Goshawk

A melodious tune flowed through the air, sweet and soft, a lullaby. Birds of all colors chirped back merrily, fluttering their little wings to land near the dragons.

"Tell me, do you know of any treasures around? Maps? The smell of adventure?"

Everyone stopped for a while, whispering among themselves. Then, one bird, bright yellow and small, hoped on to Goshawk's shoulder and said something in his ear. Goshawk nodded.

"Thank you. As a reward, may the wind always be under your wings. May you soar far and high."

A gust of wind from his sister's Gustgather spilled out, supporting the small bird. He chirped, surprised, as it was whisked away through the leaves by the strong wind. The other birds watched, and a smaller wisp of wind caught them, and soon they were soaring, flying, free.

The siblings watch them for a while until they all disappeared among the trees. "You know, you should interact with them more often," Goshawk said, nudging Kestrel's shoulder.

Kestrel grumbled back, "Hm. Easy for you to say." But she turned her head to look up at the sky, where a crowd of bird fluttered over them, like a wave.

"They said there was a cave somewhere there." Goshawk pointed southwest. "But they're not sure what's in there. They said something about a Clan of dragons nearby too."

"In the Southern Icefield?" Kestrel shuddered. She pulled her coat tighter around her.

"Well, we have to do what we need to do." Goshawk grinned. "Exploring!"

Under the cover of her hood, Kestrel smiled. "Fine. Following your lead, brother. But, just asking, what about those...... dragons? What if we meet them? I ain't up for interacting with them. You know what they did to us."

"We'll be fine. And if things go awry, I always have something in the satchel of mine." Goshawk patted his bag confidently.

As he angled his wings to Ice, he pulled his hood over his head and tightened his scarf. He gazed at the distant landscape, wondering about other dragons. It's quite clear that they were bad. Only animals were good, pure, and innocent. If truly they were to confront them, he may have to hurt someone.

Does that make me better? Defending myself? Or will I stoop to the same level as them? Hurting others for myself?

He shook his wings vigorously, preventing his head from warping itself into the past. He looked down and couldn't help thinking that he had to wear a hood because of their actions.

Kestrel placed a talon on her brother's shoulder. Goshawk looked up, and saw the sadness reflected in her eyes.

Goshawk forced a smile on his face and nodded, before taking off, like a bird, soaring, flying, and free.

It has been a while since I've written anything for someone else. I hope there aren't a lot of mistakes ^^;;

Goshawk, a true companion of many melodious (or ferocious!) feathery friends. It is nigh impossible to see him without one or two by his side all the time. Whether they're just taking a nap on his shoulder or singing to each other, they are bound to make poor Goshawk's head, wings and everywhere you can think of their own little resting spot.

As troublesome as it may be in most occasions, he is perfectly content with having them around. Beside, it's always fun to hear some beautiful songs or great stories from many creatures much more smaller than you.

Druid silently emerged from yet another winding corridor of the Chapel, the only sound being the clicking of claws on the tiled grounds of the halls, and a mass of eyes moving around and before Druid as he navigated his way to the next victim to clean.
Drifting through the halls, Druid moved almost as though he were swimming with his grace; a different to the scrambling motions of the beasts of the Cult, one that only a keen eye would see.

Entering yet another room, Druid glanced over the gory mess spread across the room, alongside the corpse of another dragon. At this point, the sight was hardly shocking - the Tundra’s expression hardly changing from its neutral disposition under the coyote cloak draped across their form. Yet, something was different here.
Druid lifted his amber gaze to peer into the ever-present shadows of the room, scanning the walls with an air of caution as he grumbled an offhanded command to his beasts: to which they scrambled to the corpse with a vigor that would always impress Druid.

“Is anyone here?” Druid called into the still air, beyond the crunching of bones in the jaws of the mangy abominations. Druid’s tail swept over the blood-stained ground in a motion of warning, his head-fins rattling slightly at the mere idea of an intruder on the sacred grounds of the Chapel. They prepared themself for the chance of calling a Sentinel in, despite how much they despised the idea of calling anyone ever.
An almost melodious voice called out of the shadows as his silent observer decided to reveal themself, piercing green eyes shattering the darkness surrounding him, as an almost bardic dragon dramatically stepped out of the shadows. “No need to get so up in arms, Cleaner.” Goshawk smiled wryly beneath his hood, dipping his head in greeting. “I was curious, it’s always so rare to see a Cleaner with my own eyes.” The cloaked dragon chirped, taking a step around a feasting coyote to approach Druid.


Druid, on the other hand, was not impressed by the lean figure cutting into his frame. The sight of another dragon seeing him almost felt unnatural at this point, having grown far too familiar with the sole company of the coyotes he moved with. “Well, now you’ve seen one, spirit.” Druid drawled sarcastically, narrowing their eyes from behind the matted coyote pelt covering his features.
The hooded figure’s face broke out into a sharp-toothed smile as he beamed cheekily at the Cleaner. “Oh? Already calling me nicknames, hermit?” The Skydancer was now close enough to not need to project his voice, instead of lowering it to a silky smooth purr.

“You never gave me a name.” Druid retorted calmly, casting a quick glance at the beasts licking their lips in satisfaction - then leaning down to lick at the fresh blood across the ground. Ah well, it couldn't be helped if they were that desperate for blood. Druid’s attention returned to the hooded Skydancer.
“Goshawk.” The Skydancer easily replied, having little hesitation in giving his name so freely. Druid almost envied it. Almost. “And yours?”

Druid hesitated, if only for a split second. In Thorum, a place he rarely thought of now, giving your name to the spirits was practically chaining yourself to their every beck and call. And, well, who could blame Druid for almost mistaking Goshawk for a spirit with his ghastly appearance?
“Druid,” The brown Tundra soon said, after a moment of silent consideration of the undead bard. “But I doubt you’ll see me again, after this,” Druid added quickly, gesturing to the few beasts approaching Druid, curling and darting around him and Goshawk in a furry sea of coyotes. “After all, as you said: ‘it’s always so rare to see Cleaners’.” Druid quoted with small smirk flitting across their face at Goshawk’s previous words. Thankfully, it was hidden beneath the coyote cloak.

Goshawk only sighed lightly, his unnaturally bright eyes rolling at Druid’s words, before glancing at the coyotes nearly nipping at his ankles. “Hm, so you say. Well then,” Goshawk took a half-step away from Druid, and towards the shadowy walls of the candle-lit chamber, the two stood in. “I hope to see you around, Druid,” Goshawk called melodiously, fully turning to the shadows once more to practically vanish before Druid’s eyes.

As Goshawk made his rather dramatic exit, Druid couldn’t help but feel a ripple of dread in the pit of their stomach. The Skydancer’s parting words felt less like a farewell and more like a promise.
With it, Druid felt almost as though he sealed his fate to a spirit - something Druid was far too familiar with. Shaking his head with a sucked breath, they turned on their heel to move swimmingly through the candlelit halls once more, a sea of dogs following behind him.

Onto the next clean-up, Druid thought; in an attempt to placate his racing heart.