CloudStormer

Cloudstormer

Humble Loyalist

Dragons of all shapes and sizes were gathered around Styx's throne, waiting patiently for her to speak. It had been roughly a week since the first seed had been forced into the ground and wracked havoc on the Plague domain. The Plaguebringer had spoken, and Styx was ready to obey what she decreed. Cloudstormer looked at his mate from the side, all four of her eyes had bags under them from lack of sleep. Her claws twitched every few seconds, lack of hunt was getting to her. The tundra sighed quietly under his face mask. He loved her with all his heart, but he couldn't just let her force herself to work. And it wasn't like he could just tell her to take a break. He ran his tongue over the black scars that decorated his face and shuddered to himself.
A silence began to fall over the dragons as Styx spread her tattered wings wide. Thalestris assisted with the silencing, her deep green eyes peering out from behind the throne. Cloudstormer pulled himself up as well, puffing out his fur in hopes that it made him seem larger. Nobody payed any attention to him though, Styx was about to speak.
She inhaled once slowly through her nose, gave those gathered a look, and began to talk in a booming voice.
"Our mother has spoken," She began, "You look around you, and you all see someone with scars. Mental, physical, both are scars. We earn them through triumph, through struggle, and we survive. Whatever happens to us, we remember these scars. Where we got them. Who we got them from."
She paused and licked the scar on her lip. Cloudstormer remembered that one. That, plus the large gashing scar on the side of her neck were earned from an imperial who wanted power. Power that Styx had. The poor dragoness was shattered by the imperial's betrayal, leading her to force scars upon all in the clan. He nodded slowly, adding support to his wife's words.
"The scar that bloomed into our land will not be forgotten, as the Gladekeeper so wishes. We will remember, we will survive. Our survival is key, so I feel it proper to inform those gathered that my clan will be closing operations with any non-plague clan."
A murmur of surprise and anger began to ripple through the crowd, silenced only by Styx's hard glare. It had taken her a lot to come to this decision, Hanson revealing that the Tidelord had gone silent and his visions were no longer appearing was what sealed the deal. How could she keep her clan safe if she didn't know who to trust? But she had understood that closing all operations was foolish. No, this was better- and safer- for everyone involved. Cloudstormer hardened his expression as he looked out at the dragons. Whatever they all thought, he trusted Styx. He would die by her side, and he was more than happy to be her support. Styx snorted as she continued.
"We need to support our brothers and sisters, not those from neighboring flights. Our alliances may stay, of course, but if you're not plague, then get out of my presence immediately. That is all."
Styx stepped off of her throne, shot one last glare at the dragons crying out in outrage, and left the room to head to her private quarters. Hanson passed her as he came out to answer any questions and enforce Styx's new law, letting Cloudstormer follow his wife.
She was quiet as they walked through the narrow bone passages to where their den was, hidden in a wide room above the nasal opening where her throne room was. The candles that lit the hallways flickered as they passed, wax dripping onto the floor. It was times like this, where silence pressed on them from all sides that Cloudstormer wished that he could still talk. He opened and closed his mouth pointlessly, frustrated. It annoyed him how she couldn't even tell that he wanted to reassure her. How she couldn't even understand how much he loved her when he couldn't talk. He frowned in annoyance at his situation in silence, continuing to follow Styx.
When they arrived at their den, Styx instantly headed towards her bed of scrap fabrics and bones. It stunk of decay, but to him the smell meant Styx, so it was a comfort. Stray purple and green fur littered the bed, a sign that he and his wife shared the bed despite her taking up most of it. Styx sighed as she dropped onto it and didn't look up when Cloudstormer walked over to her face.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she mumbled, "I know this is the right thing for now but..."
She was cut off when Cloudstormer headbutted her gently. His curled antlers made contact with her skull, the firm feeling of them giving her a reassuring feeling.
"Thanks." She said. Her eyes softened, and to Cloudstormer, that meant more than any words she had to say.
He moved to take off his face mask, giving his wife a smile when it was gone. The black acid scars that laced his face and peeled back his lips didn't bother her, but made her happy that he was comfortable enough to show them. The particularly bad scar that blossomed in the center of his neck was what she frowned at. A new layer of skin had healed over it, but it was still black and raw. No fur grew over it despite the fact that the scar was over two years old. She looked up into his eyes, and he met her gaze evenly.
"I love you, so so much," is what Cloudstormer yearned to say. His mouth opened once and he only managed a broken croak before the pain became too much. Styx shook her head, and leaned forwards. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his fur.
"You don't need to say it," she whispered against him, "I know you love me. And I love you too."
Slowly, Styx pulled away, leaving Cloudstormer with a warm feeling in his chest.
She was right, he didn't need to say anything. She knew what he was trying to say, she always knew. Cloudstormer flopped over into the bed and into Styx's claws. She held him tight, and he held her in return.