Chapter 1
The dragon was exhausted. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept, and it had been even longer since he'd eaten. He barely had the strength to lift his wings anymore. But he couldn't bring himself to stop.
His species was gone, hunted to near extinction. His mother was gone; he hadn't seen her in years. Now his brother was gone, too; pulled into the Red Death's nest. As far as the tired dragon knew, he was the last Night Fury.
The memory of his brother brought fresh pain to his heart. He loved his older brother; he was the only family he'd had left. While the tired dragon was smaller and had odd gray markings on the bottom edges of his wings (that his brother had once sworn looked like frost patches), the two were practically identical. The biggest difference, he'd always felt, lay in their personalities.
He had always flown away from danger as fast as he could, fighting only as a last resort. He never wanted to fight; the most violent thing he did was shoot the occasional fireball into the ocean to deter Viking ships. Fighting scared him, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
His older brother, however, would fight to the very end for those he loved. He wore their species' reputation with pride, and never shied away from reminding other dragons (or even humans) why it was unwise to mess with a Night Fury. The older brother was far from a monster, however; he knew that it was wrong to attack unless out of defense. The younger brother often wished that he could be more like him.
He growled at himself. He regretted that he'd managed to escape the Red Death's call (he'd been deafened by a tussle with a Thunderdrum at the time) while his brother had been pulled in. When that had happened, he'd frozen. His first instinct was to try and snap his brother out of it, but he already knew it would be pointless. A thousand possible rescues went through his head, each more desperate and impossible than the last. Finally, after a grief-filled roar, he had simply turned and flown away. There was no escaping the nest; every smart dragon knew that. As much as it pained him, his brother was as good as dead…if he wasn't dead already.
After losing his brother, he'd started flying. He didn't know where he was going, he couldn't remember where he'd started from. But he couldn't stay there, not without his brother. He'd been flying nonstop for nearly a week, only stopping to collapse on sea stacks when his body simply couldn't take it anymore. He'd left the archipelago half a day ago. He hadn't seen any other dragons or humans since then.
He was snapped out of his thoughts by the sight of land. He felt the cold, and realized that he'd been flying north. He flew in a bit closer, and gave a small warble as he took in the scenery below him. It was a massive, gorgeous forest, spanning from the edge of a fjord to what looked like a beach in the distance (it was too far away to tell). As he flew over the entrance to said forest, he could just see four large stones standing in a row.
Before the dragon could take in any more of his surroundings, his vision started to blur. He tried to blink it away, but his eyelids were too heavy. He'd flown too much for too long; his body was beginning to shut down. He knew he had to land, and looked for anywhere that seemed a good place. Then suddenly he hit an updraft, and there wasn't time to find a good place.
He tried to glide gently down, but he was coming in too fast. As he broke through the tops of the trees, an especially pointy tree branch gashed the side of his leg. He screeched in pain before he landed/crashed into the ground.
Fortunately for him, it was winter in this forest, and he landed in a thick pile of snow. His side was bruised, but the fall hadn't hurt him. He managed to get up, but quickly regretted it. He chanced a look at his back right leg, and regretted that, as well. The gash was deep, and would take a lot of time to heal. But he didn't have time. He needed food. He needed to find a place to hide and rest. He needed…he needed…
His exhaustion hit him full-force then. He fell on his side again, wincing at the fresh bruises. He wondered, as he lay there, if there were any predators in the forest. Hopefully nothing that would want to target an injured dragon. He especially hoped there weren't humans. If a human found him while he was in this state, there would truly be no more Night Furies.
As he slipped into unconsciousness, he thought he heard something. It was soft, and gentle, almost like a hatchling's chirps. He managed to open his eyes, but saw that it was nothing. Merely a few leaves being tossed by the wind. He closed his eyes and rested.