Diyrl opens one emerald eye and stares around the lean-to. Her eye stops on Adahlia—who is preparing another batch of salve for Diyrl’s injured wing. Diyrl manages a pained whisper.

“Thank you for tending to my wing. I had believed I would die out there in the sweltering sand. I’m afraid I was in and out of it for a while…I don’t remember your name. What is your name?”

Adahlia is now facing in Diyrl’s direction. She continues stirring the salve as she moves toward Diyrl. Kneeling beside the injured dragon, in the sand, she pulls back a piece of cloth covering the wound.

“My name is Adahlia,” she utters softly. She inspects the wound carefully. Diyrl opens her other eye and studies Adahlia with peaked interest.

“Adahlia. Pretty name. Does it mean something?” Diyrl inquires.

“Not really,” Adahlia answers with a slight sniffle. She scoops a small amount of salve onto two of her fingers and spreads it over Diyrl’s injured wing. A slight redness along the edges of the wound warns of infection. “My name was originally going to be Adelaide. After a character from my mother’s favorite childhood book. My parents couldn’t really agree. So, Adahlia was the compromise they made.”

Diyrl studies Adahlia even more intensely. “It’s still a very pretty name. What are your mother and father’s names? Are they regal names? Do they speak of valiant quests or hard-won battles?”

Adahlia gives Diyrl a puzzled stare. “Uh, no. We humans are usually named at birth. Humans don’t name their children after heated battles and valiant quests…As much as they used to. My father’s name was Harvey. My mother’s name is Lucille. Very normal names for a human.”

Adahlia grows tired of talking about herself. She is ready to change the subject. The more she talks about her family; the more the tears well up inside. She spreads the salve a little thicker around the edges of Diyrl’s wound and tries to appear upbeat.

“I want to hear a little about your world, Diyrl. Is it lush and beautiful? Is it really a world full of nothing but wyverns? Do you have a family?” Adahlia inquires.

Diyrl nods slowly. Her eyes drift away from Adahlia and settle on Sotet. Sotet is several yards away—building a more sturdy structure from stones he finds buried in the sand. Diyrl watches Sotet work with a stern expression. “I did have a family once, “ Diyrl begins. “Many life lines ago. I lost them—when I convinced the Lix Leadership to leave the Olotir Alliance. All portals to Lixuwon were immediately sealed off. We lost valuable allies, we were cut off from resources, travel was restricted, medical supplies were almost non-existent. I lost my mother and brother to a disease with a very simple cure. We simply lacked the supplies needed to treat them. Many Lix died or suffered debilitating injury. Even more worlds abandoned us. My mate took my hatchlings and dragonets; and moved to another city center. I was sent into exile. Yes, Lixuwon is indeed very beautiful. Or at least, it was when I last laid eyes on it. A world of lush rainforests, but also frigid beautiful icescapes. A world where magick brims in the very stones beneath your claws. If one only has the will to harness it. And there are many kinds of dragons there. We, Lix, are simply more numerous and more advanced in our usage of magick and technology. So, like any powerful entity…We named our world after ourselves. There are city centers all over Lixuwon. Cvril is a city of ice dragons—Frvlix. Their queen, Frvet, is the most beautiful dragon I have ever seen. She looks as if she was hewn from the very ice mountain where she dwells. Her chosen, Hvrir, is not nearly as beautiful. Too many jagged edges to his frill. But he makes handsome offspring. It is really a sad thing that I am not a Frvlix instead of a lix. The Frvlix have almost no sway in matters of state. They don’t bother with politics. My opinion on the Olotir Alliance would have been of no consequence. I would have seen my hatchlings grow into fine dragonets—and my dragonets into handsome lix. I would be whole still.”

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Diyrl’s storytelling actually seems to be doing her some good. Her enormous head nods and she begins to fall asleep. None of the fitful, interrupted sleep she attempted while Adahlia and Sotet removed the spear and cleaned her wound—real sleep. Diyrl’s emerald eyes glance skyward once, and then slowly flutter closed. She places her green and rust-colored head upon a clenched claw and settles deep into slumber.

Adahlia finishes up her work on Diyrl’s wing and once again covers it with clean cloths. The other cloths are soaked through with Diyrl’s greenish blood. Sotet joins Adahlia and looks down at Diyrl with growing sympathy.

“How is she?” Sotet whispers.

“A little better,” Adahlia responds. “Now that she’s gotten the mountain off of her chest.”

Sotet face twists with a puzzled expression. “I don’t understand. What did she say?”

“I was just filled in on nearly her entire life story,” Adahlia states calmly. “And I think some of it might surprise you. You both have more in common than you’d think.”

Sotet looks down at the slumbering Diyrl and nods. He doesn’t say a word.

_

_

Much later

Diyrl wakes up and immediately glances around. The dual moons hovering in the sky cast a teal glow across the desert sand. Sotet lies on the ground next to his nearly completed stone structure. The stones of the structure have been fused together using a tool Horotic sent along in their supplies. The stone building resembles a large igloo, and is only missing the top. A layer of clothing and blankets covers the temporary hole in the ceiling. There is no sign of Adahlia. Diyrl guesses that she must be inside the stone building.

Diyrl emits a soft sigh and glances down at her injured wing. She gives it a very small test flap and winces from the pain. Although, she must admit, it feels much better than it did that morning. A shooting star crosses the sky overhead and Diyrl looks skyward. She sighs yet again. She cannot wait for the moment when she can once again take to the air. These last twenty-one life lines have only been bearable because she has kept moving. Not stopping to think. Only pausing to eat, drink, or sleep. If she stays too long in one place, the pain comes racing back. A hammering ache at the pit of her heart. Lyry, her chosen. Lyry, her mate. Lyry, father to her dozens of hatchlings and dragonets. All grown now. Would they even remember her? What had Lyry told them about her? Did they think she was dead? Maybe it was better that way? That they believe she were dead instead of a traitor.

Diyrl is roused from her musing when Sotet shifts on the ground. He tucks his blanket closer around him and trills contentedly. Diyrl smiles with amusement. Looking up at the sky once more, she makes a soft cooing noise in the direction of the largest moon.

“Soon,” Diyrl coos softly. “Soon.”