Blue had never been truly lonely.

     Sure, once or twice she had felt alone when she was wandering the empty halls of Gannet Pre-Wings Academy For Dragonets, or sitting on the ocean floor waiting for Vaquita, her mother. She would crouch in the sand, shivering, watching the schools of fish swirl by. But that was not real loneliness. It was not the loneliness that fills you with a deep ache, the loneliness that makes you feel as if you'll never see another dragon again, or hear another voice but your own.

     The kind that makes you long for anyone, anyone, just to see another face.

     Blue lay in the darkness for hour, watching the last sparks land on the hearth in the the great hall and die. The grey light in the other room slowly faded, and the wind howled sadly outside like a lone wolf, it's sound muffled by the walls.

     It was night.

     But which night?

     She resolved to ask the stranger a few questions when he returned. Where was she? How long had she been there? How long would she be there? Who was he?

     As time passed, her restlessness increased. She shivered, more from nervousness than the cold, and waited anxiously. A candle flickered on one of the shelves, but its pale light was not comforting. She did not know how long it had been since she had recovered from the drugs. Her foreleg was still numb. There was no way to tell, unable to see the moon.

     She remembered the moon... the bright, tropical moon, hanging low over the sea, and her heart ached. How long would it be until she could see it again?

     The embers cooled into black char. A heavy darkness settled over the place, and, except for the dull wailing of the wind and her own breathing, there was no sound. She took slow, shallow breaths, hating the echo of the loud rasp.Blue had never been afraid of the darkness, but now an uneasy feeling settled into her bones. She was incapacitated, helpless.

     And alone.

     She stared into the black, hardly daring to blink, afraid of something moving when she closed her eyes.It was just her—her and the wind, scratching at the stone walls and the door, seeping through the cracks, hunting, hunting, until it could bite—

     Whoever you are, dragon, please come back!

     Please.

     I can't stand it any more.

     Blue sniffled. Why did she have to be by herself? Why did this all have to happen? 

     "Stupid, stupid little dragonet," she sniffed to herself, but a tear trickled down her cheek nonetheless. She curled up as tightly as she was able without incurring pain. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was lonely. Lonely and afraid. Afraid of the dark. Afraid of the storm. She could still feel the ice crusting her face, the whipping wind and waves tearing at her, ripping at her with needle-sharp claws.

     Afraid of being weak.

     "You said you would never be lonely again. Dragonets get lonely," she snapped hoarsely. "Not you. Little baby Blue Shark." She was angry at herself for crying, but she couldn't help it. It had been a long time since she had broken down like this. Her emotions were pent-up, and, however much she denied it, she needed a good cry.

     Finally the last tear was blinked away, and she willed herself to close her eyes. She would force herself to sleep. Ignore whatever was out there in the dark watching her. She scrunched up her face, trying to think of anything but that.

     A moth fluttered around the candle on the shelf, now melted down to a stub. It's dusty wingbeats were a tiny whisper in the dark.

     Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go—

     There was the snick of a latch being lifted, and then the slow, sonorous creak of a heavy door.

     The dragon was back.

     Blue felt as if she could have cried again, this time from relief, but she didn't. His talons clicked on the floor as he crossed over to the fireplace. She watched him, her fears melting away like ice under the heat of the sun, as he crouched over the hearth, carefully setting wood, and then lit it with a breath. NightWing, she realized faintly. One of his parents was a NightWing, or at least partly. The growing flames danced behind him as he approached, holding a fresh candle.

     He entered the room, set it on the shelf, and repeated the procedure from earlier, changing bandages, wiping away blood and pus, and applying a healing liniment. Blue closed her eyes and relaxed, even when he carefully tended to her foreleg. She inhaled the musty, sharply pleasant smell of the strange herb that always seemed to hover about him when he worked.

     He finally tidied up and prepared to leave, but halted in the doorway, reaching for the handle. Her eyes opened as she realized what he was about to do.

     "No!" she gasped, then paused. "Please...don't."

     He looked her for a moment, then simply nodded, his crest of dark spines clicking with the motion.

     "As you wish," he said. "Call if you would like it to be shut later."

     His voice was low and gentle. There was a slight rolling of his words, a hint of an accent, and he spoke rather as if he were unused to the sound of voices. She didn't respond, startled by hearing him for the first time. He spun about to go, his tail brushing the stone floor, and she raised her head as much as she was able. It was now or never.

     "Wait, please," she said shyly. "I—I have questions."

     His neck curved as he looked over his shoulder. "Of course," was all he said.

     "First," she said, then hesitated. What did she want to know first?

     "What is your name?"

     His eyes glittered in the candlelight, almost black.

     "I am Sosna."

                            •    •    •

     The two dragons sat up late into the night. Blue Shark asked question after question, her loneliness forgotten in the warmth and flickering firelight. She was shy and self-conscious in the presence of the intimidating hybrid, but relaxed a little as they conversed. He had been kind enough to take her in and care for her, she probably didn't have much to worry about. Still, there was something about him that made her feel...small.

     Smaller than usual, at least. She felt intrigued, both confused by and drawn to him.

     Sosna sat in the doorway, his dark-tipped tail flicking to and fro, rather like a cat's. He seemed a rather reticent dragon, but answered her queries politely, and that was enough to satisfy her. She soon found out where she was—in his home, Coll's Keep, few miles inland from the seashore. It was more of a small fortress or castle built against the cliff, with an outer wall, a great hall, and the infirmary—where she now lay—and then the inner keep and chambers.

     This part of the shore was unique; it was the smooth back of a glacier, sliding down through the valley into the ocean. She derailed from her purpose with eager questions about Pyrrhia, but a mention of SkyWings brought her back to her original intent.

     "How long," she asked apprehensively, "do you think it will take for me to heal enough to travel?"

     Sosna paused, his face in shadow from the fire behind him. She braced herself, waiting with bated breath. He spoke in a softer tone, clearly aware that he was the bearer of bad news.

     "The bones of your foreleg are fractured in two places, and the bones will take a long time to knit. It will not be able to bear your weight for nearly six weeks."

     Blue let her head fall back onto the bed, ready to scream in frustration. That was one-and-a-half months! Winter would be fully set in by the time she was ready to go. She lay silently, mulling it over.

     Walking may still be an option, but the problem remains of dealing with the cold.

     Flying was completely out of the question. Blizzards could hit suddenly at any moment, and even if there weren't strong winds to worry about, she had heard of dragon's wings freezing from the temperature alone. Not to mention the poor visibility.

     There was a scrape of claws as Sosna stood and left, leaving the door open, but she hardly noticed, deep in thought.

     The moth flapped restlessly around the flame of the new candle. It closed in, drawn to the the light, its tiny wings tossed by the currents of air. It hesitated, tilting precariously in the light, and the pull of the flame won.

     The candle guttered, the thread of fire wobbling unsteadily as the small body hit it. The insect fell into the hollow below the wick, and the flame straightened. A hot bead of melted wax rolled over the moth, cooling as it settled.

     By morning, the tiny body would be gone.