A bitter wind swept in from the open balcony, toying playfully with the parchments on her desk, and knocking several more precariously placed scrolls to the ground. Queen Glacier paid them no mind as she paced through her chambers, her claws leaving faint imprints in the impressively large polar bear rug that coated most of the floor of her bedroom.

Normally she welcomed weather like this. It served as a comforting reminder that even as tensions rose at court, and the tides of war changed, the gales of the north would always be there, and the ever-present guardian of her perfect frosted kingdom. Tonight they did nothing but feeble attempt to distract her from her troubles.

Over the last week or so she'd been doing a rather ample job in her opinion of not allowing any of her dragons to see that the current situation was affecting her. She was the Queen after all, she'd dealt with much worse situations before, this one couldn't be any different. Sure, animus magic had never been involved before, but Icewings had a rather extensive history and large amounts of experience with magic, surely everything was under control.

Oh, how she desperately wished for that to be the case.

Under normal circumstances something like this would barely be worth even thinking about. Some inane dragon has run off with a stolen enchantment object, either her or Queen Ruby's guards would catch them, and then everything could return to normal. However, it wasn't just any dragon who had stolen the object, it was a Nightwing. A Nightwing no less, who apparently was able to communicate with Darkstalker and wished to set him free. Just thinking the word "Nightwing" made her brain ache as it worried itself to shreds. She'd done her best to push the thought of them out of her mind during the day, but while she was alone in her chambers, with Pyrrhia's three moons shining above, she was able to think with nothing to interrupt her train of thought, and no one to catcher her with her guard so flagrantly down.

Her claws tapped sharply against the invulnerable ice that made up her floors. Were she anywhere else in her kingdom she would have avoided creating such noise at this time of night, despite how much it eased her mind, however the enchanted soundproofing of her palace allowed her such luxuries. She wondered when an enchantment like that would have been made. Likely very early on, claws on ice are maddeningly loud, and the echos of steps carry far down the branching corridors of whatever wing unfortunate enough to be disturbed.

Even approaching the subject of enchantments sent her mind churning with fresh torrents of worry, her pace quickening as she tried to push them back. The idea of a Nightwing, her ancient enemy, with the power to wipe away every last trace of her tribe with a flick of her tail ignited that kind of primal fear that made her want to claw out the throat of whoever dared make her feel such a way. Yet, there was something else about this whole situation that troubled her.

She still remembered that flight to the Diamond trial as clear as a summers day. The sky was empty, barring a few wisps of what may have once been, or were soon to be clouds. The sun reflected dangerously bright against the snow-coated ground, surely blinding any lesser tribe that looked upon it too long. Her nephew glided by her side, explaining the events that had transpired while he was away from the kingdom. She had committed every last word to memory, assuming, likely as all of her procession had, that would be the last time she'd speak to him. She had been pleasantly surprised to find she was wrong, but his story still remained fresh in her memory. One Who Watches The Moons, or just Moonwatcher in Pyrrhian, was the name of the dragoness who had helped him find Queen Scarlet and rescue his brother Prince Hailstorm. Rather alarmingly for her, that was also the name of the dragoness she had been told disappeared with this continent's most dangerous enchanted object. She supposed it was possible these were two separate dragons who happened to share a name, however given the Nightwing's rather large drop in population, and that they had no more than a couple dozen dragonets among all of them, she doubted that.

It made her curious as to what the actual motives of the dragoness had been. Perhaps she had helped with the rescue mission purely to earn the goodwill of her schoolmates, so they'd be less watchful of her, or maybe she did genuinely want to help, but the draw of animus magic had been too much for her to resist.

Either way she was a danger. At least, it felt like she was a danger. Glacier's heart and mind fiercely disagreed on the appropriate measures to be taken in response to her. She knew logically she was overreacting, there were other animus dragons, one was no more a threat to her than any other. But this was a Nightwing! And besides, that was only half of the trouble.

Could Darkstalker really be alive?

That was the question that had consumed her waking and resting mind. She'd heard the ancient Nightwing's name whispered through her court over the recent days more often than throughout her entire lifetime, each instance followed by worried glances and truth-less rumours. She understood her tribe's concern, ever since her first night as Queen she'd been cursed with unending nightmares of the animus, but the idea that somehow he had survived throughout his two thousand year absence was hard for her to believe.

Even so, that was what Princess Sunny had told her during their dreamvisitor conversation, not that he was alive mind you, but that the dragoness believed he was. Following a few days later was a letter from Queen Glory, describing the Nightwing in greater detail as well as some vague speculation as to where she may be hiding. She glanced to the side, eying the shreds of what once was the letter. Not one of her prouder moments though it certainly served to make her feel better. Then came a messenger from Queen Ruby, mentioning nothing of Darkstalker, but explaining much more about what the enchanted object was capable of, and more of the same about what the dragoness who stole it looked like.

There was always the distinct possibility the dragonets of destiny (dragons of destiny?) were lying to her. Perhaps Glory had not been quite so willing to let Icicle go with nothing more than a slap on the wing. That would explain some of the more odd details of this case, it was more than plausible that the whole Darkstalker narrative was created entirely to sew fear amongst her subjects, that would explain why Ruby hadn't mentioned it. But then what did this Nightwing dragoness have to do with this, was she implicated, or being framed? No, Ruby wouldn't be in on this, and she had mentioned the dragoness by name, so the object had most certainly been stolen, whether the rest of the story was true or not.

She paused, lowering her wings to settle against the pristine white fur of her rug. She clasped her head in a talon, growling at the pulsing headache that was threatening to split her skull open. Perhaps she should just try to sleep, though a couple of hours laying on her ice shelf with nothing to distract her sounded possibly miserable. And besides, she still had to wait for an answer to her-

Her ears flicked up, tracing along the quiet scraping noise that began emanating from her desk. She paced over, watching the tablet the scratching was coming from with eager interest. "The Gift of communication", or at least this half of it, was a set of two ice-carved tablets, enchanted to have whatever was carved into either be perfectly mirrored on the other. Anything carved would then fade after being wiped over by a talon. They were intended to be used when Icewing envoys travelled across the continent to represent their Queen in another's court, so they could send back news of how negotiations were going and she could best instruct them on what to do. Over her years as Queen with the war of Sandwing succession beginning shortly after she took the throne she hadn't had much of an opportunity to use them. So, she found them another use, as a means of communication with an old friend. She'd sent the message on a whim, just asking to keep an eye out for the Nightwing fugitive in case she happened to fly into her. Now picking up the slate, talons drumming with anticipation, she was rather glad she had.

Eventually the tablet fell silent, its neatly carved message complete.

"I've found her. She's resting at my hut, I'll stall her as long as I can. Good luck."

Glacier carefully placed the slate back down, a half-smile beginning to form on her lips. Perhaps she did have this under control after all.

Moon awoke somewhere she definitely wasn't supposed to be.

The air was heavy with smoke, and the smell of spice that seemed to press in from all sides. The floor beneath her was rough and scratchy and dug at her soft underscales whenever she shifted. Her snout recoiled at the unfamiliar scent, and her neck cracked in complaint at the sudden movement.

She opened her eyes, her wariness giving way to curiosity. The room around her was covered from wall to wall with tiny ornaments and figures. Dozens of candles were scattered around shelves and on drawers, their warm orange light reflecting off the shinier trinkets, giving the impression of many times more flames than were actually lit. Her internal clock told her it was well into the night, yet the heat around her was stifling, mitigated only by the occasional weak breeze that forced itself through the ageing shutters.

In the corner of the hut, huddled over a desk was the Sandwing from the forest. She was working on the beginnings of a wood carving, slicing away large strips of wood to block out the form. Moon wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the light, but now she had a better view of the Sandwing there was something about her that was decidedly off. She had an almost fuzzy quality around the edges, and seemed to flicker, as though she were made of the candle flames around them. The Sandwing had an almost unreal quality to her, like an over-painting applied to reality itself, a clumsy mask attempting to restore the artist's original intent.

Moon dragged a claw across the carpet beneath her, unsure if she should say something. The Sandwing startled, realising she was awake. She seemed to sharpen, the shadows around her darkened, her scales becoming more defined as she tilted her head back a fraction to look at the Nightwing. Her black, lidless eyes watched Moon for a long moment, letting the silence between them settle for just a moment too long.

"Did you have any dreams?" Moon had been expecting a question, but it still caught her off guard. Normally that question would have been irrelevant, but over the last few days it had been worry enough to stop her from sleeping altogether. [I]But how would this Sandwing know that?

"You're speaking Nightwing." She tried instead, digging for any kind of information about this dragoness. She expected something to appear in the Sandwing's head, the hours she had spent in some ancient library, or perhaps the face of the Nightwing who'd taught her, before remembering with a shudder this dragoness was entirely unreadable to her.

"I am." She replied, her face giving no clues to what she was thinking. "I've heard Nightwings are rather inexperienced with other languages, I figured you'd be more comfortable speaking your native tongue. Am I wrong in that assumption?" Moon shook her head. She wasn't as well versed in Nightwing as her tribemates, but what she knew would be enough.

"When did you learn-" the Sandwing held up a claw, and Moon fell silent.

"Answer my question first, then I'll answer one of yours." Moon thought for a moment, trying to remember if she had dreamt yesterday.

"Why do you want to know?" The Sandwing's eye ridge drew down, squinting at Moon with something between curiosity and displeasure. Whether she knew Moon was dodging the question or not she answered anyway.

"Do you remember getting here?" At Moon's confused expression she hummed, "I did think something was off about you. Anyway, when we got here you refused to sleep, something about 'them finding you', whoever 'they' are. So I gave you some herbs to stop you from dreaming, and that seemed to settle you." Moon nodded, about to answer when the Sandwing added, "Of course they were only tea leaves, but the placebo effect is a remarkably powerful thing, so I wanted to know if it worked."

Moon was glad for once to have her dark scales, so the Sandwing couldn't see the embarrassed flush that bloomed across her face, "No, at least I don't think I had any." She didn't have the best memory for dreams, but she figured she'd at least remember any dreamvisitor conversations. Whether she dreamt and wasn't visited, or didn't dream at all, there wasn't much of a difference in the end.

"Good." The Sandwing turned back to her carving, reaching for a smaller, more precise tool in the same movement. "Are you hungry? You look as though you haven't eaten in a while."

"Oh, no no, I'm quite alright." Moon tried to put as much conviction in her voice as possible, as though she were trying to convince herself as much as she was the Sandwing. As if trying to actively undermine her, her stomach growled angrily.

"Really? The Sandwing asked, an amused lilt to her voice. "Your body seems to disagree." Before Moon could argue her case further the other dragoness continued. "Come now, the body burns many more calories when sleep-deprived, and I very much doubt you made a particularly talented hunter in such a state."

Moon tugged at one of the threads of the carpet, working it loose as she tried to come up with another excuse. Eventually she sighed, "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Well then," the Sandwing set down her carving tool, twisting her neck to better view the Nightwing, "I can get you something. Do you like fish?" Moon hadn't had fish before. The only time she'd even seen them was in the prey centre back at Jade Mountain, where they had looked particularly unappetising. Catching her expression, the dragoness continued, "No? Alright, what would you like then?"

Moon absentmindedly worked free another thread, "Um, do you have any fruit?" She knew it was a long shot. The desert wasn't exactly a haven for plant life, but she'd always preferred fruit over living prey.

The Sandwing looked up, staring out in the vague direction of something outside the hut. "I have coconuts if they'll do you." She hadn't had coconuts before either, they grew off the coast of the rainforest, but her mother would never have let her go that far. Her heart caught in her throat and she stopped her fidgeting. Her mother, was Secretkeeper worried about her? She hadn't even considered that when she'd left, she'd just known she had to get away. Guilt pooled in her stomach, but her desire to travel home was shortly squashed by the images she'd seen in her visions. The Sandwing watched her, waiting for a response, "Is that a yes or…"

"Yes." Moon tried in vain to hide the way her voice was shaking.

The Sandwing uncoiled from her stool, looking at her with concern. "Is everything alright?"

Moon took a breath, trying to steady herself. "Yep, I'm fine. I must still be more tired than I realised."

The Sandwing's face shifted to an expression Moon couldn't decipher, "Well your more than welcome to stay another day if you need the rest." She stopped just before the door, turning back to look Moon directly in the eyes, a sudden intensity shining in her inky black pits, "Don't touch anything while I'm away, don't even move from that carpet, do you understand me? You'd be surprised how placid some poisons can look." With that she was gone, closing the door tightly behind her. The ornaments around the room rattled from the sudden draft, and the candles fluttered before quickly returning to normal.

Moon sat in silence, staring at the weathered floorboards. That was, certainly something. She examined the trinkets around her with much more scrutiny. Are there actually any poisons in here? It was possible, there were a few unidentifiable vials on some of the higher shelves, but none Moon would be able to reach with her stature, nor be able to fly up and grab without disturbing the other ornaments around the hut. She pulled in her wings tighter around herself. Even if Moon couldn't see anything, the Sandwing had spoken with such authority she couldn't help but believe her, and besides, "poison" may have been a metaphor.

She sat in silence, listening to the Sandwing outside of her hut, until eventually she padded further down the beach, out of earshot. She began scratching at the carpet again, trying to make out what the designs weaved into it were supposed to be. Mostly plants she guessed, long with sun-like symbols and all varieties of lizard. She pulled up another thread, working it further with her claw, fraying it until it snapped and settled back onto the carpet. She started tugging out a forth, when she heard a muffled scarping begin from the Sandwing's desk. She sat up, trying to pinpoint where it was coming from.

The only objects currently on her desk were a set of carving tools, the sculpture she had been working on, and a sandstone tablet, lying face down. She took a step towards it, and the moment her talon hit the floorboards a thrumming sensation of powerful wrongness began pulsing up her arm. She jumped back, staring from her talon, back to the ground. She tested it again, lightly placing her talon back down. The pulsing began again, working its way up to her shoulder before trailing off. The sensation was strange, though oddly familiar, it almost reminded her of Darkstalker's-

The scroll!

She reached to her side, knowing well before she moved she didn't have it. She spun, hissing almost in a panic. Had it fallen off? If it had she couldn't see it around her. She cursed herself, praying to the Moons it hadn't fallen off during her flight here. But if it hadn't…

She scanned the room again, searching for anything big enough to fit the scroll case inside, or hidden behind. The only option other than it falling was that the Sandwing had taken it, either during their conversation or while Moon was asleep. That would explain why the dragoness didn't want her looking around. Something black caught the corner of her eye. She twisted, squinting to try and make out the shape in the low light. Buried under a collection of rugs and blankets glinted the shining leather of the scrollcase. She sighed in relief, reaching to fish it out from underneath. She stopped herself, an inch away from reaching in.

She'll notice the rugs have moved, and probably just take it off me again. At least now I know where it is.

Talonsteps from outside startled her back to herself, and she lay back down seconds before the Sandwing opened the door. "Sorry about the wait," she said, placing down two halves of the coconut on the carpet, "Usually they don't take quite so long to split." Moon nodded, trying to steady her heart. The Sandwing nudged the door closed with her tail, leaving a slight nick in its already beaten surface from her barb. She returned to her desk, though Moon got the impression she was still watching her from the corner of her eye.

Trying to distract herself she turned back to the coconut, trying to puzzle out what parts were edible. She scooped up one of the halves, surprised by how soft the fuzzy brown shell was. Inside was a thick layer of white flesh, and at the bottom sat a puddle of clear liquid. "Drink the water," the Sandwing didn't turn from her carving, "Then cut out slices of the meat."

Moon did so, raising the half to her lips. The water tasted nutty and sweet, and it felt like heaven to her after three days of nothing. She moved the shell into one talon, resting one side on the carpet for more stability as she cut into it with her free talon, slicing a V shape into the flesh and prying out the chunk. She popped it into her mouth, it tasted similar to the water, but more concentrated. "This feels a little late," she began cutting out another chunk, "But did I ever ask your name?"

The Sandwing picked up her carving, holding it up to her face to scrutinise it closer, "You didn't, it's Jerboa." She lowered the carving, glancing at Moon, "Yours?"

Moon stopped what she was doing, her mind racing for an answer.

Should I just tell her?

She wanted to, lying was far from her strong suit and she despised the sinking feeling she got when she did it. However, she had no idea if she could trust this dragon, and even if Jerboa didn't know who she was right now, if she recognised her in the future anyone looking for her would know where she'd been. "Scrollkeeper." She forced out, biting down on her tongue.

Really? Way to be obvious Moon,

The Sandwing regarded her with a sceptical expression, "Scrollkeeper?"

"Yep," Moon focused her attention back to the coconut, doing everything within her power to avoid making eye contact with the Sandwing, "My father was the librarian back on the volcano. I was supposed to do the same thing when I was older, but, you know."

The Sandwing hummed, turning back to her work, and much to Moon's relief didn't ask any more questions.

The two sat in silence for a while, all the while Moon worked away at the coconut. She brushed the two hollow shells to the edge of the rug with her wing when she was done, wondering if she should say something or wait for Jerboa to notice. After another few minutes the Sandwing yawned, looking up. "Hm, it's getting pretty late, we should probably get some rest."

"We?" Moon asked, puzzled.

"Of course," Jerboa said, standing up and stretching out her neck, "You said you were tired didn't you? Surly one more day here is better than another in the wilderness."

Moon wanted to protest and get back to the relative safety of the trees, but then she remembered she didn't have the scroll on her, and with an ominous shudder she realised Jerboa had positioned herself between Moon and the rugs the scroll was buried beneath.

She does know. Could I fight her off?

It wasn't likely. From her height Jerboa had at least a few decades on Moon. Rather interesting though, her sail was entirely unmarked, without the nicks and cuts that broke up most of the sails of her tribe. Qibli had said most Sandwings nowadays got them from battles, but even young dragonets would get notches from flying accidents or play fights. Jerboa had none at all though, which meant she likely didn't have any fight experience to speak of. Not that Moon had much of an edge though, the only fights she'd even been in she'd almost been choked to death or had her neck snapped, and the only reason she hadn't was because Winter jumped in to save her.

Moon realised she'd gone a scale too long without answering, "Yeah, you're probably right about that."

Jerboa stretched out her wings as far as she could manage in the confined space, settling onto a rug in the corner. Moon rested her head on her neatly folded talons, the tip of her tail flicking back and forth as she tried to come up with any kind of plan.

I'll have to wait for her to fall asleep, but if I can't read her mind how would I know if she's sleeping? I might be able to get out during the day, but I don't know if she ever even leaves when the sun's up, and escaping in daylight I'd be much more obvious.

She sighed, closing her eyes and digging her claws into her arm to stop herself from accidentally falling asleep.

I guess I've just go to go for it.