A/N: Nothing much to say for this one. Hope you enjoy the chapter!


Ch. 9

Moon could feel that she was only out for a few seconds—maybe a couple minutes, at most—before her eyes opened back up. She had a moment to take stock of her situation, to notice that she was still in the arms of Winter and in the construction area outside of Sanctuary, and then the pain hit her again. She groaned as she felt an ache in her whole body, which was amplified tenfold on her wing when she shifted it.

"M…Moon?" She heard Winter's voice, a tremble in it, and she felt his body shifting besides her. He seemed to hesitate, not sure what to do. "Are you okay? Are you…?"

She responded with a whimper, but moved to get to her own feet. "I…I don't know," she groaned, "I think…oww…I think I might have hurt something bad."

"I'm sorry, Moon," she heard him say, and she winced less at his words than the sting of pain from just trying to get to her feet, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…I don't…"

"No, that was my own fault," she hissed, her mind replaying those moments before the beams fell, "I wasn't paying attention."

"But I made you go," Winter said, a growl in his voice no doubt aimed at himself, "This is my fault. I pushed you too far, I should have held myself. I may as well have done this to you myself."

Part of Moon wanted to agree with him and blame him. Another part wanted to continue to say it wasn't his fault. In the end, the part of her that was still recovering from what happened won out.

"How does it look?" she asked him, changing the subject towards where her own focus was. "How badly am I hurt?" She hoped it wasn't as bad as she felt.

"I…" Winter faltered and paused for a second, looking her over. There was a bit of a wild look in his eyes, a mix of shock and worry and even guilt. Even with him wearing skyfire she could tell his mind was working extremely fast. "You're bleeding from your shoulder, but only a little. Some of your scales look scuffed, but I can't really see much…"

"Good," Moon said, then winced. At least her side hadn't been completely torn up. But that was only part of the potential damage. "Is there a doctor here in Sanctuary?"

Winter blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes….yes! There's Doc. I can take you to him. He's not far from here, too."

"Then please do," she said, taking a tentative step. She winced, then looked to Winter.

The Icewing looked back at her, a small war suddenly waging in his eyes. Tentatively, he stretched out a wing, then pulled it back. Then he took a breath and reached out again, gingerly setting it on her side and helping to support her. Slowly, he began to walk her forward.

"I'm sorry," he said again as they went, his voice strained, "I didn't mean what I said before, Moon. I don't want that. I just…"

"Don't worry about that now, Winter," she interrupted. He was almost babbling, which she found worrying; Winter never babbled like that. It was too undignified. "Just get me to the doctor. We can deal with that later."

Winter opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded. "Right," he mumbled.

He'd been right when he said that the doctor was close, though. Even with Moon limping and going at a slow place, it didn't take more than five minutes for them to arrive. Not that Moon would have been able to tell if not for Winter; the house they stopped outside looked just like any other house in the town, not like a hospital or any other practice she'd been to. But Winter knew the town better, so she didn't question it when he knocked on the door.

There was a small rustle inside, and then a Sandwing male opened the door. Moon took a second to look him over as he did the same to them. He was of average build for a Sandwing, and although he was plenty old enough to have fought in the war, he didn't appear to have any scars or indications that he had. Furthermore, while he wasn't a young dragon, there was something about his eyes and stance—or maybe the brief glimpses she was already getting of his mind that she tried to block out—that made him seem older.

"Winter," the Sandwing nodded in greeting, "What's the matter?"

The Icewing responded with a gesture to Moon. "We, uh…had an accident. Can we come in?"

Immediately the Sandwing's eyes focused on Moon. "Of course," he said, opening the door and gesturing for them to enter, "What happened?"

"I was over in the construction zone on the edge of town," Moon answered him as he welcomed them into an open room that more resembled other doctor's offices and healing areas she'd been in, "I knocked over some large support beams, and they fell on me."

The Sandwing's eyes widened, slightly, "Oh…" he said, his eyes scanning her even more intently, "And you were able to walk here under your own power? That's good. Very good. Those things are heavy enough they could kill you if they hit you wrong. Hopefully that means you aren't that bad off."

"Yeah, hopefully," she agreed.

The doctor had her sit down in the middle of the room. Winter stood close by her as the Sandwing pulled out a scroll and some ink to take notes, then walked a circle around her, scanning her. "You look okay on the outside, save for some scrapes," he told her, "I'm going to check you for anything broken. Bear with me, and tell me when anything hurts and how much."

Moon nodded, and the doctor began to gingerly feel her over, lifting her foreclaws and putting pressure on her bones and joints. A few places stung a little bit—especially near the wound on her arm that had been bleeding—but for the most part she just kind of felt sore. Or maybe numb.

Then he got to her left wing, and Moon barely kept from screaming when he moved it.

"Sorry, sorry," the doctor said, "This will probably hurt a little more though…"

Moon grit her teeth as he moved her wing a little more, tears jumping to her eyes. She hissed in pain, as her whole wing felt like she'd stuck it in a vat of lava.

Thankfully, it only lasted a few moments. Then the pressure was gone, and her wing went limp to her side. She gasped and looked to Winter; the Icewing looked almost as miserable as she felt.

"I see, I see," she heard the doctor mumble to himself. He went to her other wing, and that had no problems at all, aside from a minor ache. The Sandwing gave an interested hum, then went to his scroll and made some notes.

It only took a minute for the diagnosis from there, although Moon honestly couldn't say she was surprised by what it was.

"There's some good news and some bad news, but some good news in that, too," the doctor said, "To start, it looks like you escaped mostly unscathed. As far as I can tell, you'll have a lot of bruises, but nothing worse save one place. As you probably guessed, that's your wing. It's broken."

Moon felt her heart sink. While it wasn't surprising, that was never a good thing for a dragon to hear. It meant a loss of a lot of independence, and the loss of the ability to do a lot of things. Hunting, traveling, and even working in general became difficult or impossible without flight. It wasn't a death sentence like it was for a lot of wild animals, but it certainly wasn't something any dragon ever wanted to have happen to them.

"The good news despite that is that it looks like a clean break in a healable place," the doctor went on, "It will take a while, but you should be able to fly again, although maybe not as strong or as fast as before."

Moon paused for a moment, then nodded slowly. That was…that was better. Being grounded would still be miserable, but at least she would still be able to fly sooner or later. She'd heard of dragons that had broken wings and were never able to fly again.

The Sandwing stepped away for a moment, then returned with some medical supplies in his claws. "The break is close to your wing-shoulder. I'm going to close your wing and wrap it. You will need to keep it closed and limit your overall movement for it for the foreseeable future."

"How long is that?" Winter asked, speaking up for the first time in a while.

"A month and a half, maybe two," came the answer, "It's best to take things slowly for a broken wing. They're more delicate than other bones."

"Makes sense," Moon mumbled as he began to wrap her wing, doing her best to ignore the pain shooting through said wing as he worked. It only took him a few minutes to do, and by the end her wing was properly immobile and placed snugly against her body.

"Is that all?" Winter asked as the doctor finished up.

"You'll want this, too," the Sandwing stepped away again and returned with a small pouch that he gave to Moon. She opened it and saw a collection of small leaves inside. "Brew that in a tea and it will help with the overall pain. Other than that, come see me if any issues persist, and check back in a week so I can look over the wing again and change the wrap."

"Will do. Thank you, doc…doc…" she faltered, "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

The doctor hesitated, and she heard a sudden spike of discomfort in his mind. "It's Oryx," he said, a little too quickly.

Moon frowned. Somehow, the name sounded vaguely familiar, although she couldn't place it. "Well, thank you Doctor Oryx," she told him, readying herself to leave.

"You're welcome," he said, now a bit of relief in his mind, "Get plenty of rest, and don't exert yourself."

He saw them to the door, and a few moments later Moon and Winter were back on the street, her already walking better than before. She gave the bag of herbs to Winter, and that was about the time that she remembered where she'd heard the doctor's name before.

"Hey Winter," she asked, "Wasn't there a Doctor Oryx in the War of Sandwing Succession? With Burn, I think it was?" She could remember back at Jade Mountain learning about a dragon by that name conducting unethical experiments on prisoners of war. Things from studying poisons by observing how long they take effect to removing body parts to see how long prisoners would live without them. He'd been described as a horrible dragon—one that exemplified the worst of the twenty-year long conflict.

Winter gave her an odd look as they walked, then grimaced, then sighed. "Yep, that was him."

"Like, that was him," she gestured to the house they'd left.

"He is," Winter confirmed, "But he moved on, now. He's trying to help dragons now, not hurt them."

"But what he did…the dragons he helped kill," Moon trailed off, shaking her head, "I can't believe I just let him fix my wing."

"I'll admit that he wasn't the ideal candidate for Sanctuary when he came to town," Winter said, "But for the whole story…well, you'd have to talk to him sometime. He's not proud of his past—it's why he has us just call him 'Doc'. But I guess even for one like him, Sanctuary is a place where a dragon to start over. It's a place of second chances."

Moon gave a soft snort at that, but said nothing. They just kept walking back home in silence.


Winter gave a long sigh as he stepped back into his home. He felt completely drained, tired, and miserable. The day had certainly not gone how he'd expected and wanted it to go, and he had a feeling it wasn't even over yet.

Ever since Moon had stormed out the door he'd just entered through, there had been a miserable pit in his stomach, like he'd eaten prey that had rotted. He'd felt warm instead of cold, like he was awfully sick. And he'd felt like clawing at his scales, ripping them off and screaming.

After everything, he'd done it again. He'd yelled at Moon, pushed her away, made her choose to leave. All that work in Sanctuary, all that time to try to grow up and get better, and he'd learned nothing. But this time the result wasn't him getting hurt, it was Moonwatcher.

It was enough to make him question if anything he'd done since leaving the Ice Kingdom the first time was worth it.

Coldshock gave a greeting squawk as they entered, distracting Winter momentarily. In truth, he'd almost forgotten about his son entirely. But seeing him again only reminded Winter once more about what had happened not long ago.

"That's not what I…Moon!" he called after her, but she had already turned and was heading for the door. Before he could say another word, she was out the door and walking away. All Winter could do was watch, his wings sagging at his side.

Immediately, he was regretting his words, wishing he could have them back. He'd let his emotions get the better of him, and he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised at the results. Even if, to an extent, what he'd said had been true.

It was just the stress of, well, everything! It was the distraction—the constant pulling away from other things. It was bad enough with him finding less time for his work at the sanctuary, but now that work was actively getting destroyed. Moon letting that happen was intolerable, and Winter couldn't stand for it!

Then he heard Coldshock whine, and his heart fell farther.

"Three moons, what did I do?" he asked aloud, bringing a claw to his head. His son was just a dragonet; things like this happened. It was an accident, and it has caused Moon to storm out in anger. No, his reaction had. He had.

Just like all those times before, he'd gone off on Moon, let his emotions take control. He'd repeated the same mistakes. But maybe this time he could make things right, or at least try.

Coldshock whimpered again, and Winter looked at the small hybrid. His son looked at him with wide eyes, not filled with fear, but perhaps with worry. Or urging. Maybe Winter gave the young dragon too much credit, but he felt he was being told something. And he agreed.

"You're right," he told the dragonet, "I need to go after her." It was the only way. He needed to find her, needed to apologize. He needed to make things right before they got worse, or she decided to leave for good.

He left Coldshock where he was—somehow, he had a feeling that the dragonet would be more than fine alone—and stepped outside. His eyes swept the streets, and he got a glimpse of a black tail turning a corner a long way down the street. Desperate, he gave chase, hoping to catch her.

He'd lost her trail in the next alley, but he had an idea of where she might go. There were only a few places in Sanctuary she'd spent any time in, after all. So, he made his way toward the construction area, even taking a shortcut to try and beat her there.

Unfortunately, he hadn't. Just as he was arriving, he heard a loud crash and a cry of pain. A cry of pain from a familiar voice.

He froze in shock for a moment, then ran as fast as he could. He arrived at the scene moments later, and his breath caught in his throat. There was Moon, alone, a pile of heavy beams on top of her.

"Moon!" he cried out her name as he leapt into action immediately, pulling them off of her. "Are you okay? Moon? Talk to me, Moon. Please!" He cleared the beams off of her and hesitated for only a moment before touching her, the feel of her scales tantalizing and familiar and so warm and inviting but he couldn't focus on that. Instead he held her close, checking her for injury, hoping she was all right. "Please be okay," he continued to plead, over and over.

Then she spoke: "You're touching me. I missed that."

Her eyes closed, and he shuddered. He was. He had. And this was all his fault.

In the present, he shook his head, wincing at the memory. He'd wished that the beams had fallen on him instead. He was probably the one who deserved it. Yet once again, he acted and Moon suffered for it. Now it was time to live with it.

"I know I said it, but I'm sorry," he told Moon with a sigh, opening the conversation he knew would be happening sooner or later. Already, she was fixing herself a cup of tea with the medicine that Doc had given her, and she paused doing that at his words. "It was unfair of me to go off on you like that, to blame you for an accident. I just…" he shook his head, "Please forgive me, Moon."

She was silent for a moment, looking at him. "You seemed pretty sincere about thinking of Coldshock and I as distractions," she said, slowly, "And about not wanting us."

"I…" he paused and looked away. "It's hard, Moon. It really is. Before you came, I thought I had things figured out. I knew what my days looked like; I did what I wanted with nothing to distract me. And now I can't and…and I just haven't adjusted to that yet."

Moon blinked. "I see…" she fell silent again.

"Moon, I don't want you to leave. Not like last time. You know I've always cared for you, despite everything. It just that after what happened, I…I…" he sighed. "It's difficult. I want to raise my son with you, but I never expected to be a father like this. I don't know what to do. And I have commitments to my work, too. And…and…" he shook his head, trailing off.

Again, Moon was silent for a few moments, processing his words. "You weren't the only one who wasn't expecting this, Winter," she finally said, "You're not alone in not knowing how this is supposed to work, or being uncertain about what it means."

"I know," Winter bowed his head, "I never wanted to hurt you, Moon. Not your feelings, nor your wing."

Moon's eyes went to her wound at that. "This isn't your fault," she said, gesturing to it, "This was my own foolishness and anger."

"But it is my fault," he insisted almost on instinct, "If I hadn't said what I did, done what I did, you wouldn't have gone off like that. You wouldn't have hurt yourself if not for me."

It was true, he knew it. Even if she knocked the beams down, he was still the reason she was there in the first place. Her broken wing was because of him, no matter how indirectly. And he'd be reminded of that every time he looked at it.

"Still," Moon said, "It's not important who's fault it was," Winter disagreed with that, "What is important is where we go from here."

Winter gave a slow nod. "I know you may not want to after everything, but my house is still open to you after everything," he told her, "I…I owe you that, at least."

Moon gave a soft snort. "It's not like I have anywhere else to go," she said softly, "At least, not within a good walking distance." Her broken wing had certainly seen to that.

He swallowed, words entering his mind but stopping before he spoke them. There were things that he wanted to say—to do—but part of him resisted. It's not worth it, a part of him cried, Just let her go. But instead, he steeled himself and spoke.

"I'll take care of you, Moon," he said, "Hunting, fishing…all that you need your wings to do. No matter the burden or how long it takes. I'll make sure you have what you need."

She tilted her head, her eyes betraying some surprise. "You don't…"

"I want to," he interrupted her. "I owe it to you."

"No, you don't," she shook her head, then raised her bad wing slightly. "Like I said, this isn't your fault."

"All the same, you need someone to help," Winter told her, "Please, Moon, let me. Give me the chance to make this right, to start this again.

Moonwatcher looked down. She took a deep breath. "I…I'll try," she said, "But on one condition."

"Name it." Winter told her, without really thinking.

She looked him in the eyes, her face unreadable. "Tell me why you are afraid to touch me."

Winter swallowed, a chill going down his back. He should have seen that coming sooner or later, but it didn't make it any more comfortable. It was one of those things he preferred not to think about—it was why he'd been avoiding her touch. Just remembering it cut him worse than a blade.

"…Winter?" Moon asked after a moment, no doubt seeing the hesitation and doubt in his face.

He shook his head and sighed. "I guess you deserve to know," he told her, "It's only fair. Even if it might not make complete sense, even to me. But…" he shook his head again. "There's something you need to know about Icewings, Moon. When an Icewing takes a mate, it's for life. Very few things can change that. Fidelity is one of the greatest tenets and virtues of being an Icewing."

Moon was silent, but gave a nod for him to continue.
"I know that I'm not a part of my tribe anymore—not really, at least—but I am still an Icewing. I still have that part of me, and I still believe in what that means, or at least try to. What we did that night betrayed one of the last things I could hold on to. When we slept together that night I…I…you already had a mate, Moon. You were with Qibli. And I took you anyway. I wanted you so badly, and I betrayed myself. I betrayed you, I betrayed Qibli, and I spat in the face of who I thought I was and wanted to be."

"But that wasn't all you, Winter," Moon said, her voice softer than it had any right to be, "That night happened because I let you. Because I wanted it, too. It's not all your fault."

"That doesn't matter," he shook his head, "I still failed. Do you know what the penalty is for Icewings who aren't faithful to their mates or steal the mate of another, for dragons who disgrace themselves? Its death or exile, Moon, and I was already exiled by my tribe."

Moon opened her mouth, but Winter kept going. "And do you know what the worst part is, Moon? Despite that, I know I'd do it again. I want to do it again. I've wanted you so badly ever since Jade Mountain. And that's why I can't bear for you to touch me. Because every touch is a reminder of what I did, bringing me back to that night and what we did. It reminds me of that regret. But every touch also reminds me of how good it was, how much I want it again, and I fear with every bit of my being that I won't be able to resist. I'm afraid that I'll use you again. I'm afraid I'll fail myself again."

He was almost in tears by the end, his eyes downcast as his wings sagged. There it was. She knew now, for good or ill.

There was silence for a while, Moon looking him over. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and sighed. She reached out a claw to set on his, then paused and pulled it back. "I…I think I understand, Winter," she told him, her voice not more than a whisper. "And I'll respect that, as long as I'm here. But…" she hesitated, "Can we try to fix that? I don't want to hurt you, Winter. There's no need to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you, I'm afraid of myself."

"Even so, I want to try, for both our sakes," she reached out a claw, carefully, "We can take it slowly, okay?"

Winter closed his eyes and nodded. "That…that sounds good," he told her then, almost against his better judgement, he reached out a claw and set it in front of her. A moment later he felt Moon set her own claw on his.

It felt warm. And, softly, Winter smiled.