Psycho

Art by mahoxyshoujo

The small blue hatchling wandered the plague terrain, stumbling over shards of bone and rocks. Born alone in a nest by a twisted tree, he'd stood, legs trembling, and set off into the Plaguelands. He wandered mindlessly, occasionally stopping to rest. He continued for hours, until the sky, already dim from dust and debris, darkened completely.

A Skydancer flew overhead, coughing from the disease-ridden air. He looked down, and, upon seeing the blue hatchling, dove to the ground. The Skydancer, a sleek red and orange dragon wearing a bronze steampunk vest, folded his wings and walked over to the hatchling. "What're you doing out here all alone?" He asked.

The hatchling looked up in surprise at the first dragon he'd ever met. "I-" he croaked, his voice rough, "I don't know where I am."

"It's dangerous out here at night," said the Skydancer, shivering. "Do you have a clan? Parents? Anyone?"

The hatchling tilted his head. "No. My mom left me. What's a clan? And who are you?"

The Skydancer smiled. "A clan is basically a group of dragons who live together, hunt together, and trust each other. And I'm Sunburst, a messenger for the Night Fire clan of the Emberglow Hearth. I'm flying to deliver a message to a clan in the Starfall Isles."

"Can I come with?" The hatchling asked, his eyes widening.

"Well..." Sunburst looked uncertain, but then looked into the excited Hatchlings red eyes. "I guess I can't leave you here alone..." I hope Fallen doesn't get mad at me, he thought, scooping the hatchling into his back.

Sunburst leapt into the sky, the young dragon holding tightly to his vest. "Do you have a name?" he asked the hatchling, gliding on a warm nighttime breeze.

"My mom called me Psycho, before she left," the hatchling replied.

"Okay, Psycho," Sunburst said, "welcome to the Night Fire clan."

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Human Description- Around 5'5" in height, and young, looks to be about 16. Wears a dark blue jean jacket unzipped with a plain maroon t-shirt underneath, and blue jeans with a few rips and tears. Barely visible are the black and red cloth arm bands he wears on both wrists. He has red eyes and an intense gaze. His shoes are black tennis shoes, decorated around the edges of the dirty, once-white soles with red sharpie. His hair is dark brown, some sections dyed blood red. It's messy, like he hasn't brushed it in a few days. He has a small black tattoo of a knife on the back of his neck, and scars on his arms under the bands.