That decided her. Holding up the torch, she slipped into the gap and started down the rocky slope beyond.
She wandered for what felt like a long time, marking the walls with her claws whenever she came to a fork in the tunnels. She found caves dripping with stalactites, clambered over rocks like giant bubbles, flew over a dark pool with no ripples where her torch reflected eerily across the glassy surface.
It felt familiar, being underground like this. She wondered if other dragons — especially other SandWings — would be more unnerved by these surroundings. But this was so similar to the small, enclosed world she grew up in. She almost expected to turn a corner and find the study cave, with the map spread against one wall and scrolls piled in the corner and her friends arguing over who would play Blaze when they acted out the history of the war.
And then … she stopped in a narrow passageway with a low, craggy ceiling.
Was that breathing?
She held her own breath and listened.
It sounds like breathing.
Air rasped quietly somewhere, in and out, as if something large were sitting concealed in shadows … not too far away … maybe even watching her.
Sunny’s scales crawled and she clutched the torch closer. Do not panic. Listen.
After a long moment, she realized that the breathing was even and rhythmic. That’s not the sound of something lurking; that’s the sound of a dragon sleeping.
She crept up a passageway toward the noise. I think it’s this way.
Sharp edges of rocks caught on her tail and stabbed at her feet as she climbed. Closer … and closer …
The torchlight flickered suddenly, dipping and swaying, and then Sunny felt it as well: a gust of wind, whistling down the tunnel from far away.
She lifted the torch higher and saw that the tunnel widened into a cave only a few paces ahead.
At first, as she edged closer, the cave looked empty … but then the firelight reflected off something black and glossy in the shadows against the back wall.
Scales. Black scales, rising and falling in sleep. It was a NightWing for sure.
Sunny stopped and stared at the slumbering dragon.
Is that my father?
He was bigger than Thorn, but not enormous, nowhere near the size of Morrowseer or Burn. Deep lines were etched into his face, so he looked as if he were in pain even in his sleep. His talons were curled awkwardly into stiff shapes and his tail flopped heavily along the ground behind him, barely moving as he breathed, as though it were made of stone.
Sunny took a quick breath in, and then stepped closer.
It wasn’t just his tail. Other parts of the dragon — his back legs, his shoulders, the edges of his wings — looked heavier and thicker than a normal dragon’s scales.
Like he’s actually turning into stone. Is that possible?
She lifted the torch and peered at the section of tail closest to her. The black scales looked like dark pebbles here, sinking into the skin beneath.
She was so preoccupied, studying this odd phenomenon, that it took her a moment to realize that the dragon’s eyes had opened, and he was staring back at her.
“Oh!” she gasped, jumping back. “I’m sorry! I didn’t — I mean — I didn’t mean to wake you — I was — the storm —”
“I don’t bite,” he said in a deep, serious voice.
“Oh,” Sunny said again. “Well. That’s good. You mean you don’t bite other dragons, right? Like me? Are you being reassuring?”
He blinked slowly at her. “I don’t bite … other dragons.”
“Great,” said Sunny, not feeling very reassured. It was unsettling how he hadn’t moved a muscle of his body as he spoke to her; even his jaws seemed to hinge very slowly open for him to talk. “So … hi. I’m Sunny.”
He didn’t answer.
She waited a moment, then said, “Are you Stonemover?”
That seemed to surprise him a little, if the tiny flicker of movement in his brow meant anything. “Yes.”
It is my father. It’s really him. He’s still alive and right here in front of me.
And he doesn’t look crazy and homicidal. He just looks … sad.
Stonemover blinked again. “How did the Talons find out my name?”
“I’m not from the Talons,” she said. “Do the Talons come here? Oh, right, Kestrel said we could send her a message through you. I guess that would be useful when you’re an underground movement and never know where you’ll have to hide.”
“True,” he said. “After all, I am not going anywhere.”
“Oh,” Sunny said, glancing at his scales. “Because — what happened to you?”
“You are nosier than the Talons,” he observed, but without any anger in his voice. “It is my animus curse.”
“Really?” Sunny said. “This happened to you when you used your magic? I thought you’d lose your, you know, soul or something, not … this.” She waved her claws at the petrified scales weighing him down.
“I turned the magic on itself,” he said. “The curse appears in my scales now instead of taking my soul.” He sighed through his nose, a sad, windy sound with drifts of smoke. “Too late anyway.”