Hilario

With such a gentle spirit, Hilario is the primary healer of the Windways Clan. He had a lonely childhood growing up in the Ice region with a bitter father, absent mother, and indifferent clan, but his passion for helping others and ability to calm conflicts is something that still thrives. Many within the clan look up to him for his optimism and thoughtfulness. In addition, Hilario's soft-spoken demeanor and patience makes him popular with the hatchlings, and also with any travelers stopping by their camp. In fact, his friendly, open nature makes him so easy to interact with that he has learned most of his healing techniques by just talking with fellow healers!

When not tending to the healing herbs within the Windways garden or spending time helping his clan-mates, Hilario can be found in his sunny healer's den. All remedies are recorded carefully in countless books that he meticulously perfumes with unique scents, so that he only has to take a deep sniff in order to locate the writing containing specific healing instructions, for when his memory slips him. And when surrounded by such a loving clan, it's not easy for Hilario to forget.

Hilario wasn’t quite sure where he was. The land beneath his feet was not green nor soft like he as used to, but instead hard and bitterly cold. His mother had shoved him forward, right up to the chest of a large tundra dragon like himself, and while he smelled vaguely familiar, Hilario had never seen him before in his short life.

“Mama?” he asked quietly. His mother didn’t hear him; she was busy arguing with said tundra, her lips drawn back as both their voices rose and echoed over the bleak landscape.

“I don’t have time for this,” his mother hissed out, “I have places to go! I never wanted this!” With a fierce backstroke of her wings, his mother was suddenly in the air, lifting away. Panicking, Hilario cried out, not yet able to fly, but attempting to run after her even though the snowdrifts were larger than he was.

“Stay with your father, Hilario,” his mother snapped at him, only sparing him a single backwards glance before she disappeared into the clouds.

Crying now, Hilario didn’t listen, continuing to try and follow, his own wings fluttering weakly and snow collecting painfully between the pads of his feet. Finally, he was forced to concede defeat. The tiny tundra stood trembling and cold on the plains so unlike where he’d been born, unmoving until the tundra from before came stomping over.

“Come on,” he said gruffly, “you’re staying with me now.”

-

From a young age, Hilario could not make eye contact with others. Something about it just made his skin crawl, made him feel out of place. He knew that if his flock looked into his eyes, they’d see green where there should’ve been white.

Of course, this quirk of his made him stand out anyway. Ice Flights were a straight-forward bunch, and they became easily frustrated when he’d duck his head away from them. The other hatchlings quickly isolated him, calling him dumb and unable to focus enough to even listen to what they were saying. The fact he was a tundra didn’t help with this image either, as his breed made him naturally forgetful.

But Hilario was always listening; he was actually quite smart, and he yearned to add his soft voice to discussions, to break the monotone wailing of the wind over The Fortress of Ends. He longed to have someone close to him, who would understand his thoughts and cuddle away the cold that always seemed to effect him more than the natives of the region. Often he’d sneak out and sit out on the edge of ice spires, overlooking the ocean and dreaming of crossing it one day. Sometimes, without meaning to or even being aware of it, he’d talk to himself, pretending there was an imaginary friend close by that was listening to his dreams for the future. It was comforting, like someday he really could have a friend and family.

His father thought this was ridiculous. He was a frosty and gruff dragon to begin with, even before Hilario’s mother had shoved her child off on him to care for while she travelled. The older tundra would often snort and scratch at the ice with his claws before telling Hilario to stop sitting around and do something actually useful with his life.

Hilario’s father had never left the Ice Region; in fact, most of his life had been spent in the same general area Hilario had grown up. He studied old artifacts and gathered food for the flock, never seeking out adventure or anything more than the bare minimum to ensure survival. Sometimes, Hilario thought his father regretted not following after the free-spirited Wind dragon he’d mated with. Sometimes, Hilario thought that he himself was to blame for the fact his mother had left and never returned. She hadn’t wanted him – and by extension, she hadn’t wanted his father, either. When he looked into the ghostly eyes of his father, he could see bitterness and anger reflected back at him, and Hilario knew that his father blamed him, too.

Hilario couldn’t argue with that.

-

He was very young when he collected his bag and slipped out in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye. It was just too much for Hilario – the feeling of being alone even while he was surrounded by others. If he was going to feel alone, he might as well actually be alone.

He travelled for days, cold and lonely as he passed through the nothingness of the Ice Region. It was gruelling work, trudging through snowdrifts, carving out caves at night for shelter, and of course, trying to find enough food to line his belly.

Eventually, he reached the Frigid Floes; the deepest, coldest, and most miserable part of the Ice Region. Here the land was mostly made up of icebergs and open patches of ocean, the ice constantly shifting beneath his feet. The plant-life was meager and other living creatures were nearly nonexistent. It was the loneliest Hilario had ever been in his whole life, nothing but old frostbitten fossils and the glimpses of outlaws on the horizon to keep him company.

For several months he remained in the cave he’d carved out, collecting fossils like his father had done and decorating the space with any spare herbs or plants he could find. Some days it was a struggle just to get up, to relight the fire that kept the worst of the chill away or wander the tundra searching for food. Other days it was simply impossible, and he’d remain paralysed, watching the fire spark and shadows dart over the ice walls, imagining they were the shapes of other dragons.

Unlike when he’d look out over the ocean as a hatchling, it provided no comfort.

-

It was one of the worst storms Hilario had ever seen. During his childhood, the spires had protected the flock from the blunt of the elements, but out on the Floes, Hilario had no such protection. The wind swept his fur back violently, the warm air of the Wind Region colliding with the frozen gales of the Ice Region with all the force of a hurricane. The sky was shades of purple and black, like it was bruised. The swirling grey clouds and shrieking wind pitched the sea into churning waves of black slime, causing Hilario’s ears to ache and his paws to shake. He could sense that the storm would only get worse and trying to fly in such conditions was almost a guaranteed death sentence.

Instead, he ran. Having grown up in the Ice Region, he knew where the ice was solid and where it would break; he knew how the icebergs would shift in the raging sea, so he could calculate his leaps; and he knew before jumping which would hold his weight and which would send him plummeting into the icy water. Hilario hurried over the scattered floes and bridges of ice with a cautious, practiced ease that could rival a true Ice Flight

His intent concentration on where he stepped was how he spotted the blood. He knew the landscape, had long since grown accustomed to the white canvas of the plains cracked through with peeks of the ocean. The vibrant stains of red and drying rust stood out like a beacon, and even though he knew it would be wisest to hurry home before the worst of the storm hit, he skidded to a halt out of curiosity.

Tilting his head, he studied the odd puncture marks along the iceberg, the scratches carved into the chunks of ice, and the groove marks that followed the trail of blood. At the end was a natural lip of ice; the snow blown over and hardened after years of melting and re-freezing, shaped by the push of the sea. Curled at the bottom of that lip was something he hadn’t been expecting – a small, blue and steel coloured fae dragon.

She was slumped on her side, heaving shallowly, and Hilario could immediately spot the signs of hyperthermia setting in. Not only that, but she was definitely injured, her hands twisted and mangled in a bloody mash of scraped flesh and joints pulled out of their sockets. Sparks of deep blue magic danced over her claws idly, as if it wanted to help but didn’t know how.

Hilario didn’t hesitate. He instantly stooped down, shrugging off his coat and wrapping her in it before gently lifting the fae and settling her in the nook of his naked shoulder-blades. It would have to be enough for the time being, as Hilario had no other clothing on him, and the storm was only gaining in strength. It would do no good for both of them to succumb to the elements.
It was difficult to balance the fae and run at the same time, but Hilario managed, the touch of urgency fueling his relentless bounding over the floes. He made it to his cave just before the sky broke open, spitting down splinters of snow and fury, and he watched it as he hustled around the cave.

He restoked the fire first, setting up the fae close enough to feel the warmth but not enough that she’d warm up too quickly, before moving on to his supplies. He had food and water, enough to last them both until the storm broke, and plenty of herbs. He had vague memories of his flock’s healer, of his voice mixing with the wafting, earthy tones of the plants he used. Now, Hilario carefully sniffed each one, his eyes closed as he concentrated, desperate to remember what the healer had told him and find a way to help the other dragon. To his relief, memories bloomed at each careful inhale, and he quickly set to work mashing up herbs to create a healing paste for her wounds.

When he looked over, he was surprised to see the fae’s eyes open, blank and unseeing up at the ceiling. “Are you ok?” he asked, but by the time he reached her side, her lids had already slid shut again.

More determined than ever, Hilario got to work.

-

A whole day passed before the fae awoke for good, while Hilario was busying himself organizing the cave. The flood of relief he felt at seeing her conscious and upright had him hurrying to her side immediately, his cheerful exclamation of “You’re awake!” echoing off the lichen-covered walls. “Oh, thank goodness. When I saw the trail of blood across the iceberg, I didn’t think I would find a wounded fae there, but I’m glad I decided to check.” He gestured downwards at her claws, gently lifting them and humming at the improvement from when he’d first treated them.

It had been a long time since Hilario had been so close to another living being, and now that he had company – even sick, probably confused company – Hilario found he couldn’t stop talking. He chatted on and on, through re-bandaging the fae’s claws, through returning the herbs to their places, and continued to talk as time went on. The fae didn’t speak; it would have worried Hilario, might of suggested she was sick with infection or fully catatonic, except that her eyes followed his movements and glinted with intelligence whenever he caught a glimpse at them. That was fine, if she was simply a quiet dragon. Hilario was more focused on making sure she ate a steady diet, rested, and that her wounds were routinely treated.

After a week, most of her wounds were scabbed over and well on their way to full recovery. Except, unfortunately, for her mangled hands. “I don’t think your claws will ever fully recover,” he said as gently as he could. “Especially this one.” He massaged the claws he meant, the main ones that had been so violently ripped out of their joints. “I’m sorry.”

There was a beat of heavy silence before her raspy and soft voice finally broke the quiet. “Will I be able to use my magic?”

“Perhaps,” Hilario said, after a stunned pause, trying to force as much optimism into his tone as he could. “You definitely seem like a determined little fae, to have survived what you did. So I’m sure you can manage.”

“All my magic gathers at my claws,” she said. He could hear the buried fear there, read it in the way she flexed the joints and stared.

“I doubt you are the first dragon to have injured your claws,” Hilario said reassuringly, “and I doubt you will be the last.”

A comfortable silence stretched between them before her soft voice breathed out, “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” he replied, lifting his head to smile at her. Unlike her voice, her eyes were not soft – they were a sharp, intelligent lime green.

“Why are you out here?” she asked bluntly. “Why are you alone?”

Hilario continued to smile, despite the stab of hurt in his chest. “You talk a lot once you get going, you know that?” he joked, but at her serious, unwavering stare, felt his expression slip. He couldn’t look her in the eye as he drew in a deep breath.

“My flock didn’t want me. And frankly, I didn’t want them either.” His paws stilled completely, simply gripping hers in comfort, and he shook his head as if that would banish the thoughts he did not want to remember. “I was unlovable. I had to leave, even if it meant being alone.”

The fae didn’t say anything else, but continued to hold his hand anyway.

-

The fae, who Hilario came to know as Azza, recovered to full health quickly despite her newfound disabilities. He figured she would leave as soon as she could, and yet she lingered – helping him find food and herbs, snuggling up to his chest at night for warmth, and slowly but surely opening up about her own past. More than anything, he loved her stories of the Wind Region, of its strong breezes and bountiful life.

“I would like to visit there,” he commented once, his chest aching with longing. At her questionable stare, he’d explained, “My mother was a Wind Flight. When she had me, she flew all the way back to the Southern Icefields to give me to my father. She didn’t want a child to hinder her travels.” He glanced up to the sky, unwilling to look at her although he knew now he’d be met with no pity, and watched the way twilight descended over the floes.

“You know,” he started hesitantly, “storm season is ending. Passage over the ocean shouldn’t be too difficult soon. Maybe..?”

Azza cut him off before he could continue his train of thought. “I’m going home, Hilario, and if you’d like to come… that is fine by me.”

The burst of happiness that overcame Hilario had him ducking his head to hide his uncontrollable smile. “We should head back before night fully sets in,” he said, and didn’t bother to hide his glee as they both ran back towards his cave.

-

Almost a month after Hilario had rescued and nursed Azza back to health, they left. Hilario didn’t look back at the cave; even after all his time there, it had never been more than a temporary shelter. He knew it would be a lengthy flight over the ocean, yet Azza betrayed no fear of venturing out where she’d almost met her doom, and her bravery only made Hilario admire her more.

They flew like Hilario never had before, wings flared wide as kites and their voices echoing over the waves below. When the horizon was overtaken with green, Hilario almost dropped from the sky, his eyes eagerly feasting on the vibrant colour he had once only seen in his own reflection. His whoops of excitement made Azza smile, a sight as rare as the landscape before him and twice as beautiful.

When they finally touched down, his toes digging into firm soil sprouting with bamboo, the breath filling his lungs bloomed with life. “Azza,” he declared, “I want to stay here forever!”

The weight of her leaning into his side, the smiling note in her voice as she agreed, made his heart sing like it would never stop.

-

They searched for days, in no particular hurry, until they found a spot to the east that was perfect to settle down in. The stream cutting through the bamboo forest provided crisp fresh water and the clearing opened up into slanting cliffs that formed natural hollows. Hilario delighted in clearing away the debris, sweeping and decorating and setting up his very own cave filled with sunlight. In it, he collected new herbs and books, his dedication to helping Azza now morphing into a fascination with the natural world and healing.

In fact, a month later, when their clearing was trod firm and they’d built a hut to sleep in, Hilario began to clear land away to start a garden. At the end of each day, he’d bring flowers to Azza, laughing at the way she’d roll her eyes but arrange the flowers as a centerpiece next to their nests anyway. He loved the way he could coax her to smile, loved having someone he could talk to and laugh with. Hilario realized months after first meeting Azza that he had finally found the family he had so desperately longed for as a hatchling.

Still, he had no way of knowing if she felt the same. He knew her reservations, her personal wounds that she was still tending to. He would love her as fiercely as he could and could only hope she understood that, despite it all, he wanted her to stay.

When she presented the pastel spinel stone rings to him, Hilario could do nothing but stare until tears flooded from his eyes. At her nervous twitching, he’d let his smile dominate his face, bobbing his head in enthusiastic agreement since his throat was too closed over in emotion to properly speak.

“You know this means we’ll be mates, right?” she asked, and only Hilario would have been able to pick out the shakiness in her monotone voice.

Throwing his head back in laughter as he helped her slide the ring on, he let his voice boom over their new home. “Azza,” he said with all the passion he possessed, “there’s nobody I’d rather love.”

Looking into her eyes, a mirror to his own and shining with happiness, Hilario could see a spark. He knew then that she had an idea, a plan for them both and the future they would share together.

And he couldn’t wait to see what it was.