Ashura

The Scarred Wasteland was a long, long way away from the Southern Icefields.
Ashura coiled her tail over her front paws and flicked the tip nervously. She was to be an ambassador for her tribe- and yet, she had no idea where the clan that she was supposed to join was. She'd been wandering the area for a good day and a half now, and she had seen neither hide nor hair of a dragon lair. There was nothing but the heat of the sand beneath her feet (so uncomfortable to a dragon of ice), the shimmering mirages that taunted her, and the hissing of the various reptiles that slithered and sunned on the bones in the dunes. Time seemed endless here, and the sun burned blood-red behind the dust clouds that covered the skies. She had no idea how any dragon could live in this hell, and yet, somehow, they managed.

A soft hiss, a whisper that was not the sound of a serpent. Ashura felt the spines on the back of her neck rise, and she hunkered against the dunes, stiff with fear as a white and azure blur materialized next to her, just out of the corner of her right eye. The figure of a fae, wings beating lightly without generating wind, ice chains wrapped around its gaunt figure.