The night drew on. Winter slept until dawn began to break, at which he turned his eyes back on the small village below. His stomach pleaded to eat; his throat remained dry. He had kept his inner voice away throughout the night, yet it found its way back into his mind. You know you can't push me away, Winter. I will always be with you. She cannot see the dead, did you think about that? He shook the sand off his spines and focused on the town. He was aware of it, far too aware. And what if someone else is there? Winter argued against his mind, then I have to speak with them. I'll find a relic of the past and you know it.

What are the odds? His voice reasoned. So many dragons are in the world... And how many SandWings do you know? Still, his claws were seated in the sand, his tail lashing with his indecisiveness. There are so many out there and yet you always see his face. And yet he could recall no other SandWing; those he met in the desert with Qibli were blotted from his mind. It happened years ago... So many years ago... Winter stepped forward, past the height of the dune, eyes focused on the distance. You will be so close, Winter.

His scales were melting. They felt like it, at least. His bones were protruding more than before. You never ate much. Hunger pains were delightful. He moved on, approaching the desert village at a slow pace. Consider it a miracle you made it so far. You might be the luckiest IceWing alive. As if. The sky was still above; cold air allowed his scales to rest, though an ache remained. He couldn't feel half of them.

The village itself was free of conflict, giving a calm feel. Each step Winter took produced most of the nearby sounds. One sip, Winter. Reasoning with the voice was futile; he would be out-fought either way. There are good SandWings out there. And the first one he met brought this onto him. Winter closed in on the village with each step, the grains of sand scratching his scales as his claws dug down. Beneath the hot sand, Winter could feel the start of something cold; a feeling which drew his scales towards it. Yet, he pushed himself past that, and the dim lights of the village were a few strides away.

They were everywhere.

He knew it would be so, in a desert designed for them, but seeing the golden scales flicked a hatred inside. You will never forget as much as you will never step past. The village center held so little water but so much relief. Winter dipped his snout into the pool, relishing the cool liquid as it trickled from the source and down his throat. His scales' burning eased; the pain had stopped. One moment was all it took to be whisked out of his mind, turning him dull but freed of his own torment.

Winter heard wood creak from his side and a weak door crack open. The near-silence was filled by his spines once more as Winter spun around, eyes darting, tail thrashing. His wings folded out and in, unable to decide. A SandWing stood at the entrance of a sand-based hut. His scales were a tad brighter than the average SandWings he'd seen, perhaps pale. He seemed to freeze when meeting Winter's cold, dead stare, but the emotions running through his mind were more than his face let on.

They were in war once, Winter. You couldn't have forgotten, could you? Have you tossed everything to leech what they gave you? Enemies to two sides, allies to the remainder. If only war was precise. The SandWing reentered the den and shouted, but Winter had already opened his wings and began fleeing. MudWings are complacent. SandWings are hostile. As if he didn't know.

Someone burst from the sand. The spear thrust up, slicing part of Winter's icy scales as he twisted away. Pale blue blood spilled onto the faint sand, yet Winter kept his wings open. They spread above him, leaving little for the SandWing to tear, but defending the front meant his back was unguarded. Pain flared up around his back, pulsating as he swung around to shoot frostbreath as his attackers. His mouth hung open, blue flames itching to release, until the nagging voice in his head urged otherwise.

You are proving them right, Winter.

He shut his snout, wincing from the sting of his frostbreath at full blast. It ran back down his throat for another use, eventually. The SandWings were pilling around him, armed in both protection and armor. Winter folded his wings and brought his tail in, his head tipped low whilst his eyes held contact. His voice was hoarse even though it was at a normal volume. "Enough."

The SandWings held their weapons in anticipation, but ceased moved. One tried to go ahead towards him, but Winter shot it a glare, and it stopped. A larger SandWing stepped forward, aware that Winter had halted any threatening gestures. Suspicion racked each word the SandWing said. "What do you want?"

Winter took in the scene. The SandWings had in surrounded, and could throw him down in moments. Whatever place he had stumbled into, it was one plagued by the aftermath of the Great War. They were open to negotiations, but were far too suspicious to remove all doubt. The larger SandWing had narrowed eyes imitated by the others. Breathing in and out, Winter fought with his mind for the right words to say. You're here to flee now. Some water and food, but now you're only here for the water. Get out, Winter.

"I was passing by," he rasped, "I came here for water, and now I'll be leaving your sorry tails behind."

The SandWings shared a glance with one another, almost as though they couldn't believe his words. The large one, who by now gave Winter the impression that he was a general, spoke out. "You're not going anywhere until we know your timeline. You will be following us to Saguaro, and we'll get all this figured out."

Winter stood stiff, his breaths slow. "I don't have to follow any of you," he snorted.

The guard came closer, spear pointed at Winter's icy neck. "And we don't have to spare you. You're an IceWing in SandWing territory. Don't you consider yourself lost?"

Winter swung around, feeling the spear draw blue blood from his scales. He broke into a run, wings open for a moment until a SandWing whipped his legs, pulling them underneath him and dragging his snout against the sand. From all angles, the small, unprepared army surrounded him. A snout guard was fitted to his snout, its foreign material crushing his jaw. He thrashed, throwing sand all around before a conversation stopped him dead.

"He's resisting. Permission to kill?" a SandWing asked.

You are losing time, Winter. Time and opportunities. The lead guard stared Winter down, taking mental notes of his sudden compliance. "His movements eased. Take him in; you may kill him the next time he resists."

Tell them you are going to Qibli, Winter. They would kill him for that statement. Qibli was the child Queen Thorn never had, but loved anyway. More love than you ever got; time is running out. The dragons wore armor which hid their skinny figures, the wide gaps in the armor revealing their true size. Winter figured that, were they unarmed, he could swipe them away in a spin and run off, but their spears forced his reconsideration. Were a single tear to cut his wings, it would leave him grounded. You will miss her.

He was brought into a well-smoothed home, every surface an edge except for the eroded corners. A balcony made of both wood and sandstone divided the porch from the yard, and hanging from the lined ceiling was a lit lamp. A SandWing knocked on the door, pausing enough for clawsteps to echo inside. By the next moment, a SandWing had opened it and welcomed the soldiers in. He paid no attention to the IceWing scowling at them, instead motioning Winter towards a well-lit table in the center of the expansive room.

"Is it safe to take his muzzle off?" the SandWing asked a soldier. Winter folded his wings as he sat beside the table, preferring to stare at the fine patterns edged on its edges than face his captors.

"I say you work your magic first. He gave us trouble in town," the SandWing soldier snarled.

"Either way, you all can leave. I can very well defend myself."

"Saguaro, I insist we stay," she added, a curl in her voice. "MudWings and NightWings are one thing. Didn't you know about IceWings' frostbreath? A shot is all you need to lose a limb."

As they spoke, Winter raised his tail towards the muzzle, prying at it with his spines. The latches came loose in seconds. The worn bands flopped to the muzzle's sides, falling in all directions as it struck the ground with a faint thud. "I don't need to be looked after."

Almost all the SandWings were at his side, weapons pointed from every possibility of escape. Winter held his body still, a task easier done than said from how the heat drained him. Saguaro placed a wing over Winter, gently suggesting, "I see you're overheating. The basement is colder."

He turned to give the other SandWings a stare, signaling their departure. Most left, and only a few stayed. Saguaro added, "If you're staying anyways, keep yourselves upstairs!"

They headed into the basement with no issue. Winter took in the change of scenery and temperature, his scales' screaming silenced by the change. Though still hot, he could survive. He would have to survive. His attention shifted to Saguaro. "What do you want?"

Saguaro led Winter to the farthest spot from the door. A series of shelves held assorted SandWing goods behind Winter's spot, and Saguaro placed a small stool between them. "I'm only here to see why you're here."

"None of your business," Winter snapped, the harsh inflections lacking the rasp he'd long heard when he spoke. His words regained their original tone, to a degree.

"It is," Saguaro added nonchalantly. "Why would an IceWing go through the desert? You would have to be determined for such a suicidal task."

Winter clamped both his mouth and his internal voice. Saguaro pressed him. "You're a royal. Your crown is a dead giveaway. Were you sent by Queen Snowfall?"

His silence left a ting of irritation as Saguaro asked more questions. "The palace would take a few days' flight. What is your reason? If you answer, we can let you go."

Wisps of frostbreath rose from Winter's nostrils. Saguaro let the moment pass, speaking in a calmer voice. "Perhaps we are starting too harsh. I'm terribly sorry," he did a small bow with his head, a gesture only adding to Winter's annoyance. "I should introduce myself. My name, as you might already know, is Saguaro. I live here in Windstorm with my mate and our dragonets," he paused again. "I would also like to make sure, you're a he, correct?"

Winter snorted.

"I want to ensure that every dragon under my watch is comfortable, that's all. My mate fluctuates between he and they."

Winter waited for Saguaro to carry on, but the pause was large, almost as though he wanted Winter to say something. Once Saguaro got it through his head, he changed the conversation. "I see you were passing Windstorm, and got in a mess with the SandWings. Our village was allied against the IceWings during the Great War, and a bit of a stigma was left on your kind. I apologize for any unintentional fights caused by misunderstandings."

Something about his elegant speech brought distaste to Winter's mind, but it also left a hint of trust. He considered a response but shunned it, only to hear the dragon nag in his head. He can get you out of this mess. You can get out of here. Before he knew it, words left his mouth, sparking Saguaro's interest. "I was flying by."

"And why were you flying by? An IceWing has no place in the desert," Saguaro inquired.

Winter narrowed his eyes, any further responses held in his throat. Tell him the truth, Winter. When did it hurt you? It was always his true self that caused the problems.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Saguaro offered.

"Any seals?" Winter asked.

"We have camel," he answered. Winter lashed his tail, the motion almost unnoticed if not for the jingling of spikes that drew Saguaro's attention.

"Let me fly on," Winter growled, lowering his eye bridges. "I couldn't care less for you or this town. I'll forget you by tomorrow if you let me go on."

"So where are you going?" Saguaro posed. There was a smile on his face... A dumb smile, reminiscent of the stupid grin Qibli liked to wear.

"Out."

His voice went lower than he'd heard any IceWing. Saguaro took the sign. "I would love to hear about your crown. You're a prince, so what's your name?"

Winter maintained his silence. Saguaro placed a claw under his snout, breaking formality. "Are you Prince Hailstorm?"

The spines along Winter's back stiffened as quickly as Saguaro noticed it. "I'm Winter, fishface!"

His outburst forced Winter to lean away, spines faltering. Saguaro smirked. Another SandWing took his past and twisted it for answers. He is nothing like Qibli. And yet they were both similar with how they schemed. Frostbreath grew in the back of Winter's throat, yet flakes fluttered out; he had swallowed what had formed. Kill him and you might as well kill yourself. She will let you rot, Winter, and you know it. "Can I go?"

Every word had its own distortion, none of which could be identified as Winter's voice. He couldn't care less, not when there was a sand-sniffer in front of him. Saguaro flicked his tail, demonstrating either satisfaction or nervousness. Both. It can be both. Oh, how better life could be if the voice shut up and let him freeze the spine-licker. Saguaro spoke as professional as before, his speech elegant with a rough edge. "Yes, I say you may. Stay out of trouble, okay?"

There were no remarks on Winter's mind; a boiling sea of anger and dissatisfaction stirred within it. Another SandWing. All crooks. Spit at the desert on your way out. You don't want her to see you like this, do you? Saguaro led Winter out the door and through the desert, eyes slithering around his shimmering silver scales. Each one of them had a history of their own, but Winter was certain he could guess them all. Saguaro cleared his throat along the way out, like he thought conversation would ease Winter's still spines. "So... How do you like the Kingdom? I know you're used to ice and all that, but surely a change of scene is good for... a something."

Outside of the interrogation, he talked like he never had a conversation before. Winter turned his eyes off of Saguaro, focusing ahead. "I can fly from here."

"Yeah, but the guards would appreciate it if I led you out of their sights," he explained. Winter's scowl grew, his tail shifting. "I'm going to be honest with you, I hardly know a thing about you IceWings. And I know even less about their royalty specifically."

Winter maintained his silence with Saguaro speaking on. "You know Qibli's going to give a speech at the Sand Kingdom? I assume you know him. You went to that school place in the mountains. Or was that a different SandWing?"

The only response Winter gave was a snort. Saguaro cleared his throat again. "Well, Queen Thorn lived there until her death. I'd assume Qibli's speech is about her, since the two were close," his ears pricked up and he stopped moving. Winter surveyed the spot, finding no difference in those particular dunes compared to the last dozen. "Ah, we're at the end," he looked directly at Winter, his blank black stare piercing the IceWing's eyes. "Before you go, I do want to know something that's itched me for a while. And if it's personal and you don't want to answer it, that's fine. You see, Qibli did a few scroll interviews, and he often mentioned you and how close you-"

Winter pulled back, spines erect and tail straight, a wave of heat clamping onto his cold body. Mist puffed from his nostrils as Winter's face wrinkled into a snarl, more harsh than it had in several moons. "I NEVER LOVED HIM."

The desert fell still. Wings folded, Winter swept around, Saguaro backing away just before his tail could swipe. Opening his wings to their full wingspan, Winter galloped ahead, catching air as his wings began to beat. Moments after, he flew above the dunes, a pale speck against the bright blue sky.