Hello, and happy Friday! Here's another chapter, this time starring protective Justice, Whitley's dilemma, and Glacier's song.

70. Loyalty

They were so close to the camp now that Justice could smell the cookfires. He seethed silently as Ilia followed a few steps behind Blake, like there was some kind of invisible tether between them. Like Blake had ever done anything except leave.

Smoke mixed with his breath. Specter noticed, and shot him a suspicious glare. He glared right back. A puny ice dragon wasn't going to scare him—she'd been scarier when she was half his size.

Specter's whistle made Weiss, Blake, and Ilia look around. His rider shot him a pleading look. Justice looked away, pointedly ignoring her. She'd explained that they wanted to shut down the lab. After she'd explained to him how important it was. It had to be there, or else nothing would ever get better! Now they wanted to destroy it, and lose all the ground they'd gained, and someday someone else would have to start all over. There would be another lab, and it wouldn't have any of the formulas they'd used to make Flux and Gigas and Harbinger. Everything would just be worse.

They did need it, whatever Blake said. Ilia had told him so, and she couldn't have been wrong. Not about that.

Twigs snapped off to their left. Justice and Ilia jumped—for an instant they were both thinking exactly the same thing, and half-expecting to see yellow eyes in the gloom. But it was only a deer. His eyes rolled with terror when he realized how many dragons had managed to sneak up on him, and he bolted into the forest without a backward glance.

"It's just up ahead," Ilia said, a while later. She kept her voice low. So did Blake, when she passed the message on to Winter.

"Students, stay behind us," Winter ordered, gesturing for them to form up behind her and Tai. "Ilia, stay near the front to show us the way."

Justice bristled. A Schnee was giving orders to his rider. Worse, Ilia was following them. He growled low in his throat, earning him an anxious hiss to quiet down. His ears went back.

"They don't have many dragons, do they?" Specter asked, sounding a little anxious. "I don't feel like getting chased again."

Pit flicked his tail. "They have Brand, but Steele and Quake can take him."

Justice bared his teeth at that. As if a lazy old lizard and a spoiled designer dragon could beat Brand. But his tail drooped with worry. That would definitely have been true a year ago—he'd heard stories of how Brand had been before they killed his rider. And he'd been getting better, slowly, so that he didn't look half-starved anymore. He still wasn't as strong as he used to be.

But the last straw was when Weiss leaned close to Blake and muttered, "What are we going to do about the hybrids?"

He stopped walking. It took Ilia a second to notice, and when she did, she did a double-take. "Justice?" she whispered. "Come on."

She'd told them. She'd told them.

They would not touch the little ones. Justice rose up onto his hind legs, sucked in a breath, and let loose a bellow that shook his entire body. Steele pounced on him, much too late. By the time the ice dragon knocked the wind out of him and pinned him down, he could already hear Brand's answering roar in the distance.

Brand hadn't thought he'd ever hear that voice again. He stood up, abandoning the patch of sunlight he'd been lounging in, and answered the call. Trees shook, birds took to the air in a panic, and Hazel leaped to his feet.

"Saddle," he blurted, and sprinted off to find it. Brand galloped towards the noise—Hazel would catch up.

Harbinger bolted out of his little pen behind the Albains' tent. He was already saddled, with Corsac on his back. He was still too small to fly like that, but he could run, and they'd need all the help they could get.

Hazel met him at the edge of the woods. There'd been no more sound from Justice, and Brand was itching to charge in after him—but they had no idea what was out there. It could be anything from a Flight Squad, to a horde of Grimm, to Sienna's angry youngling. So he waited, shifting impatiently from foot to foot, while Hazel tightened the straps on his saddle and hoisted himself onto his back.

Familiar weight settled on top of him. He felt a horrible mix of fear and longing stir in the pit of his stomach, and shook it off. Then he plunged into the woods.

They were close. He burst out of a knot of trees, sending several of them toppling in his wake, and found Justice pinned to the ground by a silver ice dragon. He squirmed and struggled, but the enemy dragon had put a paw down on his jaws, holding them shut. The pale head turned, revealing deep blue eyes.

Brand's howl of challenge shook the ground again. He coiled up, ready to pounce, his teeth bared and aimed at the enemy's throat—and a smaller figure jumped in front of him. His roar turned into a choked yelp, his eyes widening at the sight of Blake.

"Brand!" Hazel shouted.

He balked and backed up a step. "Nno hurt," he said, his ears going back.

He doesn't understand—she's a friend, why is his rider so angry?

"No," Hazel agreed. "Just keep them away from the camp."

The horrible knot in his chest eased. Brand coiled up, ready to jump over her. Before he could move, Pit reached out and snatched her off the ground, barking an admonishment. The silver ice dragon's rider—one of them, and not the nice one who sang—shouted, "Go!" She gestured with one hand, and Pit darted forward, aiming to run past him and into the camp.

Brand pounced, just as the speckles on Pit's scales glowed a bright silver. The power of his leap sent him sailing straight over the other dragon's head with a startled yelp.

Pit bolted past them into the woods. Specter and the singing Schnee followed right behind them, along with four humans and three dragons that Brand didn't recognize. Harbinger jumped into their midst, and the ground under their feet melted into thick, sticky mud. The last dragon, an earth dragon that was smaller than the others, tackled him and Corsac, giving the rest time to run past him.

Brand collided with a tree. It went down, as did two more behind it, and he landed on his side with his shoulder aching. He almost rolled to his feet before he remembered that Hazel was on his back, and got up without squishing him.

He tried to pursue the dragons that were headed for the camp, but a big earth dragon got in his way. "I heard about you," he said, in a deep rumble. "Sorry, but you can't attack the little ones."

Brand huffed. "You came here," he grumbled. He glanced around, his shoulders tensing as he realized just how outnumbered they were. He lunged, managing this time to reach the big ice dragon and knock him away from Justice.

"Go!" he hissed, when it looked like he was going to stay and fight. "Protect the camp!"

Justice ran past him. Brand sank into a crouch, his heart pounding in his chest, feeling wonderfully alive. His roar of challenge shook the trees.

He was going north. North, not home.

Fear and excitement mixed in Glacier's belly, until he was as shaky and weak as if he'd eaten a sleepy meal. What if the small Jacques went home? Could he follow? A shudder went through him, making the strange wind dragon stare. He hissed at her so she would stop.

They swam again. It was better now that he was used to it, and the water felt nicely cool on his scales. He ducked underwater to savor it. When he came back up again, he heard the small one coughing and spluttering and felt a twinge of guilt. Oops.

The wind dragon was looking at him again. He ignored her, swimming with his head half-underwater, though being careful now to make sure that his back stayed close to the surface. A while later they reached land, and set off at a brisk trot. Glacier wasn't sure why, but it was easier than it had been—as if there was more air in the world these days.

He was so busy savoring the feeling of earth and moss under his paws that he didn't notice the wind dragon keeping pace with him. When he did, he moved a little farther away from her. She didn't try to close the distance. Instead, she spoke.

"I'm looking for my Rider's daughter."

Glacier paused for a moment to pant. There was a strange ache in his chest—probably from all the running. The wind dragon shuffled her paws a bit awkwardly. Waiting for him to say something. He didn't want to, so he started sniffing a clump of flowers.

"I... lost..." A small, pained whine. "I mean... I know how it feels. How important it is to protect their young."

He froze, as what she'd said sank in. On his back, the small Jacques felt him tense and sat up very straight. "No," he said, still addressing the flowers. "Jacques is home. Home is bad."

"Oh." She was so taken aback, she actually backed away a few paces. Glacier picked his head up and started walking again. Ahead of him, Ragnar noticed and did the same. The wind dragon stayed at his side.

"I'm sorry," she said, after a long while. "I thought..."

More silence.

Glacier wanted to sing, but he didn't want to do it in front of the other dragons, or the little human Oscar. So he whistled tunelessly, and occasionally twisted his head around to nuzzle against the little one's chest.

"I don't understand," the wind dragon admitted, a while later. "Or... not about wanting to stay away. But I think I do understand about him." She pointed her nose towards the small Jacques. "They smell like their parents." A frustrated huff. "That's not all of it, but I don't know how to..."

"Small one is good."

Her ears drooped. "Yes. Very good."

They paddled across a small stream, then waded through a vast field full of grasses that came almost to Glacier's shoulder. He couldn't stop sneezing, and was glad when they returned to the cool forest. All the while, the wind dragon watched him.

"Have you talked to him?" she asked, a while later.

Glacier tilted his head to one side.

"In their language, I mean."

He flicked his tail. "Don't know many words."

"I think you should try." His hackles rose, and she bowed her head in apology. "You don't have to. It's just that you both seem lonely." She looked at the sky, the trees, the leaf-strewn ground—anywhere but at him. "It helps to feel closer to them."

Glacier didn't speak again for the rest of the day. He watched the sun go down, turning the sky a thousand bright colors, drinking in the sight that had been hidden behind white walls for years. It still hurt. He'd thought he would have found the other small ones by now. He'd thought it wouldn't hurt anymore.

Somehow, even after spending all this time with Ragnar, meeting several fellow humans, and picking up an extra dragon—for some reason—Whitley still had no idea what was going on. He thought Glacier probably did. At least, it looked like he was talking to the wind dragon, Tempest.

Really, Whitley was so used to being confused at this point that he was just glad he'd overheard one of the teenagers say her name. At least he wouldn't have to resort to calling her Windy.

They were going north, now, which meant they were getting closer to where he wanted to go. Somehow this wasn't reassuring. He wouldn't even know where to begin explaining about Oscar and Ragnar to Father, and Glacier...

Glacier wasn't his. Surely he'd want to go back to his real Rider once they were in Atlas.

As the evening faded into twilight, he started to suspect the dragon was thinking the same thing. Glacier kept staring at him, even more intensely than usual, and had started whistling. Not his usual song—Whitley got the sense that he was making it up as he went along, and the result sounded an awful lot like wind chimes. Eerie wind chimes.

He was probably planning a return to Atlas. Whitley felt a strange, hot feeling in the pit of his stomach. Frustration, maybe, because he'd tried to tell Glacier where it was when they first got away from the White Fang. If the stupid old lizard wanted to go back, all he had to do was listen.

But now he was following Ragnar, or maybe Tempest—it wasn't clear who was leading the group, at the moment—and he was going north. Maybe it was something else, something in the upper part of Vale. Or maybe he had finally figured out how to get back, and they'd be in the manor again in a few weeks. Father would have replaced Rusty with a new stable hand. Probably a strict one that wouldn't let him anywhere near the barns without permission.

Whitley drew Rusty's hood over his head and tucked his knees against his chest. He was still slightly damp from Glacier's swim earlier, which left the jacket musty-smelling, but still very warm.

"Have I told you about the time our farm got hit by a tornado?" Oscar asked.

Whitley blinked, startled. He'd just started to wish for a distraction. Despite the rocky start, Oscar was getting so good at telling when he wanted to talk that it was almost creepy.

They spent the next hour or so swapping stories. Whitley had learned to be careful which ones he told—sometimes what he thought was a funny anecdote would make Oscar go very quiet for a few minutes, before the conversation started back up again.

It was decidedly odd, Whitley mused, as he tried not to laugh at a corny joke. He was used to getting sick of other people's company, but it had never happened in reverse like this before. With every day that passed, he found having Oscar and Ragnar around grew less and less grating.

Lately, he'd been getting strange lumps in his throat at unpredictable times. As much as it usually didn't feel like it, they were on a journey with a destination—or, at least, Ragnar was. Even if they weren't going to the Schnee manor, eventually they would get somewhere, and there would be no need for them to travel together anymore.

Whitley's laugh died. He tried to keep up the conversation, but Oscar noticed his mood and let it trail off into a comfortable silence. More heat in the pit of his stomach. He scowled down at his own boots, wishing Glacier had never run off towards Beacon. If the dragon had just listened to him from the start, they would already be in Atlas, and he'd never have realized how much he didn't want to go back.

Night fell. As usual, Ragnar lay on his side with one wing splayed out across the forest floor like a gigantic sail. Oscar slept next to his stomach, a position Whitley was sometimes slightly jealous of when it got cold and windy, like tonight. Tempest settled down on her belly, her hind legs tucked under herself, her head resting on her paws.

Glacier did not take up his usual position, curled up in a ball with Whitley and his blanket tucked between his stomach and his forelegs. Instead he picked him up by his hood and padded off into the woods. Ragnar stirred, lifting his head and rumbling a question. Glacier whistled his answer. Whatever it was, the old earth dragon closed his eyes again, apparently satisfied.

It was very dark under the trees. Glacier's pale scales took on an unearthly glow in what little moonlight filtered through the branches. He didn't go very far—and when he sat down and began to sing, Whitley realized that he'd wanted to be out of earshot.

"You didn't have to drag me along," he said, but he didn't go back to the others. Instead he sat with his back to Glacier's chest, where he could feel the music as much as he heard it. A breeze picked up, blowing a chill right through Rusty's jacket. His pants were still damp.

It suited the song, somehow. The cold, and the slightly brittle smell in the air—a first whiff of the coming autumn. Whitley could almost see the northern lights when he closed his eyes, framed by his bedroom window. Shutters thrown wide, curtains stirring in a frozen wind.

He'd heard it before. Sometime, somewhere, and he'd felt just like this. Right on the cusp of something, bracing for the moment when it was snatched away.

Glacier reached the spot where he always faltered. A run of notes tumbled over one another like a waterfall—and in a flash, Whitley remembered. He'd been very small, too young to start lessons. Mother was humming it while she arranged flowers in a vase. He'd asked what it was called, and the vase had slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor.

A ringing silence followed. Glacier whined softly and pressed his nose against Whitley's cheek. He shivered again, and hair rose on the back of his neck. One deep blue eye was fixed on him, just like it had from behind the steel grate, what felt like a lifetime ago.

Glacier hissed—but it wasn't his usual signal of displeasure. Whitley's mouth fell open as he recognized the beginning of a word, seconds before the dragon finally managed to get it out.

"Sssmall," he said, and touched the tip of his nose to Whitley's forehead.

Whitley threw himself at the dragon, wrapping both arms around his neck and burying his face in his cool scales. A wing folded over him. He felt very small, then—small and terrified of everything he now had to lose.