RiverWing

pained breath. The sting of betrayal cut like a knife in his mind and his head reeled from confusion and bloodloss. He swayed slightly as his wild eyes searched the darkness. He had to find someone if he was going to make it. He glanced quickly at his wounds, wincing from the movement and sickened at the sight of his own blood. The smell of gore filled his nose and panic once again swelled in him, forcing him to his shredded feet as he limped further into the dangers of the Tangled Woods. RiverWing's mind raced in wild loops as he tried to find someplace he might be safe. Vague wispers he had heard came back to him and he remembered Strikeout, a group of dragons who had left Lonely Creek to chance the forest and break free from the darkness. He had no way of knowing if this smaller clan had been successful and were long gone or if they had taken too costly a gamble, but in the small possibility they were still around, he might find refuge away from his brother.

The days beat on and RiverWing lost track of how long he had been limping onward. Surviving solely off river water and what few small animals he could catch in his weakened state, the pearlcatcher knew he didn't have long. His torn claws dragged through fallen leaves and each step was nearing unbearable. He willed his battered body to keep moving. To put one foot in front of the other. To fill his lungs with another shaky breath. But suddenly his muscles rebelled and he sank into the foliage. The sun filtering through the leaves blinded him and he lay on the ground, on the verge of tears he was too tired to let fall. He saw shapes moving around him in his delirious state and dozens of cyan eyes stared down from above him as he blacked out.

When he woke, RiverWing blinked dazedly. He tried to move only to find he had been partially wrapped in bandages. With what replenished strength he had, he lifted his head to take in his surroundings. He was suprised to find he appeared to be laying on a netlike material stretched across the boughs of a large tree. A small platform a few feet from where his wings lay limply at his sides connected his net to a few others that swayed empty in the treetop breeze. He watched as a blue-green tundra scaled a set of steps that encircled the tree the platform was supported on. The other dragon reached the top of her climb and dumped an armload of items onto the platform. Bottles rolled and clinked together and she stopped one from falling over the edge with her tail as she rightened the others and organized them on a short shelf. She looked up and smiled at RiverWing.
"Oh hey you're up now!"
"Where am I?" RiverWing glanced through the net at the forest floor below.
"You found the clan StrikeOut. I'm Calliope, the clan's healer."
RiverWing let his head rest on his now-bandaged claws as relief swept over him. He made it. Friendly wings would now shelter him and he could focus on healing. He barely noticed when a second dragon made the climb to the platform, hailed by Calliope. All he could do was stretch his aching limbs as far as they would go and fall back to sleep in the sunshine.

Once RiverWing's injuries had healed to a point Calliope simply called "Good enough" he began to help out with tasks. His training in dragonfighting didn't do much for him when it came to hunting, which he had never tried before, but he picked up the new skills quickly. He continued to mature, filling out his once wiry frame quite nicely. As the months snuck past, he grew accustomed to his new home. He would always miss his parents and more friendly brother, but he knew he could never go back and the sting from that realization caused him to put the subject to rest in his own mind. New friends awaited him here and he seized that opportunity. Of all the other dragons in StrikeOut, one held RiverWing's attention most: Ryot.