Haven

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. They came over the murky blue sea, exhausted and angry, from the mainland of Frigranden.

“Far enough,” said Krulza, with her orange frill and black leathery wings. Her running landing tore up sod and shrubs. She heaved a sign which rang like a roar. “This will have to do.” Her unfamiliar growling voice sent creatures big and small scurrying for cover. Even the creeping vine began creeping away from the massive dragon.

Krulza had been caught between the warring factions of humans and orcs who sought her powerful, volcanic mountain as the high ground both armies were desperate to hold. There was nothing more terrifying than mass desperation.

“Let them have it!” Krulza roared as her daughter Soura pleaded for her to stay and fight for their home. Krulza knew not to get between armies. That was how her own mother had perished.

Soura flew after her mother, screeching mad but not defiant enough to stay behind alone.

It had taken days and days to reach this place. This haven. The coven of six, the dragons who escaped the war of Mount Ridder, would rule this island’s mountains and valleys without the interference of war.

The pinwings knew the island’s secrets. The mountains held dangers, but the widest valley was their sanctuary. They roosted here for untold generations. They did not know their chances against dragons.

The pinwings slid silently into the water, swam northeast to gather clustered on nearby islands at the edge of the archipelago, and attempt to discern their fate.

“They’ll be gone tomorrow,” Cresat insisted, preening herself.

“What if they’re not? It’s our home.” Zriok moaned.

Cresat nuzzled Zriok. He was such a worrier, her mate. “Then we make a deal with them. They take the high ground and we keep our valley.”

Zriok shivered. “Deal with Dragons. No good. No good at all.”

Cresat cooed, soothing. “Rest, love. Rest tonight.”

All around them, pinwings gathered and soothed each other. Taloned, webbed feet crushed reeds and clung to rocks. Black, grey, and white feathers with bursts of yellow and orange, the birds covered the tiny island completely. They huddled together and slept off and on until dawn.

The dragons spent the morning scouting. Krulza stood on the tallest peak, looking down into her new domain. “Haven,” she called it, her voice a rumbling that scattered loose stones down the mountainside.

Soura flew around the perimeter of the island, landing here and there to catch her breath and examine the flora. She spotted the clusters of birds on the nearby rocks and wheeled in the sky. As she turned toward them though, the birds dove into the water. These were no regular sea birds.

Zriok sounded the warning. He’d let out a screech that echoed immediately all around him. Pinwings instinctively passed the warning on and pushed toward the safety of the water. Zriok hung close to Cresat, making sure she made it into the Deep with him.

“Head for Kewan! Regroup at Kewan.” Cresat set a destination so they could regroup in mass and plan. Cresat waddled as fast as she could to stay close to Zriok. The rough ground was no worry compared to a dragon’s bite.

Pinwings were slow on land, but they moved through water like flying fish. The pinwings could swim as fast as the young and fit dragon could fly. Soura knew she would tire first and wheeled back toward her new home.

If the birds wanted the island, they’d have to come to her anyway. Pinwings were smart, and if this was their roost, they’d pay nearly anything to keep it.

Soura rushed to tell the others. The coven would lose bargaining power if uncle Jyned ate a couple of the pinwings before they could come to an agreement.