Kitewielder

I was cleaning up when I heard the song: the notes – they were high, crystal clear, and carrying so much heart. It wasn’t a song that I had heard before; had she been practicing on her own? It wouldn’t surprise me. That one always has a little extra something up her sleeve.
I dumped the final bucket, flew out, and landed just in time to hear her reach the highest notes. The crowd was mesmerized; they were completely silent as they stood still to listen, even the hatchlings and the other singers, and she –
And she bolted those notes, she as she stood alone in the center of it all, her wings almost rising with them, her eyes lit with the passion only a true singer would feel and know. She sang carefully, hitting every single note and knowing not to overreach, letting some drop just enough to incur ooohs and aaaahs in the crowd, but her face –
She loved this. What was Kitewalker had fallen into the clouds of music, drifting and soaring along with it, soft and yet swift, piercing but with so much love. It was something I had never seen before from her. What is this? Art? Our spirit? –
“I dedicate this to my best friend,” she panted, as the song ended and the crowd burst into fevered applause. “Kitewielder.”
Ah you didn’t, I thought, and she was laughing at me, and I was blushing, and I was crying no come on now but it was sweet, that was the sweetest thing that had ever happened to me.

Forget her. She’s not coming back. If she truly wanted you, she would have stayed.
The sounds of the abacus diffused like white noise. My brother’s words still resonated in my ears. I folded close the book in my claws, and poured myself another cup of tea.
Kitewalker. She had been gone for weeks. Where could a disabled dragon even go? If she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t have gone far. But I haven’t been able to find her. Am I really that bad at tracking, or does she simply not want to be found?
She said she’s going to become an assassin, a voice reminded me in my mind, grave like my late father. If someone has indeed taken her in to train her in those arts, you’ll never find them.
“But she’s mine,” I whined, knowing full well how irrational that must sound. “She’s a singer. She doesn’t even like picking apples half the time.”
Dragons change. And so might you.
I fell silent. There was a crimson kite flying up in the sky.

Unlike Kitewalker, Kitewielder had no royal or noble blood; he was the child of orchard workers, and grew up in relative poverty with a pair of siblings, both named Flame. He was always assigned to the most physically challenging chores; although this took a heavy toll on his body, he came to highly value responsibility and perseverance, and to everyone’s surprise, developed a very sunny and hopeful disposition. He was promoted multiple times within the plantation hierarchy, taught how to read and write, and was widely expected to eventually become the steward and manager of all of Kitewalker’s (supposed) lands.
Kitewielder first met Kitewalker when they were still hatchlings; he struck up a friendship with Kitewalker’s mother, and would frequently, during hard times, give the latter apples to feed herself and her daughter. His relationship with Kitewalker had evolved over the years; while cordial to each other at first, Kitewielder realized the depth of his feelings for Kitewalker after watching her sing her heart out in front of a crowd, and eventually confessed to her, intending to become her mate after receiving her mother’s blessing. The death of Kitewalker’s mother threw a wrench into their plans; Kitewalker left town in anger and pain, and Kitewielder spent many weeks trying to find her, to no avail.