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Crescentstar711
Swift stepped out into the darkness.
Or, rather, what would be perceived as darkness. To the silvery tundra, it was still bright as day. Her glassy eyes turned to a spot before her.
Abandoned, unwanted, neglected. A curse.
Because that's what she was.
Treated with utmost care and bathed in love until the moment she opened her eyes. Swift was a beautiful lie. That's what her grandmother, the only dragon to see her behind those unseeing eyes, told her.
But to all others, she was just a curse. Cursed with icy eyes.
She was the destruction of her clan.
Her parents hated her.
Hated her for something that he had no control over.
The day Swift was hatched, the leader of their clan died. The day when she became an apprentice, a mysterious disease began to spread within the tribe. It was horrible; the called it the Frost. Dragons would begin by feeling unusually cold. The chill would then affect their extremities, almost like severe frostbite. But frostbite didn't leave hatchlings wailing in pain, didn't leave elders writhing in the snow.
Swift was immune.
Naturally, her clan blamed her.
They wanted a sacrifice, a sacrifice to the Icewarden. Maybe, just maybe, it would stop the spread of the contagion.
They chained her up in a cave.
For days, Swift thought of what death would feel like. It wasn't the hunger that bothered her. The freezing temperatures had slowed her metabolism down so much that it would take weeks for her to succumb to starvation. Nor was it the darkness.
It was the feeling of utter loneliness.
The cries and shouts of pain echoed through the dank cave, magnified like Swift was stuck in an endless pit. Blood streamed from the entrance, pooling around her feet like a haze of crimson fog.
Over the course of several days, the wails subsided, until silence swamped Swift's prison. There was only one explanation.
Her clanmates had died.
Every last one of them.
They left him in shackles.
Swift hung from the wall, heavy bludgeons on her neck, blood crusted limbs pinned behind her. The pain was great; so much so that her legs became numb. The lack of blood circulation rendered them immobile. Swift closed her useless eyes.
He found her.
A soft voice awakened her from her endless sleep. Swift was on the ground, wounds dressed with herbs and scrappy leaves. His voice was sheepish, she could smell blood. The stranger had brought food.
But it was meat.
So it be.
The tundra finished it ravenously, not caring about the unusual and taste. He too was an outcast, pelt too bright for a shadow dragon. But to her, he was perfect.
He saw past her eyes, saw the spirit she truly was.
Her mask had fallen; she was head over heels.
He said he saw a pair of blood red eyes. Swift didn't believe him at first.
Didn't believe him until it was too late.
The dull thud of a body on snow.
She pleaded, but the dragon wouldn't spare her.
Spare her to join her beloved.
So now, every time Swift hears the full moon howls of other packs, she comes out of the den. Turning her face up, in the direction of the stars.
In the direction where he now sleeps.
A quick sketch:
Also, this is probably the wrong place to ask, but where can I be placed on a pinglist? I think this subspecies is amazing!
just a sketch!
