Winds, They Change

• Olivia Bergman, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2019

It had been a cold, blustery afternoon on the west side of Scalefrost Peak. The strong winds, which blew around the caverns, circled over the rough, vast ocean below the mountain, then concluded on gusting closer towards where the large colony of dragons were sleeping; each inside their own separate cave. It had been almost noon until the wind died down and retreated from the sleeping colony. However, there was one dragon which had chosen to wait out the gale in the open, not minding the bleakness and the cold. Her eyes closed, it was only until the chill created a blue flush which crept across her scales when her eyelids lifted, revealing two beautiful sapphire eyes. Shifting her violet wings, her horns pointed upwards as she let out a dismal whine up towards the overcast sky. It was the worst time for her brother’s birthday to arrive; he wasn't there to see it, having been burned at the yearly Sacrifice. Today was now his mourning day.
"Give it a rest." The dragon looked up in surprise to see another member of the colony standing infront of her; a male. The Chief. He spoke again. “Vi, give it a rest. I’m sorry, but your brother’s not coming back. He’s never coming back. The yearly Sacrifice was created for a reason and that reason is clear; he was the last one at the hatching. The last one hatched is bad luck. Ever since the massacre had ended, the final dragon hatched has to be burned when they are of age, as that was when the dragon who started the murders was born, bla, bla bla. You should know this by now.” Vi stared at him, struggling to believe the unkindness spoken in his words. Then she answered: “Why every dragon?” The Chief sighed with frustration, swishing his tail arrogantly. “It’s safer that way. But what I also know is this; you need to get over it. Northflight isn’t coming back. Everyone else is grateful for the Sacfrifice and you are not. So, deal with it, Vi.” Turning around, he walked away, leaving Vi alone and upset. Standing up slowly, she drew in her wings closer to her body and stared out at the sea stretching on forever and ever. Unlike the life Northflight had, she thought. A single tear trickled down from her eye and down onto her snout. And now the wind’s picking up again. Great.
The more Vi thought of her brother’s death that day, the more her anger increased. The announcement of the Sacrifice, the day of the Sacrifice, the disapproving glares about her mourning, the harsh words. Reality. In her mind’s eye, the wind turned to a gale, the gale to a storm, the storm to a tempest, all fuelled by anger, grief and anguish. Then suddenly, in a flash of lightning, a figure was illuminated. Vi’s head snapped up. Peering into the storm, she called out into the darkness. “Who’s there? I know something’s out there! Show yourself!” Another flash. The figure was closer walking weakly towards her. His face was full of burn marks, as were his paws and legs; the embodiment of desperation. His talons were cut off, with dried blood settled around then and his eyes were filled with fear. Although, despite all of this, Vi recognized everything about him; it wasn’t a fantasy. His indigo eyes, his ice-blue scales, his long, strong tail and even the birthmark on his left ear. Her anger turned to fear and her fear to a hopeful longing which she had never felt so strongly in her entire life. The storm of anger melted away to reveal the one dragon she had loved and cared for all her life. “Northflight?” she croaked, eyes filled with tears. “Hello, Vi,” he whispered, “I’m back.”