The small fae grumbled and curled tighter around the flat boulder, grumbling on and on. Curse this godforsaken cold. Curse this godforsaken land! Curse her no good, idiotic mate for dragging her out onto this ice cube for the sake of his profits! Honestly! Does the fact that she could be freezing her tail off even matter to that bumbling idiot? Of course not--he's a Tundra after all. He was practically made for this climate. But her, a small, fragile Fae? As if. Practically no dragons but Tundras were intended for this vast field of ice; yet here she was. On a rock. Freezing her scales off. And for what? A few measly bags of treasure and some credit for trekking out here? In Tinuel's opinion, it wasn't worth it--not in the slightest. Pulling her wings in even closer, she tightly shut her eyes and dreamt--not slept per say, but simply dreamt.

She dreamt that she was once again in her home in the windy plains, away from ice and cold and frost. She was flying, flying high and letting the delicious wind flow through her frills. Oh, how amazing that felt! And finally, she was back at home, in her beloved art room, with nothing other than a canvas, paints, and her trusty brush. With even strokes, she created a scene on the blank canvas, much like the one she had just experienced. A lone dragon with no worries whatsoever, simply giving itself to the wind--to the sky. Adding more colors now, Tinuel's strokes became longer, faster. More frenzied, as if every single stroke counted for her--for herself, and her freedom. No longer would she be shackled to the petty life of merchanting, no. She could enjoy the rest of her life as an ambassador of the sky, a damsel of the clouds. She herself could be a paintbrush if she wished--on particular days the clouds had the perfect consistency of paint--and paint she would. Just add one more stroke there and--

A claw poked her in the side and Tinuel's eyes flew open, shooting to the reptilian figure next to her, shrouded by the blowing snow. Shivering, she once again curled into herself, wishing for the world to be back in her amazing land of dreams. But, alas, reality had it's own plans.

"Tinny. Helooo...? Tinuel. Are you okay?" She turned her small head to the great big furry beast next to her, and she nodded. However, as much as she sometimes loathed him for dragging her along on his foolhardy missions, Tinuel couldn't stay mad at Dalcenti for long. He just wasn't that type of dragon. He also wasn't stupid, which would alternate between good and bad, depending on the situation. Now, it seemed, would be one of the good times. He carefully cradled her small form, and held it close to his own, which was warm. Really warm. Shuddering into his heavy coat of fur, she realized that she just couldn't hate this furry beast. Not for long, at least. Continuing to cradle her with one hand and shouldering his pack with the other, Dalcenti began the long trek back to the shore, where a boat would be waiting to take them home.

Home, Tinuel realized, was not necessarily where the wind, the clouds or the sky lay; rather, it was where her heart lay. And be it through art or her wonderfully warm mate, Tinuel would never know. Hopefully, she would never have to chose either.