Silver Mornings

Wings formed a leathery tent above her head. The combined heat of three massive bodies had melted the snow and the seat of her britches was wet. Rowyn sighed and sullenly pushed her way out from her cove of dragon breath. The world was washed anew in white. The evergreens wore a fresh dress that drifted in fluffy mounds to the ground, rich as velvet and just as soft. The morning light could not pierce the retreating storm clouds, instead diffusing into a gentle silver; so gentle that no shadows could find purchase, slipping and scattering into the gray under the trees.

Rowyn took a stinging breath as the three charcoal dragons began to stir. Short yips that belayed the size of the beasts behind her grew to growls as they scuffled, thrashing powder in all directions. A swipe caught Rowyn directly in the back of the neck, dropping snow down her spine. She whirled, but Ryku and Kharag were rolling away, locked in their morning deathmatch. Losara nuzzled Rowyn and purred.

“Don’t give me that,” Rowyn grumbled, shoving the massive head away and failing. Losara nosed her hand and kept staring. “You’re the reason we’re down here without a proper camp.”

She sighed. “Are you feeling up to the flight? We need to make the mountain by sundown.”

The dragon shook loose the snow gathered under her spines and spread her wings experimentally.

It was time to get moving.