The dragons woke before the sun did, and Alika and Tarka were woken up with them. Kurka had gotten out of the entrance, and there was a quiet flow of fur and limbs as the dragons crept out from the den and into the early dawn. Alika was the last to leave the den, the snow coated with the blues and whites of shed fur.

“Hey!” Tarka poked the cub he’d tried talking to the previous night. “Wanna play tailhunter?”

“Um,” the cub said, pulling in his wings. “I’m busy. I need to go on morning patrol.”

“Oh.” Tarka’s ears drooped, but he quickly perked back up again. “So what are you patrolling for? Prey? Dragons? Monsters?” His voice became hushed. “Nigel?”

“Just, um, anyone we don’t know,” the cub replied, shuffling away from Tarka as fast as he could. “We don’t want them to come too close.”

Alika peered over the snowdrift. The ice hadn’t cracked during the night, and Gust was still laying on it, shivering. For a moment, Alika couldn’t see Snow and was afraid she’d gotten carried off by something, before seeing that Gust was curled around a white furry lump. Her illusion magic didn’t work when she was asleep.

Before anyone else could notice, Alika stepped onto the slippery ice, firm beneath her paws. Gust opened a weary eye as she approached. He shook Snow awake, who immediately jumped up, twisting her tails and casting the dragon illusion on herself once more.

“You okay?” Alika asked, touching one of Gust’s paws. His scales were cold, and she could feel it shiver beneath her.

“I-I’m fine,” Gust chattered, shaking.

“Good thing he has magic to heal himself of frostbite,” Snow muttered.

“Frostbite?” Alika’s ears perked up, alarmed.

“It’s not that bad,” Gust whimpered.

Before Alika could say another word, the ice shook with the sound of a yelling dragon.

“Morning duties!” Kurka roared out. “Stragglers, get over here now if you don’t want to spend another night on the ice!”

Urka and Omerka rushed back over the snowdrift, Alika following close behind them. Snow rolled her eyes, crawling over at a leisurely pace with Gust.

The pack had all lined up in the snow, each of their heads upright, facing Kurka as she paced back and forth. Alika squeezed herself next to Tarka, turning toward her grandmother as the others joined her.

Kurka roared, slamming her paws down in the snow and baring her fangs at Gust. “Not you! Scram!”

Gust squealed, rushing back behind the snowdrift. Alika’s talons tensed up. Who was Kurka to treat him like that?

The leader of the pack, that was whom. And if Alika wanted Tarka to have a family, she just had to stay quiet and hope that Kurka would eventually warm up to Gust.

“Hunting party today is Alika, Urka, and…” Kurka trailed off, pointing a claw at Snow.

“Snowka,” Snow sweetly reminded her.

“Right, that,” Kurka muttered. “The three of you will be hunting caribou at Coldfire Peaks. Urka can show Serka’s cubs how we do things around here.”

“Wait, what about Tshishi?” Alika asked.

“Quiet!” Kurka snarled, stomping her paw down. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

“Why do I need permission to speak?” Alika snapped.

Alika regretted her loose tongue a moment later. Kurka roared, raising her huge claws far above Alika, snow falling down from her paws.

“Esteemed sister, please!” Omerka stepped between Kurka and Alika, lowering her body and guarding Alika with her wings. “Forgive Alika. She doesn’t know our ways.” Before Kurka could say anything in return, Omerka turned, her tail fidgeting. “You have a lot to learn, great-niece. Only the pack leader may speak during lineup for morning duties without being called upon.”

“Disobedient brat,” Kurka snorted. “Just like her mother.”

Alika glared, mustering all her effort to avoid baring her fangs at the pack leader.

“Wait, what about me?” Tarka spoke up. “I want to go with Alika and Snow…ka!”

Kurka’s head swiveled toward him. “Didn’t you listen to anything? Do you want to spend a night alone on the ice. Be quiet.”

Tarka’s ears drooped, and he shrunk back into the line.

Alika opened her mouth to offer Tarka some words of comfort and remind him that they would be back that night, but held her tongue. She wasn’t even allowed to do that, it seemed.

“Off you go!” Kurka ordered. “We’re losing daylight as we speak!”

Alika chose not to point out that the sun hadn’t yet risen, and silently walked off with Snow and Urka. She glanced back at Tarka and Gust until the two of them were out of view, and the three were off toward the Coldfire Peaks.

As the sun peeked over the distant mountains, the three hiked across the flat tundra. Alika kept an eye out for caribou, any brown spots dotting the white snow. She also kept more of an eye out for any dark splotches in the mountain mist. Urka might have been larger than the two of them, but would Tshishi really avoid them just because of that?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Ah!” Urka huffed. “All this walking is really giving my legs a workout! I forgot how hard it was!”

“You could just fly,” Snow suggested. “We’ll catch up.”

“No, no!” Urka shook his wings. “Wouldn’t want to leave you behind. Besides, it’s good for the lungs.”

Alika saw something move in the distance, a speck of gray fur. It quickly burrowed back into the snow — just a lemming, barely enough meat on it to feed a cub, much less a pack.

“So, why do you put up with her?” Snow asked.

“Hm?” Urka cocked his head. “Put up with whom?”

“Kurka, of course,” Snow replied. “She’s awful.”

Alika winced. This couldn’t go well. What was Snow doing?

Urka seemed of a similar mind, physically flinching at Snow’s words.

“You can’t just say that, Snowka,” Urka said, his voice hushed.

“Why?” Snow asked.

“You just can’t,” Urka gulped, turning away from Snow. “She’s our leader.”

“Why?” Snow asked again, stepping in front of Urka, her golden eyes twinkling.

“Snowka,” Alika huffed. They’d just joined the pack yesterday. It wasn’t time to be questioning who was in charge!

“Well, she’s the oldest and the strongest,” Urka answered. “She’s a good leader. I know she can be prickly and strict, but it’s just because she cares about us. She wants to keep us safe, and make us as strong as she is.” He curled his tail, pausing. “Look, she’s not always like this. She’s just being extra-strict right now because you coming back reminds her of Serka. She’s probably grieving, and this is just how she shows it.”

Alika was relieved to hear that. It made sense now. Things would get better.

“She didn’t sound too broken up about Serka, the way I heard it,” Snow snapped. “Sounds like it’s more of an excuse to be mean to all of us.”

“Please stop criticizing her,” Urka mumbled, eyes downturned. “It reduces pack cohesion, and you’re just a cub, and a newcomer at that. You don’t know our ways.”

Snow scoffed, turning her snout to Alika.

“This is ridiculous,” Snow whispered, once she was sure that Urka wasn’t listening in. “‘Just a cub?’ I’m older than Kurka! Maybe I should be pack leader. Think I could beat her in a fight?”

“Stop it.” Alika whispered back, glaring at Snow.

Snow took a surprised step back, swishing her tail. “Stop what? Don’t tell me you like her.”

“Stop trying to ruin this for Tarka and I!” Alika whacked her tail in the snow. “This is our home! Everything you’re doing — criticizing Kurka, going out on the ice with Gust, and lying about being our sister — are you trying to get us kicked out?”

“I’m not trying!” Snow growled back. “It’s not my fault that your pack is awful.”

“It’s not just my pack,” Alika huffed. “It’s mine and Tarka’s family. It’s where we belong!”

“And what about me?” Snow asked. “Where do I belong?”

“Not here, if you keep trying to ruin this for us!”

Snow sunk her claws into the ground, curling her tail around a leg. She turned away from Alika, sulking off as she padded back to Urka.

Alika’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t meant that, but she was still furious. She just wanted Tarka to have a family again! Why was Snow trying to make her feel guilty for it?

“Hey Urka, I have another question,” Snow said. “What happened with Serka to make Kurka hate her so much?”

Alika felt tense. She wanted to know as well, but she didn’t trust Snow’s intentions. What was Snow poking at here?

“We’re um, we’re not really supposed to talk about this,” Urka gulped.

“Come on!” Snow said. “She’s our mother. We’ll have to learn eventually, won’t we?”

“We can wait,” Alika suggested.

“No, no. Snowka’s right. You’ll have to learn eventually.” Urka shook his snout. “It wasn’t long after Nigel had taken Kurka’s own mother, and her mate had passed to the Twins, only a few years. Kurka had become pack leader in addition to being the mother of five young and wild cubs.” He paused. “I mean, we weren’t that young, and we were hardly cubs. Older than you are now, but at that time when dragons become rebellious, questioning, and defiant. Serka was the oldest of us — she was the only survivor of her litter — and the most rebellious of us all. When other packs came nearby, she would sneak out at night, back before Kurka figured out how to make dens she could block the exits to. And one night, she brought a dragon back from her adventures: she’d found a mate.

“Now, this wasn’t particularly uncommon all by itself. Night patrol is a time-honored way of courtship and finding mates, even if the way Serka did it was a bit unconventional. But Kurka didn’t approve Serka’s mate: he was a bit too much like her, and having two of her around seemed to cause four times the chaos! Wild and adventurous dreamers the both of them, but without much respect for Kurka. The last straw was when the two of them accidentally frightened away the caribou on a hunt. We were all afraid we would starve in the winter.

“So, Kurka exiled Serka’s mate from the pack, and gave your mother a choice: either to stay with her pack, or go with him. He convinced her to leave off on a quest to find a map to the Emerald Isle, and well, Kurka’s just been different since that day, more wary of outsiders. You have to understand, she lost her daughter to one.”

“Speaking of the caribou, where are they now?” Snow asked. “We’ve been wandering around the edge of the mountains for hours, and I still haven’t seen any.”

“Oh, they’re a bit further east than here,” Urka replied.

“And in that case, why are we hunting here instead of there?” Snow huffed.

“Well, this is where Kurka told us to hunt,” Urka answered. “I’m sure she had a good reason.”

Snow shut her eyes. “Ah. I see.”

Alika watched the mist above the mountains. Serka had never said anything about getting exiled. She’d always just said that they’d left their pack to find the Emerald Isle — not that they’d had no choice. Everything Serka had said about her pack had been good: about Kurka’s bravery and fierceness in battle, the fun she’d had playing with her brothers and sisters, the adventures she and Alika’s father had gone on, and her great-grandmother’s meandering epics of the Long Night.

Had it all been a lie?

In the distance, a dark spot moved within the mists, bringing Alika’s attention back to the hunt.

“Hey, Urka, is that Tshishi?” Alika asked.

Urka’s body tensed, his claws raised as he got to his hindlegs. “Hm, I don’t think so. She’s larger than that with her wingspan, and can’t fly so fast. It’s something else. We’ll stay well-away, anyways.”

“Good.” Alika calmed. She would be glad not to have another encounter with the monster-eagle.

Still, Alika watched the splotch as it moved across the mists, getting larger. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong here.

And then, Alika heard a quiet word echoing through the mountains, a single word that chilled her to her core.

“Tshav!”