A Friend that believe in you
The raging storm had passed and the relentless bombardment of rain had ceased. But the persistent lightning continued to arc across the sky, showing off their menacing purple streaks. Puddles were also scattered everywhere, mixing with the dirt to form mud that got stuck in between the gaps of Spyro's paws. Spyro had taken this as an opportunity to put distance between his and his pursuers. He reunited with Sparx and was now stalking the ash-covered lands where lightning constantly struck. However, despite this temporary relief, it still troubled Spyro that they would just track him down again, despite there being no signs of them being followed. The same circumstances were present as the time before, but what could he do but move on and hope they couldn't follow him...
Sparx had nestled atop of Spyro's head once more, snoring and generally not being useful as usual. To him, the dragons that attacked them, regardless of who they were, were gone and he needed his sleep, or so his selfish perspective told him.
Spyro took a moment to stop. Below him a brown, reflective puddle had gathered, allowing the dragon to see the state he had gotten himself into, war torn and a mess. He was dirty: mud and filth cluttered his once handsome and gleaming scales. Scratches and cuts that bled scarred his body.
He let out a deep sigh.
He looked further down at his paws. His sharp claws were chipped and blunt; he hadn't done much fighting, just the odd Grublin or Orc most days. But without the proper care and attention they had been worn down, stained yellow and made blunt. Who was he now…but a shell of his former self? Seeing him in this sad, pitiful state invoked an episode of depression to rise.
While he stopped to loathe himself with his head faced downward, his lazy dragonfly brother steadily began slipping off Spyro's smooth head… starting with his tiny arm that dislodged itself from around his left horn. Slowly but surely, he slipped further and further down until he fell off completely and landed face first in the murky puddle with a loud splash. The sudden coldness quickly caused him to panic as he spluttered the filthy water back out of his suffering throat. But even this anticlimactic, funny moment failed to raise a crack of a smile on Spyro's grim features.
"Who's there?" Sparx questioned accusingly, unsure where he was or what was going on.
"No one is there Sparx…You just slipped off my head," Spyro replied monotone as he lowered his gaze to meet his brother's.
"Well, be more careful next time, I need to look presentable," Sparx resented.
Spyro was about to question his reason, but his swelling sadness left him in an untalkative mood. So, instead he replied with the simple word, "Sorry…"
Sorry - a word that seemed to have no meaning now to Spyro. No purpose to the purple dragon beyond the use as an excuse. He had tried many times to say that word: sorry for the damage he had caused, sorry for the lives he had ended, sorry for everything he done… but no one listened. The word would've meant as much as Spyro proudly admitting what he'd done to the world. It would've gotten the same reaction of anger and resentment.
"Got anything though, buddy? A plan perhaps?" He rinsed out a few drops from his glorious golden self.
"Running…" Spyro replied nonchalantly. He continued forth, leaving his dripping brother to trail behind.
Sparx seemed a little disheartened, not because of the word but the tone of which it was spoken in. He realised something had put a dampener on his spirits. However, Sparx had picked up a few things that kept his brother out of the dumps, one of which was conversation, and very few people were as good as him when it came to that. So every time Spyro was feeling down he tried to cheer him up…but it's surprising how easily one can run out of topics when you spend a month talking to one person. Regardless, Sparx tried because Spyro was still a hero and a brother to him, and nothing would ever change that.
"See, that's a very good plan," Sparx said with slight enthusiasm, hoping his infectious smile would get caught by Spyro. "Trust me, I know from experience. Sometimes it's better to run and save your hide, buddy."
Spyro didn't reply, instead he kept walking straight, shunning the outside world and absorbed himself in his sorrow. He did, however, continue listening to his brother.
"Sparx, I know you're trying to help, but this is one moment you can't help with."
The truth though was Spyro wasn't entirely running. He was looking for Cynder. The one thing he was truly convinced about was she was still alive somewhere - and he was going to find her. This was why he was hanging around Warfang. He hadn't told Sparx this because he wasn't sure how his brother would react. But speaking of Warfang…
Spyro and Sparx climbed yet another dark hill of dead grass. Ever since the cataclysmic events and the lack of sunshine, the land had begun dying, the grasslands had turned black. They scaled the hill and immediately Spyro crouched down behind the waving decomposing grass.
Sparx obliviously fluttered past, but before going any further Spyro snagged the protesting dragonfly's tail and dragged him back to cover.
"Ow, what was-" Sparx complained.
"Shh…" Spyro whispered, not taking his eyes of the horizon.
To the left lied the vast, expansive area known as the Burnt Lands, where even from here, rivers of lava lit up like glowing veins on an orc, separating the hazardous islands. A little closer was edge of the Burnt Lands, where the fire used to climb high into the sky is the only divider between the home of the Malefor's creations and the battlegrounds outside of Warfang. Without that flaming barrier though, the land on either side looked identical: dark and empty.
To Spyro's right lay the ruins of Warfang, where a malicious crack sliced the gate and city in two, along with the demolished wall that had survived many a weary siege. The gate still stood though, like a sleeping guardian watching over a suffering population. In front of the towering gate laid an encampment of rags, where those who stayed beside the city now lived while the city was being repaired. The citizens of Warfang scavenged anything they could from the city: furniture, tools, fabrics; anything that could be useful. Many denizens or specks at Spyro's distance could be seen shuffling around. The encampment had developed since Spyro had last saw it only a week or so ago, being more vibrant in colour and size, but still very gloomy with an edge of bitterness.
Directly ahead lay a forest that connected from there to Avalar, with a winding dirt road feeding into it. It's the path the Cheetahs once took to reach Warfang many years ago, before the useful Forbidden Passage was installed. This left the old dirt path to fall into a fate of disuse, letting the forest do as it pleased to it. However, in the last month the path had now became a highly depended on life line between cheetahs and moles ever since the Forbidden Passage collapsed in. The moles traded useful items such as weapons and furniture in exchange of healthy food and fresh water.
Despite the danger Spyro would regularly follow near the route through the forest and at night would fly into the sprawling, beautiful lands of Avalar. It always had a mystical feel of enlightenment to Spyro, filling him with a soothing calmness that settles his twisting being. With the moons gazing gently, wrapping him in its gentle light.
This was an odd place, considering the all-encompassing clouds rarely gathered above the valley, adding to its mystery and beauty. Many creatures would gather there just for the opportunity to remember the sun's warm beauty or the moons' beautiful kisses. However, these were sacred lands to the cheetahs, and strict rules prevented anyone outside the Cheetah's own clan from living there in fear of ruining the land and disturbing ancient spirits of the Cheetah's ancestors. Spyro of course avoided the cheetah village like a bad omen. But when he could he would spend as long as possible in Avalar before being chased out.
"Dude, what exactly are you looking for out here?" He looked out across the land, trying to see what Spyro was seeing. Sparx had asked the same question time and time again, but each time he would inquire he would get the same answer.
"I can't answer that…You wouldn't approve." Spyro was always fairly open to the dragonfly, but there were some subjects he refused to talk about unless directly asked about.
"Oh, come on…" Sparx said irritated. It was treatment he was used to but still annoying nonetheless.
"Let's just get across and continue."
"Fine…but I'm going back to sleep. I'm choosing a different spot though…" Sparx muttered the last part remembering the awkward moment not too long ago. He chose a spot between two of the ridges lining Spyro's back. It wasn't as smooth, but if it meant he wouldn't fall off he would take it.
Spyro took one more glance out at the camp. Many of the people who once lived in constant fear, now only wore masks of anger. They were afraid of him, and the very sight of him would make them panic and lash out at him in fury. This made him feel alone, unwanted and abandoned, while the people of Warfang got on with their day without a hint or care for the safety ones who tried setting the world right. The ones who put aside the distrust the world had for them. The ones like Cynder and himself. Maybe the time for heroes was over…Maybe the time for Spyro was over…
Spyro sighed. He had to put away much of the kindness he was known for long ago, and the true dragon he wished he could be; instead he was forced carrying the heavy burden of being a purple dragon, whether he was loved to the core or despised by all. A single tear formed in the corner of his eye, building up before sliding down his cheek. It dripped into the earth below and left to be forgotten like he was.
Spyro strolled down the hill, picking up a little pace to avoid being spotted until he was safely hidden behind one of the ridges that lined the battleground. He then slowed to an almost drifting pace; he had no reason to slow down...but he was like a ghost, drifting from place to place. He put one claw in front of the other, one claw in front of another…one claw in front of another. Was this all he had been doing? Walking in aimless circles trying to find someone who might not even be there?
Cynder meant the world to him. To have that taken away hurt more and deeper than any of the cuts he had received; it stabbed into his very heart. He was bleeding, drip by drip his passionate blood was leaking - he was dying inside - because he was unable to return the feelings he had held onto for so long. But if he could see Cynder one more time, one chance to reveal what he kept under lock and key for so long to her, he would be content. Even if the world then opened-up and swallowed him whole he would die a happy dragon knowing he was granted his one wish.
He had fulfilled more in his tiny life than a normal adult could achieve in entire generations. He had gotten to see things only heard in rumours. Sights out of myth and legend. Experiences shared with the best friends he could ever have. This brought a soft smile to the dragon. Reflecting on the distant past had allowed Spyro to lift some of the weight of sadness from upon his shoulders.
Spyro had reached the other side of the war-torn battlefield. He took one last glance upon Warfang over his shoulder before disappearing into the forest.
He wandered through the thick ferns and underlying tree roots for a good part of an hour, gliding across or taking a quick cold drink from the rivers that snaked through the forest. He even stopped by to catch the odd silver fish to replenish his waning strength.
Spyro had just crossed one such river when a single arrow sung past his head and embedded itself deep into the tree to his left. He reared up in alarm and panicked, causing Sparx to yet again to fall off his dirty, scaly back. Crouching down low he nervously examined the treetops in hope of finding his assailant. Whoever it was wasn't of the friendly kind.
However, no other arrows came.
Spyro kept watch regardless, his heart beating very fast indeed. It was that kind of moment where letting your guard down for even a second could prove to be fatal.
Sparx though still managed once more to be oblivious to the danger and instead focus on the little problems.
"Dude, what is with your body. Have all my fat comments started getting to you?... I prefered fat Spyro to sleep on…comfier," Sparx mumbled again, pulling himself off the muddy ground.
"Sparx we're under attack, get behind me!" Spyro ordered.
"Ah! Again?! Where?!" Sparx quickly squealed, instantly awake like someone threw a bucket of freezing water at him. The word attack had to be one of his least favourite words.
"I…I don't know, in the trees somewhere."
Sparx twisted his head trying to spot the archer as well, but again there was nothing, no noise, no arrows. Sparx was the first to relax slightly.
"Dude, really…you woke me up, because you may have heard some rustling in the bush?"
"No, I... I mean…we were attacked I know it."
"OoOh! Spyyyro! I am the ghost of the forest coming to rustle some leaves!" Sparx raised his arms above his head and wiggled his fingers at his tense brother.
"Sparx, cut it out. Look, there's an arrow to prove it!"
"OoOh! Wait an arrow?" Sparx suddenly said off-hand.
A few more perilous seconds passed by...but still nothing else came.
Though Spyro was still not convinced the archer was gone, he decided looking for someone who might not be there, wasn't the best idea. Instead he inspected the arrow. Even though the darkness above dulled the world, he could tell it was beautifully crafted with red feathers, obviously from an something exotic bird of some description. But what surprised him more was that the torn note attached to the shaft of the arrow with a fine brown string.
Double checking to make sure no one was watching, Spyro removed detached and unrolled the note, the paper was scruffy but the handwriting was written with care. Sparx, who also was interested, read over Spyro's shoulder like a peeping tom.
Spyro,
Know even in these dark times you have friends. There are still those of us who still trust in you and do not believe that you are to blame for this. If you wish to speak then meet at the base of Twilight falls. I would speak with you there my friends, but your current position is not safe. I will give you two days, any more and I can only presume you do not have time. Until then my friend,
Hunter.
Spyro heart began beating faster in rhythm. Even after all he had done there were still people out there that still believe in him.
Sparx could help but crack a smile when he saw his not-so-little purple brother smile.
"I take it as a yes, we're going to the party?"
"We are Sparx…We are going to see a friend."
The thought that it could be a trap did pass through Spyro's head once, but this was Hunter he was thinking about, the cheetah who had spent three years just looking for him, Cynder, and Sparx. So Spyro didn't even consider this a trick at all after that.
Filled with a new sense of necessity, Spyro had something he hadn't had in a long time: a target, a location, and a deadline, something he was very good at. He excitedly bounded forth, cutting the time it would normally take him to cross the rest of the forest by half. He did not, however, make more noise than usual. He remained stealthy and careful like a ninja. He soared low off the ground and weaved through the thicket of trees. Of course, the darkness from the clouds and the trees lowered his visibility but he didn't care, sparx was enough light and he directed the excitable dragon through the maze of forest.
They did eventually streak out of the forest to the welcoming arms of the moons. It was another beautiful night and Spyro slowed his pace to take in the beauty of unspoilt plains of Avalar always proudly withheld. If the cheetahs could do one thing right, it was keeping nature at balance and beautiful. Spyro couldn't help but glide and occasionally loop around, along with conversation, this feeling of tranquility helped the mood of the dragon substantially. Avalar on its own would've put the dragon's tired mind at ease, but this new sense of purpose made Spyro feel free! Sparx could not help but grin as his brother soared; it lifted his spirits as well to see his companion so happy. They made their way across the green grass. Hearing only the soothing wind or the splashing of the waterfalls. They soared up and over the plentiful cliffs that divided Avalar and the Enchanted Forest.
There below, at the bottom of the majestic multi-tiered waterfall, Spyro spotted a single flickering campfire and a shrouded cloaked figure sat calmly upon a mossy log. His golden muzzle peeked a little out of his cloak, giving the purple dragon crystal clear indication to who it was. His elegant bow was carefully placed by his side along side his quiver, filled with beautifully crafted arrows made with fletches made off the same gorgeous red feathers Spyro saw before. They were the same arrows that Spyro had saw earlier. No doubt it was Hunter who had left Spyro that message.
Spyro honed in on his cheetah friend, only spreading out his wings to slow his descent once he realised he was approaching a little too quickly. Hunter's attention was raised when he heard the buzzing of Sparx and the flapping of Spyro; it brought out the cheerful smile that had warmed Spyro many a times before.
"Hunter!" Spyro eagerly called out.
"It is good seeing you, my friend. I was afraid I would not see you again."
Well I know this was a miserable chapter, but I hope the cheerful scenery that came after helped improve that ^-^.
With that my friends, farewell for now.