Larkspur

Larkspur was born to a loving family of Ice dragons, her father brilliant and her mother radiant. She passed a happy youth in the company of her flight, but found herself plagued by relentless chills and nightmares. What began as a few recurring dreams soon became constant terror, with hallucinations following into her waking life. The shadows she caught glimpses of, like fish beneath paper-thin ice, seemed borne of the cold. Her fear of the frigid surroundings grew, and she became bedridden, wracked by chills even beneath all the blankets her flight could throw at her.

At a loss but desperate to help, her family took her on a journey. The nightmares followed her, dwindling, through the windswept plateau, a beautiful vista she barely caught glimpses of. Her family eventually reached the Arcane-Wind-Plague border, and hesitated, uncertain. Would they seek the assistance of the Arcanist's children, or would their daughter be picked over and experimented on? Would the horrors of the Plaguelands claim their beloved child, or would they savage whatever caused her illness?

Their decision was made for them when Larkspur, delirious in her fever and shuddering from her visions, stirred and opened her eyes for the first time in days. "Mother," she rasped, extending a shaking claw- but rather than the Nocturne hovering over her, Larkspur's touch raked against the brambles of the Wandering Contagion. Her dulled eyes, desperate, glowed with the sickly light of the wasteland before her, and she was abruptly taken across the border and deposited in the care of a distant friend. Larkspur was nursed back to health in the uniquely Plagueish way (namely, she was dumped in a den and given rancid food and water until she didn't die), and she has since taken her place in the flight that saved her. She wears tokens of her heritage and warm furs, just in case.