Hani studied the ranks of weapons that filled one wall of their den. Some were constructed, from metal or stone, wood or bone; some were grown, teeth, talons, horns and spines. Every one had pierced their skin, though swift and skilled healing had ensured that only these trophies remained to show for it. They wondered if they would add more to the collection tonight.
Too many of the dragons they would fight alongside were young, inexperienced, unprepared for this. They considered themselves warriors perhaps, but Hani had seen enough battle by now to know better. It didn't matter; Henare, Hani, and Saerilin - the clan's true warriors - could hold the defenses alone if need be. Had held them, that first year when the darkest night had struck them unprepared.
They were not unprepared this year. Hani ran their eyes over the wall one final time. The display was a testament to their skill, to all the battles they had survived, but also a reminder of their fragility, of the wounds they had taken. They sighed, then stood to join the others as the sun sank towards the horizon. There was work to do.
Uhtceare didn't want to be here, didn't want to be doing this. Didn't want to be fighting again, when he'd sworn he'd seen the end of it. But Hiraeth had insisted they had a duty to defend this clan they were living with, and he would let the Shade take him before he let her fight alone. She was many things, but never the fighter she wished she was.
He inspected both their armor again, though he had checked it all three times already, and tried to ignore the Seeker's emblem emblazoned on Hiraeth's. Uhtceare certainly wasn't here for the honor of the Order of Seekers, Shade take them all. And he wasn't fighting for clan Avaeris either, even if he'd grown rather fond of the easygoing and strangely accepting dragons. No, his priority was Hiraeth. The others could take care of themselves.
The last rays of the sun shone through the green wings of the mirror soaring overhead, and he braced himself for a long, dark night. At least, he thought, he wasn't fighting alone anymore. And maybe fighting wasn't quite as terrible, with allies at his back.
Mask slunk through the tall grass, leaving the clan - and its minders - behind. Tonight they were distracted, and Mask would have free reign. Free reign and plenty of prey.
It didn't mind that it had far more in common with the things it would be fighting than with the dragons it now lived with; it had never been sentimental, and it wouldn't let this new life make it so soft. The long night's horrors were simply acceptable targets, nothing more. Something it could hunt without anyone complaining, without breaking Henare's rules and invoking her wrath. Any assistance to the clan was coincidence. It wasn't like it cared about them, even if they were foolish enough to care about it.
Ahead of it, shadows twisted and writhed, and something in it twisted as well at the memory of what it was like to change, to not be bound to one immutable, fragile body. It snarled and leapt forward.
