyes were blown wide, flickering back and forth in a frenzy. She growled at Ruby's approach, her ears twitching anxiously.

"Hey..." She kept her arms at her sides, hands relaxed. "Remember me?"

The growl went up in pitch, like the end of a question.

"Yeah. That's it..."

Cardin groaned and tried to roll over. Mudslide tensed again, her back arching.

"We need to take a look at your rider," Ozpin said, his voice kept carefully calm. "Can you let me come help him?"

Mudslide bared sharp fangs at him.

"Easy..." Ruby edged a little closer, circling around so that she was approaching from the same side Cardin was on. Mudslide stepped over him, putting a paw down in her way, teeth still bared. "I know you're scared. He's gonna be okay, I promise! But he's gonna need some help first, and he can't get it unless we can take him to the infirmary."

The dragon crouched a little lower, her back legs tensed to pounce. Ozpin stuck out an arm to stop Ruby from coming any closer.

Slowly, Mudslide relaxed. Cardin wasn't making any noise anymore.

"Good girl," Ruby said softly. "Everything's going to be okay. Just back up a little more for me, okay?" Even as she said it, she knew it would never work. It had taken hours to convince Pit not to break into the infirmary when Blake had been hurt, and he'd had all three other dragons and their riders pitching in to calm him down.

But Mudslide moved. She retreated a few more paces, her tail curling tightly around herself. Ruby didn't try to second-guess it. "That's good." She followed Ozpin as he approached Cardin, very slowly. This time Mudslide didn't snap at him. She just backed up further, eyes bouncing from Cardin to Ozpin to Ruby and back again. He lifted the boy up and backed away.

"Hey," Ruby murmured, when Mudslide moved to follow. "It's okay. They're going to take him to some people that can help him feel better. That's good, right?"

Mudslide let out a low growl that turned into a confused warble.

"Yeah..." Ruby inched closer. "There we go. You and I can hang out here for a little bit, okay?"

The dragon relaxed a little, settling back on her haunches. "Good... That's good. Can I come a little closer?"

Mudslide watched her warily for a long moment, but didn't protest. Ruby moved slowly, until she was only a few feet away. She made no move to touch her. "There we go. It's okay, everything's going to be okay."

This close, she could see the haphazardly tightened straps on Mudslide's saddle. The stack of sandbags she was carrying, tied together in a big tangle. All twenty-two of them. Ruby's heart sank. Mudslide shouldn't be carrying more than two hundred pounds. Why—?

And then a lot of things clicked together into one horrible picture. Cardin on the ground, injured, with no aggressor in sight... except Mudslide. Self-defense, but not the kind the Council would forgive.

Ruby swallowed hard. If she started crying now, it would scare Mudslide. "Easy," she said again. "It's alright." Only it wasn't. Tornado had died even though Jaune's sister hadn't been hurt, even though her family hadn't wanted him culled. Cardin...

She glanced over her shoulder. The other students were staying well away, now, even Yang and her friends. Slowly, she stepped closer. Mudslide went rigid and bared her teeth again. Her breath was hot.

"You need to go," Ruby said softly, so that no one else would hear. "Run away. Hide."

Mudslide blinked at her.

"Go on!" She pointed towards the woods. "They won't find you there." She hoped desperately that it was true. "Go!"

A low rumble started somewhere in Mudslide's chest. Half growl, half whimper.

"Please..." Ruby made a shooing gesture with one hand. "Go away, before someone comes!" Her voice shook despite herself. "If you don't they'll—please!"

Finally, Mudslide reared back. Her wings flared, and the sudden gust of wind almost knocked Ruby over. Then she bolted for the treeline.

Ruby watched with her arms around her stomach, hugging herself tightly as she watched Mudslide disappear into the woods. No one moved to stop her—they just watched. All of them remembered what would happen if she stayed.