Harken

He looked up at the imposing mountain range. Its frosty peaks disappeared into the clouds, and snowy slopes lead down to the surrounding forests. He had just passed through the dreary maze of evergreens himself, not seeing a single soul. He had seen the nests, but no one came or went from them.

He hadn't been in the area long, so he hadn't a clue if this was particularly bad weather here. Everything felt much too cold for any decent creature to survive, except maybe those fluffy tundras. Not for the first time, he longed for the legendary magma vents of the Ashfall Waste, his ancestral home. Even the more recent, hatchlinghood homes of his parents with their powerful sunlight would be welcome.

With a determined huff that clouded the air before him, he adjusted his coat. The tugging within him gave him no choice; he had to find out what the Ice Warden thought he was doing. Why would he be chosen of all the dragons?

He used his tail to gently push his little mith closer to the neck hole of his coat to warm the wind that managed to get in. The small creature really was a help in this harsh place. He stretched his wings briefly, vainly hoping that the stinging air wouldn't be so bad. With a shiver he tucked them back against himself; it was certainly too cold to fly.


For the next several hours, the only sound was his feet crunching in the snow and the wind howling past his head. He chirped and hummed to himself softly to pass the time and keep his mind busy, anything to fill the emptiness. Before him, behind him, to either side of him there was nothing but white, grey, and black; the world had lost all colour from years of freezing. The sky was grey with thick, snow-laden clouds, the ground was blanketed in frozen powder. The occasional rock or tree seemed black from the sharp contrast between itself and the pale world around it.

The incline slowly increased, and soon he was puffing from the exertion. Each inhale stung his nose and each exhale released a misty cloud. He began to look for somewhere to rest for the night. The barren slope offered little that appealed to him. Eventually, he settled between two boulders to block the wind. He put on his hood to shield his head, and when he curled up, there was hardly a bit of him exposed.


The days became monotonous. He tried to climb while it was light, and sleep while it was dark. Sometimes he pushed on through the night, but more and more often he was having to take breaks. Each breath felt like it couldn't bring enough air for him.

When he looked down at the tundra and boreal forests below, they seemed so small and distant. The view was even better than when he filed! That thought made him a little dizzy, realizing just how high up he was. He closed his pale blue eyes to try and steady himself. Once he felt better, he pressed on. It was truly incredible how far he had come!

All the time walking alone gave him time to think. The legends and rumours clans he had passed through echoed through his mind. They told of the dangers of these mountains, that no dragon had ever returned from the peaks. At the time he was skeptical, but with each passing day, as he climbed higher and higher, he began to believe it more and more. Still, that wasn't going to stop him from reaching his goal. Dangerous or not, he was up for the task.


After who knows how long or high, a fog set in overnight. The swirling clouds surrounded him, restricting his view at all times. When the light was low, sometimes he would see shapes moving from the corner of his eye. The shadowy phantoms never approached. He dismissed them as nothing more than imagination, though they left him unsettled. He amused himself by thinking they were sprites working for the Ice Warden sent to watch over him. If he was chosen, why wouldn't the great leader of this southern waste keep an eye on him?

His fanciful thoughts faded as a distant rumbling reached him. He looked around, tilting his head to try and find the direction. It was approaching like an oncoming storm, the thundering noise constant. As it became more like a roar, he heard tree snapping as well. A white mass thicker than that fog around him rushed downward at an alarming pace. There was no way he could outrun it!

He leapt into the air, spreading his wings. The cold be damned, he had to get out of here! The wave of snow, ice, and debris hit his hind legs. As his tail got caught, he felt himself being sucked downward. He flapped frantically, each stroke a herculean labour in the thin air and bitter cold. He narrowly avoided the roots of an unfortunate tree as it tumbled past.

He tilted his body down the slope and pushed to escape the avalanche.

When he finally broke free, his legs were numb and stiff. He panted and flapped haphazardly along the mountainside, trying to find somewhere safe to land. His mind was abuzz with exhilaration at the close call.

He recoiled in shock as the ground disappeared below him. There was only fog below. He looked back at the unending flow of snow. It seemed to he contained by the slope leading to the edge, and so he decided to take his chances below.

Half flying, half falling, he dropped downward, staying close to the cliffside so he didn't lose the mountain. His vision began to darken at the edges and blur. His wings felt incredibly heavy and his lungs burned from the ice filled air. He hardly felt the spot of warmth against his chest where he familiar lay nestled safely. He couldn't fight anymore, and fell from the sky.


When he awoke, his eyes reflected the frosty blue of the sky above. Everything hurt, presumably from the fall. He could feel his ember mith crawling around under his clothes, seeking the coldest spots to try and heat. He felt a warm flush of gratitude as he tried to move, relieved that nothing felt broken.

He pushed himself up with a laugh, realizing how small the ledge he's on was. He pressed himself against the rocky cliff face before looking out to figure out where he might be. The cloud bank lay not too far above him, and the lands laid out below looked much like the tundra he had just left. Back to where he had been days ago.

Unphased, he stared at the ground far below as he contemplated his next move. He hummed soft meaningless noises as he thought. Maybe he should simply return home; maybe he was never meant to get answers. That was fine, because some things just weren't meant to be. The longer he stared, the more detail he could decipher below. The snow was bluer than that beneath his feet, and oddly shaped. Smooth, icy spires began to distinguish themselves. They reflected the sun and sky brilliantly. Dark shapes marred their perfect forms, though they were too far away to identify.

It all looked just as he had heard it would! His heart soared with glee. This was the Fortress of Ends, the rumored home of the only creature who could answer the burning question within him. His heart raced at the mere idea of finally getting a chance to know why he of all dragons had been chosen. Without hesitation he leapt from the narrow ledge, spreading his wings. Snow flew up behind him from the powerful kick off. He hardly felt the cold through his elation at having finally found it.