(by shanncrafter)


All of the newcomers and hatchlings were told the same thing.
Stay away from Sabre.
But why? They would ask.
The elegant skydancer didn't seem to be much of a threat.
Clad in purple jewelry, delicate birdskulls, and (strangely) a dark-colored helmet, Sabre looked like she was barely able to hold her own in a fight.
They changed their mind when she promptly tore apart one of the hatchlings.
Oh, how she loved to scare them.
Put them in their place.
What was wrong with having a little fun, sometimes?
The other dragons thought her mad, especially when she flew into one of her berserker rages.
She didn't understand them.
They were a bunch of cowards, all of them.
If it weren't for the fact that the clan leaders had taken pity on her and let her stay when she was found maimed and half dead, she would be ruling the clan already.
Even maniacs had a sense of gratitude.
Sabre never liked to speak of her past.
Who wanted to talk about it when it was full of sorrow, anyways?
What did it matter to them how she became this way?
Why she wore her helmet?
It was to hide her scars, of course.
The scars she gained when the wild dragons roaming the Tidelord's domain had maimed her.
But it taught her to survive.
And to survive, she would have to be ruthless.
Cruel enough to kill another dragon without batting an eye.
It was the survival of the fittest, after all.
Wasn't it?