And They Cried No More

by EliteArbiter

All his life, Winter has been waiting to join the War and bring home honor to his family, but his dreams of glory are quickly smashed by the grim reality of warfare. Unable to make sense of the horrors he witnesses, Winter engages in a desperate fight for survival in the trenches of the Northern Front. Rumor has it the War is almost over, but for many its already far too late

4. Chapter 4

oOoOo

Chapter 4

Losing My Religion

For several days straight they had been flying south east, carrying all their equipment and stopping for only short eating and sleeping breaks. The officers were eager to get the fresh reinforcements to the frontlines, and were pushing everyone hard. Despite his excitement, Winter could not help but feel a touch of bitterness towards the officers. They were not carrying leathers, helmets, needlers, ammunition, or any of the other weight their soldiers lugged about. Winter's wing and shoulder muscles shouted angry protests into his head that he could never voice aloud.

The first sign that the 101st Stormtrooper Brigade was nearing the Northern Front was the line of smoke that marred the horizon, far to the distance. It was like an ugly scar, cutting lengthwise across the border of the Ice Kingdom.

They saw it rising in the distance as the brigade crested the branch of the Claws of the Clouds that jutted northwards, into the Ice Kingdom. It was early in the morning, and Winter's wings had long since gone numb. There was little talk among the soldiers, as everyone was too exhausted and out of breath from the arduous flight.

Fortunately, the wind was at their backs as they glided downwards from the mountain highlands towards the forested expanse that marked the south eastern edge of the Ice Kingdom. As they flew closer, the columns of smoke continued rising ever higher, tainting the skies with their smog, blotting out the sun and casting a crimson glow across the land.

Gliding low over the evergreens, Winter felt a mix of nervousness and excitement, as his sore muscles faded into the back of his mind. After all that time, he was almost there. The scent of adventure was in the air, and he took a deep breath through his nose, expecting a mix of cedar and excitement.

And he nearly wretched, coughing heavily as, in that moment, the wind reversed, blowing headlong from the front. The smell of alpine morning was replaced with a choking, oppressive scent the likes of which Winter had never smelled before. It was a gag-inducing mix of smoke, feces, and rotting flesh that caused several IceWings in the brigade to vomit into the forest below.

Winter's eyes watered as the smoke stung his exposed corneas, and he dipped dangerously low, nearly colliding with a tree. He broke into a coughing fit as he tried unsuccessfully to clear the scent from his nose and throat.

"101st, make ready for landing!" a shout from the captain, whose name Winter did not remember, broke Winter from his fit, "The rest of our journey will be on foot."

As one, the brigade descended downwards into a clearing in the trees that had evidently been used as a marshaling point for dragons before, given the many talon prints that littered the ground. Normally, this region would be filled with the pleasant smell of pine, but not anymore. If anything, the scent of death was even stronger down on the ground.

"Captain, I think there might be a storm coming. Listen!" a young IceWing, barely three years old shouted out. For a moment, Winter was confused, as none of the usual signs of bad weather were present in the air. The sky was clear and the air was still.

But as he strained his ears, he picked up a different sound. It was low pitched and distant, and had likely been hidden by their wingbeats up until that moment. Even then, as the brigade fell silent and strained their ears, it was difficult to pick out.

It was a strange, rumbling sound, like distant thunder. Oddly, however, there were no pauses between the rumbling. It was an ongoing, baritone sound that sent small vibrations through his bones with each pounding beat.

"It's a very unique storm," the Captain replied grimly, "It's one that's been pounding this region for almost twenty years. That's a storm of steel, soldiers. That's the sound of a thousand shells exploding at once. Welcome to the Northern Front."

Winter felt a shock of excitement run through his body as the brigade fell steadily into their ranks, five abreast, and began their march towards the frontlines. The trail was well worn from a million other IceWings having made this journey already, and the trees arched high above them.

"Like witnesses to an execution," Tempest commented grimly, following Winter's gaze, "Always watching, never speaking, never offering either aid or anger. Always watching…"

"Try to find some optimism, will you?" Winter retorted with a flick of his tail, "Doubt is self compounding."

"Easy, Princess," Flurry mediated, "He's just nervous is all. We all are."

"I thought it'd be worse," Frost commented with a tense laugh, "The night before we left the fort… that was awful, I was so scared I couldn't sleep. All I could think about was how we were all going to die, just like everyone else that got sent off, but maybe it really is almost over. Maybe we will make it home."

"See, there's the attitude we need," Winter added encouragingly, "This is going to be exciting. Sure, it'll be scary and tough at times, but we'll get through. It's like Frost said, good scrolls don't end with dead heroes, and our scrolls certainly aren't over yet. I left a lot incomplete back at home that I will return to finish when this is over. You all will too."

"I will," Hare said with more force than Winter would have expected from the little IceWing, "I have to. My mother won't make it up there, all by herself. Father's gone, brothers are gone, sisters are gone… I won't leave her too. I can't."

"And we're not going to let that happen," Winter nudged his friend with a wing, "We've got your tail. Just like you've got ours, right?"

"Right," Hare nodded, setting his jaw firmly.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" Winter laughed, looking at his friends. For once, all of their smiles seemed genuine rather than forced, and perhaps even a little hopeful. With a smile of his own, he added, "There we go. Now let's go kill some SkyWings."

oOoOo

The sounds of battle grew louder and closer as they marched. Within the hour, they neared enough for Winter to be able to differentiate individual booms from the chaotic cacophony of noise that continuously pounded his ears.

The smell did not get better either. That was one thing the songs seemed to forget. War smelled awful, and Winter found himself frequently snorting, trying to clear the awful scent. It was the smell of rot and decay, in a quantity and intensity he had never before experienced. It was as if a thousand rotting whale carcasses had washed up beside the palace one day, and no one thought to move that. The rot gradually overtook the smoke as the predominant scent assaulting Winter's nose, but it didn't quite go away either, and Winter found himself coughing more and more frequently. Fortunately, he wasn't the only one. Within the past thirty minutes or so, the entire column had gradually descended into a terrible din of hacking coughs.

Whatever the legends and songs said, war did not smell good. It smelled like rotting flesh, burning flesh, waste, and ash. And Winter decided that he definitely did not like this part. Mentally, he kicked himself for not getting into the Ghosts with his siblings. Surely their daring missions behind enemy lines helped them to avoid this disgustingness. But it would all be worth it, when he came home with honor and glory, right? Somehow, after marching headlong into the garden of rot, he found that reality more questionable than before. Shaking his head and snorting again, he pushed such thoughts from his head and marched on.

oOoOo

Winter did not notice her at first. The first sign that anything was amiss was the murmur that swept across the front of the column and gradually drifted backwards. Still, Winter almost missed her, as he wasn't on the outside. It was Frost to his left who spotted her, lying still on the side of the path. Frost's breath caught suddenly in her throat, causing Winter to look up, and that was when he saw her.

The IceWing was lying on her side along the edge of the path. At first, Winter thought she might have been sleeping, but when he looked closer, he wished he had not. Her ice blue scales were faded, and her helmet hung awkwardly off her head. She had a pretty, freckled face that bore a striking resemblance to his friend Lynx, but it was a face that would never again laugh, or smile, or cry. Her eyes hung open and unfocused, staring off at some unknown point in the distance. There was mud on her scales and leathers, but Winter could not see any obvious injuries, and wondered how she had died.

Then he saw. As he passed her by, he caught a glimpse at her underbelly, which was ripped open, scorched, and shredded. Her tattered and torn right wing obscured most of the small crater she was lying in, which appeared to have been blown open in the same blast that killed her. One of her talons was dug into the ground as if she had tried to drag herself to safety, but her right leg ended in a stump at the shoulder. The flesh was burned black, leaving the charred bone exposed. The blue blood seeping from the stump was reduced to a mere drip, but the small puddle and stained blue dirt around it suggested that it had been left bleeding for a while.

Her stomach was even worse, it was not slit open as if by talons, but rather the scales seemed to have been blown completely off. Her leathers and scales stopped suddenly, leaving a gaping hole that blackened ribs jutted out of. Her intestines had slipped out and were coiled on the ground, surrounded by another blue puddle. All the organs showed signs of burns, but worse still was the shrapnel. The blast had burned up her legs and underbelly, but the shrapnel had severed one, and turned her innards to soup. The small shards of metal that dug into her tattered scales and organs seemed to be the curse that did her in. She seemed to have died recently, likely within the last hour given the blood still seeping from her wounds and soaking into her leathers and the ground below.

Some dragons in the column looked disgusted or saddened, but Winter merely felt numb. He stared at her face, looking into her faded, lifeless eyes, and wondered what she had been like in life. What was her name? What did her voice sound like, and her laugh? What made her smile? What was her favorite thing to eat? Where did she come from? What had her life been like, up until it was cut tragically short? What did she dream about?

Maybe there was a mate waiting for her at home, or an egg, or dragonets. Friends and family who did not yet know she had bled out in the mud and dirt. He imagined that scene in his head. Somewhere in the Ice Kingdom, perhaps a peaceful little hamlet in the far north, there was a father and three baby dragonets around a fire, roasting penguins and singing carols for First Day of Winter festivities that were sure to be taking place around this time of year. The snow would be rising high against the walls, and the dragonets would be looking out the windows with eyes full of wonder. They would ask why their mother was not home for this year's celebration, and their father would reassure them that she was perfectly safe, nobly defending their kingdom from Burn and her wretched SkyWings.

But secretly he would wonder, and worry. His face would never fall in front of his dragonets, but in the safety of privacy, he would pray and weep for his wife, dreading the day a messenger would arrive at his door with a faded yellow scroll.

And soon they would come. Word would travel from the 101st Brigade to the marshaling yards and logistics headquarters. A messenger would work his way out to the far north. Her home would be one brief stop of many. Her mate would stare numbly at the scroll and the box of treasure from the palace. He would not read the scroll, nor open the box. He would bid the messenger good luck, and return inside, where dinner was brewing over the fire, a beluga he had pulled from the ocean hours earlier. He would not tell him what had happened to their mother, instead serving them dinner then sending them off to bed. They would wake in the night to his sobs, and he would not know how to tell them what had happened.

What would he tell them? What would Winter say? She died nobly, fighting three SkyWings at once to protect her wounded friends. She had gotten unlucky, but taken several SkyWings down with her, and her unit had made a toast in her honor. That would be the story his dragonets heard.

He would tell himself a different story, just as much of a lie as the one he told his offspring. She had died peacefully, perhaps from sickness or an infected wound. She had been happy and at peace, and surrounded by her friends. They had cared for her and eased her pain, and when the time came, they had been there to hold her and take care of her until she passed on. There had been no tears or pain, only peace. He would force himself to believe that story, because the reality would be too difficult to swallow.

Winter envied that dragon, in his hamlet with his dragonets and his fire. A dragon who could tell himself a lie to ease the pain of reality. Winter was cursed with the truth. The brutal, cold, and awful truth, as harsh and real as the shell that killed her. He knew how she died. She had died alone in the woods, listening to the endless thunder, and breathing the smell of death. It would not have been either peaceful or quick. She had been careless, and stepped on a dragonflame mine. She had a limb and had her stomach eviscerated. She had screamed and cried and tried to drag herself through the mud. She had no destination in mind, only the desperate desire to survive. She had been too delirious and in pain to know she was doomed, and would have struggled horribly until the end. She had been scared, sad, and alone as her leathers soaked with her own blood and mud caked her scales. Her tears would fade as she felt lightheaded, tired, and numb.

And she cried no more.

oOoOo

Winter was silent for the rest of the march, as was most of the column. He was having trouble steadying his breath, and his talons were shivering beneath him. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw her blank stare following him, wondering why she would never see her family again.

The captain had informed the column she was a messenger. He had left a unit behind to collect her tags, and strip her leathers, helmet, and equipment, then bury her along the forest edge. They were to report to divisional headquarters to deposit her tags and uniform with that of all the other fallen, then report to the front. He had given them a quick reminder about the importance of vigilance, especially the face of artillery-launched mines, unless they wanted to wind up like her. Then they were on the march once more. Winter did not envy the unit left behind, knowing it would be much harder for them to ever forget her, although perhaps for them there would be some closure. For Winter, she would forever be lying in a puddle of her own blood, mud on her face and eyes staring blankly off into space, wondering why.

No one spoke for the rest of the march. It was more somber and silent than the final night at Fort Windward, except this time Winter was not the odd dragon out. There was no honor or glory for that sad IceWing. This was not how he had been imagining it would be like.

oOoOo

It was noon when the 101st Stormtrooper Brigade arrived at what would be the first of many days in their new home. The artillery had waned along their section of the front, and IceWing soldiers were out and about in the trenches when the new arrivals filtered in. A storm had been gathering for the past hour, and as they past the rows upon rows of catapults and ballistas that lined the rear of the front, the downpour began

When the finally arrived in the trenches, they found out that the formations they had trained in were already obsolete. The three brigades already assigned to this stretch of trench had been badly mauled in the previous week, and there was no room to move and slide in a new brigade. The brigade was broken into battalions, and subsequently into units, which were sprinkled about where they were needed, trying to best fill all the gaps.

So Winter and his unit found themselves trekking through the pouring rain towards their new home with the 87th Stormtrooper Brigade. The 101st had died before even making contact with the enemy. The rain was coming down hard, but the bright noon sun showed through the clouds, casting a reddish glow over the land.

Veteran IceWings stood about, stepping aside as the five fresh fighters made their way past. Winter expected teasing or jeering like the veterans in the stories usually did before the heroes earned their respect, but he found none of that here. The IceWings were not even particularly busy either. They sat awkwardly on their haunches, trying to avoid the mud, and talked to each other in low voices. Some of them drank or smoked cigarettes, and if they said anything to Winter or his friends, it was a polite pardon as they stepped out of the way. Discipline seemed fairly lax compared to Fort Windward, but even so, all the IceWings seemed tense and ready to fight at a moments notice. Their needlers were all held within their talons or propped up within arms reach. Many of them had already fixed bayonets.

"Excuse me, Sergeant," Frost said to a much older female IceWing with a missing eye, "Where can we find the third battalion?"

"Replacements," the sergeant commented, "Just down the trench, another fifty meters or so, just passed triage. Lieutenant Penguin should be there, if he survived the last barrage. And keep your heads down, soldiers. On your way."

The rain was still pouring down as Winter sloshed along, following behind Frost. As they hurried along, Flurry commented, "This isn't how you pictured it, is it Princess?"

"Not at all," Winter replied somberly, "This isn't anything like the stories. All the songs we sing… all the talk of honor and glory at the palace. I can't imagine any of that here."

"I would say I told you so," Flurry teased rather humorlessly, "But Frost told me to keep quiet. Let you hold onto your innocence and your dreams a little bit longer."

"Easy there!" Frost snapped at him, jabbing him with her wing, "We did it because it was the right thing to do. Would you want your last happy days to be ruined by a stupid, sour dragon spoiling it for you? No. So take it easy, alright, we're all in hell together, aren't we?"

"A sad lot we find ourselves in, we the damned," Hare added somberly.

"Enough head hanging," Frost snapped again, stopping to turn around and poke Hare with her talon, "Listen up, lizards. This is awful, alright? We all feel that way. No need to keep voicing it to the world. Nothing's going to change it, and if you want out, you can climb over the top and make a run at the SkyWings. I am not spending my last days feeling miserable. When my time comes, I want to know that I was happy. We all know the odds. We've all watched the draftees leave and we've all seen the yellow scrolls arrive to sobbing families. We know how this goes. We knew our fate from the day our names were drawn. We made the best of it that we could. We laughed and talked and made a new friend in our esteemed nephew of the Queen. So let's not give it up now, alright? And if you want to spend the rest of your life as miserable as all the doomed IceWings in this forsaken trench, then you can leave my unit. Am I clear?"

Winter's head snapped back and up at that. He knew Frost had some spirit, but he did not know she had such fire in her, especially after her breaking down at the farewell dinner. The ghost of a grin spread across his face as he snapped to attention and replied, "Yes, Private Frost."

The tense and heavy energy that loomed over their unit was finally broken, as each of them smiled, and then began to laugh. It wasn't even that funny, but the act of laughing encouraged more laughing, and the spell that had been hanging over them since their arrival at the front was broken.

"Look at us sorry bastards," Flurry managed to say through his laughter as he leaned into Tempest, "They're probably brewing hot chocolate and singing winter carols back home, just look at what they're missing out on!"

"We've got everything they've got!" Hare laughed for the first time since Winter had met him. He swept a talon through the rancid mud pooling at their feet and splashed it about, grinning, "How's this for hot chocolate? Aren't they jealous. And I'll get to see my siblings soon too!"

"What about you, Tempest?" Frost grinned, splashing mud onto him with her tail, "You excited to live like dirty MudWings?"

"Never been readier," Tempest smiled back, "Three moons, I'm sure the MudWings must love this. I bet they're splashing about over there right now. They're probably partying as we speak!"

"You'll be crashing them soon enough," a new voice joined their conversation. Winter looked up to see a grizzled male veteran who looked fifty or older. He was missing his two foremost horns, making his helmet wobble when he spoke, which was with a lisp due to all his missing teeth. He also had the insignia of a lieutenant. Winter quickly snapped to attention, as did the rest of the unit. In the skies above, the rain thinned to a layer of mist, then finally ceased and moved on.

"At ease, soldiers," the lieutenant rasped, looking amused, "No need for that, now that you're here. I'm sure they drilled that deep into your skulls at the fort. Unfortunately they're a little behind the times back here. Don't take the time to snap to attention every time I walk by, you'll get killed by a stray bolt or shell doing that. Just respect my orders, and we won't have any issues. Am I clear, soldiers?"

"Yes, lieutenant!" the IceWings chanted.

"We're looking for a Lieutenant Penguin," Frost said.

"Well, you found him," the lieutenant replied with the ghost of a smile, "Replacements?"

"We're from the 101st," Winter answered, "They split the brigade to fill the gaps. Our unit was assigned to your command."

"Replacements," Lieutenant Penguin nodded, "It'll be familiar soon enough, don't worry too much. Hmmm…" he paused thoughtfully, then looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Oi! Wolf, come here!"

An adult male IceWing a little younger than Lieutenant Penguin stalked over, a smoldering cigarette clamped between his teeth. He looked over Winter and his friends with a critical eye, tossed his cigarette into the mud, then asked flatly, "What can I do for you, lieutenant?"

"How many are left in your unit, Wolf?" Lieutenant Penguin inquired with a flick of his tail.

"Just me and Puffin," Wolf replied clinically, as if he was discussing a mildly interesting insect, "Bison took a bolt to the face yesterday, and Muir caught a shell while she was on guard duty this morning."

"Take these five," Lieutenant Penguin ordered, "That should take you back up to full strength."

"But Lieutenant, won't that take the unit up to seven dragons?" Winter asked.

"Indeed it will," Lieutenant Penguin explained patiently, "I don't want fresh units running around unsupervised in my battalion. They always wind up dead, and I find myself in need of more replacements. I don't want to throw lives away when I can avoid it, so I let the vets teach you the way things go."

"Not that any of us aren't replacements," Wolf sighed, flicking his tail and scratching the underside of his jaw absentmindedly as the lieutenant walked away to check on the next group of IceWings, farther down the line. As the lieutenant left, Wolf called, "Good night, Lieutenant. Try to keep your head down, yea?"

"You as well, you old bastard," the lieutenant called back, "One of these days it'll be you catching that shell."

"Indeed it will," Wolf muttered grimly, turning back to Winter and his friends, who watched them with wide eyes. Wolf sighed and relaxed his tense face a little, "Welcome to hell, soldiers. Moons know this isn't a place for dragonets, but they keep sending more of you for us to bury. I'm Wolf. I've been here for almost two years now."

"I'm Frost," Frost smiled brightly. She had a curiosity and fascination for new dragons that always seemed to overcome her other feelings. Despite the circumstances, she was smiling as widely as she had been when Winter had met her all those weeks ago at the fort, "I'm from Blackhill, do you know where that is? Probably not, no one ever does. My parents are innkeepers there. These are my friends. They're all from Blackhill too. Well, except Princess."

"I'm Flurry," he managed a smile as well, "The timid little one is Hare, the big strong seal eater is Tempest, and the sparkly ice sculpture over there is Winter, but you can call him Princess. He's the Queen's nephew, and don't worry, he'd have told you that at some point in the next five minutes."

"I mentioned it once," Winter laughed, rolling his eyes and feigning indignation.

"You're a prince?" Wolf flared his wings, looking taken aback, "Like an aristocrat, who lived in the palace?"

"That's right," Winter nodded with a small smile.

"What're you doing here?!" Wolf snapped so aggressively that Winter jumped back, "Three moons, you had everything we all could only dream of! What could possibly make you want to come here?!"

Winter did not know how to answer that without sounding like an idiot. Why was he there? Honor? Glory? Adventure? If he gave any of those reasons he'd sound like a delusional fool, and that was not how he wanted to start off with new friends.

"He was lied to," Winter's head snapped around in surprise when it was Hare who came to his defense, "They never told him what it was actually like. He heard the stories and sang the songs, and they all told him that's how it really is."

Wolf contemplated that for a moment, then gave a short laugh and said, "Well aren't you a tragic lizard. Someone wants you dead, Winter, because they know what's going on out here. I've been back to the divisional headquarters a few times, and I've seen your lot there, playing at war while we do it for real."

Winter contemplated that for a minute. On one talon, if his parents really wanted him dead, he suspected they would just reach across the table and snap his neck, but on the other talon that would probably reflect badly on them. Much better to send their problematic son to the front where they could say he was fighting glorious battles for the Queen, and when he died, they could claim his honor and be done with him. But that was the role of IceWing parents, right? It was what he had been telling himself his whole life, but after arriving on the front, it suddenly felt much more hollow.

"Don't worry about it too much," Wolf patted him on the shoulder, and slipped another cigarette out of one of his pockets. He lit it over one of the many smoldering can fires that lined the trench, "Smoke?"

"No, I don't partake," Winter politely refused. Wolf offered it to the other dragons, and they all shook their heads.

Wolf shook his head with a rattle of icicle spikes and barked a short laugh, "You will soon enough. Burn kills a lot quicker than these do."

Wolf took a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled quietly into the air, looking at the cloud of smoke thoughtfully, "What strange beasts we've become. We don't have fire, and we pride ourselves on it. We talk about our great unique frost breath and how that makes us better than all the other tribes, but we're obsessed with it aren't we? The fire, I mean. We can't resist it. It burns in our trenches, it bursts from our shells and grenades. Moons, we even breathe the stuff. Strange beasts we are indeed.

He caught the wide eyed looks Winter and his friends were giving him, and gave a thin smile, "I've gone more than a little crazy," he paused to take another drag from his cigarette, "We all have. It'll get to you soon enough. The madness you need to stay sane."

He paused again, closing his eyes to exhale another cloud of foul smelling smoke, "Ah, I'm talking to myself again. Who knows, maybe the madness will kill me before the war does. Maybe the Dragonets of Destiny will come swooping down to the rescue on wings of gold, and I'll be a raving lunatic playing in the mud. You never know, do you? Muir didn't know this morning was her last. At breakfast, she shared her theories on how she thought the Dragonets would come save us all. Three moons, maybe she was even right. She'll never know though, they aren't coming for her. But she hoped, and that kept her going. You've got to find something to hope for if you want to survive here. For her it was the Prophecy. For most of us it's home. For me it's my mate, waiting with my dragonet back home. Doesn't matter how silly or hopeless it is, as long as it keeps you going."

With a long sigh, Wolf finally fell silent, taking another puff from his cigarette and gently flapping his wings. With a sudden snort, he tossed the cigarette into the mud and growled, "I'm going to have to quit this nonsense before I go home. I'm not going to be the father that smokes around his dragonets," he looked up at them and gave another barking laugh, "You're all looking at me like I'm insane. It'll be you soon enough, just wait. Come along, let's go see Puffin, he just got off guard duty, and word is he managed to smuggle a bottle off one of the bodies he stripped."

The older IceWing set off at a fast pace, his long strides broken by a limp on his left hind leg. He stomped past a number of IceWings gathered around fires where they cooked rations or tried to dry their leathers. It was not like IceWings to be cold, but wet was a sensation that most tried to avoid where possible, and even in the trenches, the effort was made.

They were stomping along through the rotten sloshy mud that filled the bottom of the trench when Wolf paused suddenly, cocking his head to the sky and gesturing for everyone to be quiet with a swipe of his talons. The attentive IceWing was watching the sky with a focused expression. The rain began to fall again as the skies darkened further. Despite it being mid day, it looked as if night had fallen over the land.

Further down the trench, a bright yellow flare was launched into the sky, burning brightly as it slowly descended and casting long shadows over the trenches, and the killing grounds that lay beyond. Winter had not looked over the top of the trench yet, and given the smell of burnt and decaying flesh that was coming from that direction, he decided he did not want to. He had already seen too much that could never unsee.

Still, as Winter looked to the sky and strained his ears, he could not hear anything out of the ordinary, There was the low murmur of IceWing voices along the trench, the hiss of the burning flare, and the distant sound of explosions many kilometers to the west, where another section of line was being battered.

Then he heard it, a low whistle that increased steadily in pitch and intensity. As it climaxed, he saw a dark colored streak land in the trench about twenty meters up the line. Even before it happened, Winter was already moving, ducking his head and scanning the trench for the nearest shelter. Even so, he was not prepared for what followed.

An ear splitting boom split through his ears and rattled his skull, and the shockwave nearly knocked him off of his feet in a wave of heat. He felt a sting on his cheek, followed by the sensation of bleeding. From down the line, there was screaming, but Winter was no longer listening. More explosions shook them as shells landed in earnest, all up and down the line. IceWings were blown to pieces, or viciously maimed as shrapnel tore up scales, mutilated organs, and severed limbs.

Winter's heart was pounding furiously in his chest as adrenaline flooded his body. He could not think clearly, all he felt was raw terror, and the intense desire to get as far away from the death that was raining from the sky. His eyes were wide and pupils dilated as he looked around in all directions, looking for an escape, but all he saw in every direction were horrors.

An IceWing was on fire, her leathers set alight by a nearby shell, and she ran down the trench letting out a single terrible shriek as she burned alive. A dragon was cut in half, and trying to drag himself through the mud, even as his entrails hung behind him and he gushed blood. A dragon without a lower jaw was standing still and staring blankly off into space, even as blood gushed from the remains of his mouth. A pair of IceWings were surrounding another, who lay on his back screaming. One was trying to pull him to safety, while the other was trying to stick his severed wing back onto his body. His blood sprayed on both of them as he tried to get up and run away, eyes wild and unfocused.

An IceWing had thrown his wings over his head and was screaming incoherently. His scales were covered in blood and bone chunks, and the remains of a dragon littered the ground around him. It seemed a shell had landed at the feet of a dragon he was talking to, and the dead dragon caught the blast.

And then Winter was screaming too, he didn't know which way to run, for in every direction, all he saw were nightmares. There was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, so he just spun in a circle screaming, trying in vain to find some pathway to safety.

"This way!" Wolf let out a furious bellow that resounded over the screaming and continued explosions as more shells landed. His voice gave Winter something to focus on, and in a moment, he was back to reality. His heart was pounding faster than it ever had in his life, but the overtaking panic that had gripped him before was gone. He looked quickly around and saw to his relief that all of his friends were alive and unhurt.

He seized the closest one, who happened to be Flurry, in his talons and dragged him along as Wolf made his way quickly down the line, stepping over the dead and dying without looking at them. Then he ducked into a sight Winte recognized, a bombardment bunker. It was a room in the trenches where soldiers could weather out the artillery bombardments.

Winter followed Wolf inside and found the room already crowded with IceWings, who sat on their haunches along the walls with grim expressions on their faces. Winter tugged Flurry inside, then looked back to make sure Hare, Frost, and Tempest were following them in. The five of them followed Wolf to an open spot along the back wall, where they sat down and listened to the continued booming outside.

As the bombardment continued, Winter looked nervously upwards as puffs of dirt and dust fell from the ceiling with each rattling boom. Still, given the horrors he had witnessed outside, he decided he would take his chances with being buried.

Wolf sat next to another IceWing with whom he seemed familiar, while Winter sat between Hare and Frost. Frost had taken her needler off her back and was squeezing it within her talons. The stock was pressed into the ground, and her head pressed into the magazine. Her eyes and mouth were scrunched shut, and her wings wrapped tightly around herself. To his right, Hare was mumbling incoherently and rubbing his eyes with his talons.

As he looked around the room, he noticed that the bombardment seemed to have stopped. Tempest noticed as well. Looking around for an explanation, he finally asked, "Is it over?"

"Hah, that's what they want you to think," Wolf's friend barked, a humorless smile on his face.

"Creeping barrage," Wolf explained in a tense voice, "They pound us with their catapults to get our heads down, then the SkyWings advance, then they hit us again, killing any idiots who stick their heads out."

"What do you mean?" Hare asked in a high pitched voice.

"They're coming," Wolf's friend growled, slinging his needler off his shoulder and pulling his worn, stained, and chipped bayonet from its sheath, "Fix bayonets, replacements. It's going to be a long afternoon."

"Why wouldn't they just fly?" Winter asked, trying to find anything else to think about, "They're SkyWings, right, isn't that their whole thing."

"You saw our ballistas on the way in," Wolf explained, "They hit a wall of bolts if they try flying, even if most of us have our heads down. So instead they pound us with artillery to cover their advance on foot."

Nodding solemnly, Winter slung his needler off his shoulder and slipped his shiny silver bayonet from its sheath near his hip. He clipped the bayonet into place along the underside of the needler, then shook Frost out of her trance to encourage her to do the same.

Turning to his right to help Hare, he found his friend was nearly hysterical. The little IceWing was shaking violently and there were tears streaming from his eyes as he mumbled tensely to himself.

When Winter touched his shoulder to get his attention, Hare whipped around and seized Winter's talons within his own, shouting, "You'll protect me, right?!" Winter nodded and opened his mouth to tell him to get his bayonet ready, when Hare shouted again, "You've got to protect me, Princess, I'm not made for this! Please, Princess, protect me!"

"I'm here, I've got you," Winter squeezed his friend's talons and stared into his eyes, trying to steady him, "I won't let anything happen to you, alright?"

"I wanna go home," Hare sobbed hysterically, "I wanna go home! Mom is missing me, she needs me, I need to go home. I need to go home!"

Suddenly, the shelter started shaking again as the bombardment began once again, and more dust and dirt fell from the ceiling, and Hare started screaming again. His eyes were wild and unfocused, and he leaped to his feet.

Winter grabbed his shoulder and pinned him against the wall, as Hare screamed again, "Mom! I want my mom! I wanna go home! Mom, help me! I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't do this! Mom, save me!"

Hare twisted violently in Winter's grip, fighting like a dragon possessed as Wolf and Frost climbed to their feet to try to help Winter hold him. Hare screamed again, even more hysterically this time as a round landed close, causing the whole room to rattle, and doused its occupants with a layer of light brown dust. Winter's grip on Hare slipped, and the little IceWing got away and made a mad dash for the door.

Frost and Wolf both reached for him, but neither was able to catch him as he dashed outside, into the hellscape beyond. As he vanished from view, another shell landed right outside, and there was a scream and a spray of blood. Winter stood frozen still, feeling pounding terror but unable to move as blood and bone chunks landed on his face and dripped into his eyes and mouth. Wolf wiped his face with forearm and returned to sit along the wall with his friend, but neither Winter nor Frost moved for a long moment as more explosions rumbled outside.

Winter was past the point of feeling at that point. His mind was completely overloaded, and he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he hyperventilated, his mouth hanging open.

A shell landed directly on top of the shelter, knocking down one of the wooden support columns and dousing Winter with a wave of dirt and pulling him back to the moment. The dirt stuck to his scales where the blood was, and filled his stinging eyes. More dirt fell from the ceiling, along with another support beam. Another wave of terror gripped his heart as it became clear the shelter was collapsing on them.

"Out, out, out, out!" Wolf roared as IceWings charged for the door while more dirt fell on them, threatening to bury them alive. Winter rushed for the door as IceWings poured out, needlers gripped tightly in their talons. He shoved Frost forward with his needler as he followed her out of the door. Looking back, he saw Flurry emerge just before the shelter collapsed, but there was no sign of Tempest.

"They're coming!" Wolf bellowed again, as Winter lifted his head over to the top of the trench to peer into the killing ground. There, through the pouring rain, he saw them for the first time. Hundreds of dragon shaped silhouettes galloping as fast as they could towards him. He reared up onto his hind legs and rested his talons on the top of the trench, steadying his needler in his free arm.

As the figures neared, he made out more details. They were wearing dark leathers and helmets, just like him, but their scales were shades of orange and red, rather than white or light blue. They too carried needlers in their talons, which spat ugly death towards the IceWing trench. The IceWing return volley was devastatingly effective, and a whole row of SkyWings fell.

Winter lined up his needler with one of the approaching figures and squeezed the trigger. The bowstring slammed forward and the bolt vanished from his weapon. As he watched, the SkyWing's head jerked back and it collapsed like a puppet with no strings, giving Winter a short rush of exhilaration and retribution. His first SkyWing. He pushed off the trench wall with his talons and, in the brief moment he was bipedal, slammed the slider back, chambering another bolt from the magazine before landing his talons back against the trench wall.

He spotted another SkyWing who had gotten much closer as he cycled his needler. He could make out some features on this one. He was male, sunset orange, and on the smaller side, though Winter could not tell his age. He was gripping a needler in his right talons while he ran as fast he could on his other three limbs. Winter swiveled his weapon and shot again. This time, he was close enough to see the results. The bolt closed the gap faster than he could see, striking the SkyWing in his long and slender neck, and releasing a gout of bright red blood. The SkyWing dropped his needler instantly, and stumbled to the ground, clutching his neck as more blood poured out. He coughed blood from his mouth as he started choking on it, and Winter looked away, not wanting to watch his death throes any longer.

The killing ground was littered with fresh SkyWing corpses as Winter struck a third one down with a bolt from his needler. This one struck his target in the chest, bursting open and knocking her down immediately. Winter must have hit something important, as she only briefly twitched before going still, blood seeping through her leathers.

There was no pause between kills. No moment to stop and consider what he was doing. They were coming to kill him, so he was killing them. He had to, or he would die. The SkyWings did not get any more thought than that.

As he chambered his fourth bolt, the SkyWings reached the IceWing trench. To Winter's left, a SkyWing shot an IceWing with her needler at point black range, before being stabbed in the neck by an IceWing bayonet. To his right, a SkyWing spat a long blast of fire at the IceWings while two more SkyWings dropped into the trench.

Then a SkyWing was coming over the top right in front of him. He must not have seen Winter, as he lifted his needler to shoot an IceWing further down the line. Winter felt completely numb at that point. The fear, loss, and anger were echoes in the back of his mind. He was in survival mode.

He jammed his needler forward, shoving the bayonet into the back of the SkyWing's neck, severing his spine. The SkyWing collapsed unceremoniously into the mud, and Winter whipped around, just in time to see another SkyWing dropping onto him from the edge of the trench. She swung down at him with her bayonet, but he moved just in time, and it bounced off of his helmet. His needler was knocked from his talons, but he reached up and seized the end of hers just before she could shoot him. Her shot missed, striking harmlessly into the trench wall behind him.

The SkyWing threw her weight forward, trying to skewer him on the end of her bayonet. He side stepped her and caught her off balance, knocking the needler from her talons with a viscous swipe of his tail, then knocked her helmet off and seized her head in his talons. He wrapped his arm around her neck, locking her head into the crease of his elbow and leaping onto her back, trying to knock her off her feet.

The SkyWing thrashed violently, trying to throw him off of her, then let out a long blast of fire that just missed his head. She threw her weight forward, trying to buck him over her head and let out another blast of fire, but Winter managed to hold on, squeezing her neck tighter as he locked his arms around her neck. She gurgled and gasped as she was slowly asphyxiated, but her strength was nowhere near waning as she continued to thrash about beneath him.

He tried to catch his breath and began summoning a breath of frost as he tried to call on the snowstorm in his chest. Her eyes widened as she heard the distinctive hiss, and slammed her elbow backwards into his chest, knocking the breath of him, and causing his grip to loosen.

She took a much needed breath in her moment of respite, then screamed, "Thrush!"

A SkyWing to his right looked up, but in his moment of distraction, was stabbed in the back by Flurry. All around him, IceWings and SkyWings were engaged in brutal melee combat, and no one could help anyone. Winter was on his own, and so was the SkyWing.

Again, the SkyWing tried to throw him off her back, this time by kicking forward hard, then slamming him into the trench wall. When he struck the wall of mud and dirt, his grip loosened slightly, and the SkyWing, seeing her chance, slammed her elbow into his chest and twisted violently beneath him. Winter's grip slipped and he fell into the mud as the SkyWing darted out from under him, his talons slipping on her leathers.

The SkyWing moved away, backing into the trench wall as she gasped for breath, trying to stay balanced on trembling talons. Winter lunged forward again, not wanting to give her a break. She looked up in alarm and her mouth snapped open, causing Winter to duck, expecting a wall of flame to go shooting over his head… only it didn't come. He realized he had been duped when suddenly she barreled into him, knocking him onto his back and digging her talons into his chest. She inhaled to release a blast of fire, and Winter reached up and grabbed her head, pushing it as hard as he could to the left. It was enough, and the blast scorched his helmet, but missed his face.

She struggled trying to free her face to deal the killing blow as Winter desperately fought her talons away from his neck and underbelly. As another blast of fire sailed past his head, he risked letting go briefly to knock her talons away from slicing his throat as he beat her with his wings and tail. Her mouth snapped open and lunged for his neck, but he ducked his head just in time and she bit his helmet.

As he scrambled about, trying to free himself, he felt something brush against his talons. Realizing something huge he had forgotten, he grabbed her face again with his left talons, and pulled his entrenching tool free with his right. He whipped it up as fast and hard as he could, slamming the metal into her face, not even realizing he had hit her with the flat side instead of the thin side.

She let out a scream of pain as blood sprayed into Winter's face, and she fell off of him. He slid out from beneath her as she stumbled about clutching her face as blood seeped between her talons. Winter swept towards her, lifting the spade high and slamming her head with it again. She saw it coming at the last moment, and one of her arms came up in a futile effort to prevent it. The spade slammed deep into her arm with a sickening crunch. The metal became further stained with blood as he pulled it back out of her nearly severed arm and slammed it down on her head with a wet crunch that knocked her downward and released another spray of blood. And then he hit her again. And again. And again. And again.

At first she had tried in vain to back away, but then she gradually slumped to the ground and her resistance faded as her head was struck again and again. She lay nearly still, breathing heavily beneath him as he held his spade high to strike her again, when suddenly Winter hesitated, and a flash of horror and guilt rushed through him.

Her face was pounded in, and her cheekbone was floating freely beneath her scales. One of her horns was snapped off, and her skull appeared to be fractured in several places. Her scales were more red than orange as blood seeped from her grievous wounds.

There was a flash of recognition in Winter's soul in that brief sliver of a second that he stared at her. She was not so different from him. She was probably four or five years old, with a complexion that had been pretty until he had smashed it in. She wore a small sapphire earring in her left ear, and had a songbird tattooed on her neck, just above her leathers.

She was just another dragon, who was stuck in the same unfortunate situation he was. Who knew what kind of dragon she was. Maybe she was a poet, who liked to write, or perhaps a preyhunter like Flurry and Hare, who longed for the mountains and forests of her home in the Sky Kingdom. Maybe in a different reality they could have even been friends. Looking down at her, Winter felt a sharp feeling of intense guilt and nausea.

Suddenly, the SkyWing was struck by a bolt, which went in through her left eye and lodged in the back of her skull, and she immediately stopped moving. An IceWing made brief eye contact with Winter before hurrying off on his way. Winter took one last glance at the dead SkyWing before following the IceWing, leaving her in the mud, surrounded by several other dragons from both of their tribes.

The SkyWing faded from his mind the moment he left her behind. There were no rational thoughts in his head, then. There was too much fear and adrenaline in his system for any conscious thoughts to make it through. He was running on training and subconscious instincts.

The IceWing defense seemed to have held, as the SkyWings climbed back out of the trench and fled back into the killing ground towards their trenches. The IceWings who still held their needlers began shooting at them as they fled, while Winter looked around for his unit, who was nowhere insight. Then he heard a whistling sound from above, and there was a loud explosion to his right.

This time, there was no fear to feel. His system was completely overloaded, and all he felt was numb as he stumbled through the mud of the trench looking for shelter as the bombardment began in earnest, covering the SkyWing retreat.

A blast landed close to him, launching him off his feet and slamming him into the wall of the trench. His head hit the wall hard, and suddenly everything went black.