The Windrider landed into the sea with a gentle splash. Alika dug her claws into the deck, steadying herself as it rocked. Gust’s song went silent, while the rest of the crew clamored and cheered.

“That was awesome!” Tarka shouted, fluttering his wings.

The Strait of the Scribes was far behind them now, completely out of view. The winds had taken them far — further north than the Windrider could normally sail in a day.

“I’m honestly jealous,” Snow laughed.

Right now, the teal Kurothian was the star of the ship, standing at one of the bows. The colors of his scales seemed more vivid than before, the furred end of his tail whipping in the sea breeze. Yarik had begun to lower the sails for the night.

“You saved us!” Tarka pounced on Gust, knocking the thin dragon into a coiled rope. The end of Tarka’s tail wagged as he licked Gust’s neck, wing-wrapping him.

“Tarka, get off Gust and let him rest,” Alika sighed. She grabbed onto Tarka’s tail with her jaws and began pulling the cub away.

“It’s fine.” Gust chuckled nervously, trying to get back to his paws. “I’m fine. I just — I was worried I’d lost my voice, and that I’d never get it back.”

Gust gave the aft of a boat a quick glance, scanning the sky before turning back to Tarka, who Alika had just about managed to pull off of him.

“Alika, Alika!” Tarka said, his focus suddenly placed on his sister. “You missed it! The best part, where Gust healed Yarik and fixed the Windrider after the Scribe wrecked it.”

“The Windrider was what?” Alika exclaimed, her ears perked.

“And I thought we were all going to die but Gust was amazing and saved us!” Tarka continued. His gaze laser-focused on Gust again, who took a small step away. “How did you learn how to do magic like that? How can I learn it? Snow won’t teach me any!”

“That’s cause it’s fox magic,” Snow muttered.

“Um, well,” Gust started, tensing up as if preparing for another Tarka pounce. “It’s uh, it takes a lot of practice. I’m well, I’m not supposed to tell you. The training is a secret of the Commonwealth Choir. Or, well, it was.”

Gust’s ears dropped with his whiskers. He cast another glance toward the aft of the boat, his talons tense. His long body shifted back and forth.

“But I did it with you before! I can sing too!” Tarka protested. He puffed out his chest, opening his jaws wide. “Ohhh, there once was a penguin with lice!”

“You should stick to the strings,” Snow sweetly suggested.

“AND THAT PENGUIN WAS ALLERGIC TO ICE!” Tarka roared, his voice like talons raking on icicles. “HE LIVED IN A DESERT WITH FISH!”

“Tarka, no!” Alika groaned, placing her paws over her ears.

“BUT SNOW WAS HIS FAVORITE DIS—”

Snow pounced at Tarka’s snout, wrapping her tails around his snout to muzzle him. Tarka let out a muffled squeal, pawing at her tails and trying to pull her off. He fell to the deck, rolling around, grasping at what was left of his singing career.

Yarik laughed, whacking his hand against the forward mast. “Ah, those two!”

Alika let out a puff of smoke and turned to their captain.

“Yarik, what happened?” Alika asked.

“Nothing big,” Yarik explained. “Just a minor mishap with a Scribe whose magic went awry.”

“Uh-huh.” Alika narrowed her gaze. Yarik’s wrinkled face and his everpresent smile gave away nothing. “You know, Tarka said that they wrecked the Windrider.”

“Mm, but she doesn’t look wrecked now, does she?” Yarik traced a finger along the mast. There was no hint of a crack to be found. “No harm has been done. What about you? Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so,” Alika replied. “I found Night, and now I can do, well, this.”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Alika got up on her hindlegs and extended her talons, calling the vision of her mother back to mind. Lines of green light came forth from the tip of her claws, extending north.

“No fair!” Tarka said. “Now everyone has magic but me!”

“Yarik doesn’t have magic, he just buys it,” Alika replied. She looked over at Tarka, who was still struggling to fight with Snow. He’d managed to grab two of her tails with his forepaws, and was currently struggling to dodge the third, still attempting to silence him. Streaks of dried blood ran across his face. “Tarka, what happened to your snout?”

“Snow scratched me!” Tarka complained.

“I did not!” Snow huffed. “That’s not even his blood. See?”

Alika squinted, and Snow’s illusion magic faded away. Apparently, she was still blood-covered from their encounter with the Scribes. One of the downsides of allowing Snow’s illusion magic to work around them was that it made it too easy for Snow to play pranks.

“Snow, go wash off,” Alika sighed.

“I am not getting in the cold seawa—” Snow let out a screech as Tarka’s jaws clamped down on her third tail, swinging her overboard. She fell into the water with a splash, paddling frantically.

“Revenge is best served cold,” Alika laughed. She stepped over to the boat’s edge, using a paw to splash Snow.

Snow lifted her soggy head up, glowering. “You’re not still angry at me or anything, right?”

Alika glanced out of the corner of her eye. Tarka had turned his attention to Yarik, while Gust was busy staring out from the aft of the ship.

“Angry?” Alika asked. “For what? Knocking me off a cliff and almost causing both of us to plummet to our deaths? Why would I be angry about that?”

“Ouch.” Snow twitched an ear as she paddled back to the edge of the boat. She dug her claws into the side, trying to lift herself back to the deck. “Hey, I am sorry, for what it’s worth. That’s not how I wanted that to go.”

Alika once again recalled the image of Snow’s corpse, her neck wrung, the life choked out of her. She shut her eyes and let out a long puff of warm air onto the fox.

“I’m angry, but you made the right decision,” Alika replied. She wrapped her talons around the fox’s forelegs, so thin that Alika felt that she would snap them in two. Carefully, Alika lifted Snow back aboard. “Just don’t ever do that again. I can forgive you for knocking me off a ledge twice, but three times is a bit too far.”

“I’ll try my best.” Snow shook herself off, spraying drops of cold water onto Alika’s snout. “What’s with you? Normally you’re a bit grouchier, not that I’m complaining.”

“I’m not grou—” Alika cut herself off. “Okay, maybe I am, just a little bit. Just… meeting Night made me rethink some things.”

Alika knew of course, that she’d never live to see the moment in her vision — if Snow had nine tales when she’d died, it meant that it would be more than half a millennium until then. Still, it hurt. On their voyage, Snow, Yarik, and even Gust had become as much a part of her life as Tarka was. How could seeing her friend’s death not hurt?

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened there?” Snow asked.

“One day,” Alika huffed. “I just need some time first.”

Would Snow want to know? Was what Night had shown the truth, what would actually happen, or just one possible future? Could it be prevented?

Snow gave her a funny look, tilting her head and dropping an ear.

“Hey, Snow?” Alika said. “I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate you.”

“You do?” Snow asked. “Actually for realsies?”

“Of course!” Alika huffed. “You’re my best friend, and I’m grateful that you’re with us on the ship. I’m sorry if it’s not always clear, but I do care about you. And I’m thankful that you came to rescue me in the Scribes, no matter how you did it.”

Snow stared at Alika, absolutely befuddled.

“Are you dying?” Snow cocked her head to the other side. “Like, more quickly than most mortals die.”

“What?” Alika stammered. Her ears fell back.

“In my personal experience of two hundred and fifty years, when someone tells you how much they care about you and how grateful they are for your presence, they’re normally about to die.” Snow continued. “Or they’ve been possessed by the lingering spirit of a long-dead wizard and are trying to trick you so they can take your tails for a ritual to bring them back to life, but it’s like, ninety percent been the other thing. You’re not dying, right?”

“No!” Alika replied. “Absolutely not.”

“Good,” Snow said. “I hate it when you mortals die. Don’t do that, ‘kay?”

“I’ll try my best,” Alika muttered. She glanced at Tarka, who was still busy harassing Yarik. “By the way, can you please not tell Tarka that I have a fear of heights? He’d never let me forget it.”

Snow yapped in laughter, flicking her tails. “My snout is sealed. Just don’t tell him about how I got thrashed by a book. Can’t ruin his image of me.”

As Snow trotted off, Alika caught herself looking at Tarka again. If the vision she’d had was right, their mother had found the map to the Emerald Isle, or at least a map. Alika wasn’t quite sure what Night had done to her beyond staining her scruff, but she suspected that she could lead them there. Part of her felt like she owed it to Tarka to tell him about the map and their mother, but if she told him, he would never let up until they sought it out.

According to Serka’s legends, the Emerald Isle was far north, further than any dragon pack lived, in the Ringless Lands on top of the world. The land where Nigel’s Clan was from, a land devoid of anything but ice, cold, and death. Emerald Isle or not, how could she take Tarka there? And she remembered Night’s vision as well. Even if she did find it, would she be leading them all to their deaths?

It was all hypothetical, anyways. She had no ability to control whatever the green lights were, it just showed ‘her path’, whatever that meant, and she was pretty sure that meant the path to their pack. There was no point in getting Tarka’s hopes up.