“She means about the NightWings,” said the orange dragon blithely. “This one’s not a NightWing. I’m sure she’s fine.”
On the one talon, Sunny certainly didn’t want to be shot with a dart. She wanted to be wide-awake when she saw her friends again. On the other talon, she was afraid she could imagine this exact conversation if, say, a smoldering vengeful SkyWing happened to show up in the rainforest looking for them. “Oh, she’s not a NightWing? Well then, let’s take her straight to the dragonets, no worries.”
“I am Glory’s friend,” she promised them, deciding to worry about Scarlet later. “I need to see her.”
“The queen … let’s see, she might be in the audience treehouse,” said the orange dragon thoughtfully.
“Or the healers’ hut,” said the purple dragon. “She’s there a lot.”
“Or visiting the NightWing camp.”
“Or checking on the progress of the school.”
“Or reviewing —”
“All right,” Sunny interrupted. “I’ll just look for her. Thank you.”
They both flicked their tails and bobbed their heads, and their scales immediately began shifting back to camouflage as Sunny flew on.
The healers’ hut, she decided. So I can see Starflight.
But before she got there, she spotted the mahogany-brown scales of a MudWing stretched out on one of the sleeping platforms.
“Clay!” she yelped happily. She barreled up to him and nearly flung her wings around him before she realized it wasn’t Clay at all. It was some other MudWing dragonet, who jumped back with a startled expression and hid something behind his wings.
“Whoa,” Sunny said, skidding to a stop on the wood. “Who are you?”
“Who are you?” he responded rudely.
Sunny usually liked everybody, at least at first, but something about this dragon immediately rubbed her the wrong way. “Where’s Clay?” she asked.
“How should I know?” he demanded.
Sunny frowned at him, then turned to fly away. If he didn’t want to be helpful, she didn’t need to bother with him.
“Hey!” he called. “Come back!”
Sunny ignored him. She had noticed the angle of the sunlight and realized that it was the RainWing sun time, when most of them would be sleeping high up in the treetops, recharging their scales. She wondered if Glory was up there, too, or if she ever let herself sleep.
Just then she spotted the healers’ hut — and coming out of it, opening his wings to fly, was Clay, definitely Clay this time, every wonderful brown scale of him.
Sunny dove into his wings, nearly knocking him backward, except that he was big enough to catch her. He made an “oof!” noise and then realized who she was.
“Sunny!” he roared. “It’s you! You’re alive! You’re all right!” He seized her and swung her around, her tail flying out behind her, and then quickly put her down. “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously. He touched her wings and checked her talons. “We thought something terrible had happened to you. We’ve been searching and searching. Come, come in.” He dragged her into the hut before she could say anything. “Starflight! Sunny’s back!”
Two black dragons turned their heads in unison toward the door. Sunny recognized Fatespeaker, the NightWing who had been one of the alternate dragonets, raised by the Talons in case they needed a spare set to fulfill the prophecy. She was crouched beside a nest of leaves, where Starflight was lying with his wings spread out.
Sunny flinched at the sight of the burns all along Starflight’s dark scales. Some kind of silvery ointment glistened over the wounds, and she saw a little of it on Fatespeaker’s talons as well, as if she’d been helping to put it on.
“Sunny?” Starflight said in a hoarse voice. “Really?”
Sunny realized with a stab of guilt and horror that Starflight’s eyes were covered with a mask of leaves, carefully plastered in place. “It’s me,” she said, hurrying over to his side. She nudged his shoulder gently with her snout, trying to share her warmth with him. “I’m here.”
Starflight let out his breath. “Are you all right?” he said anxiously.
“Better than you are,” she tried to joke.
“I told him you were fine,” Fatespeaker interjected in a helpful voice. She patted the edge of the leaves where Starflight lay. “I had a vision! I mean, it was fuzzy, but I was pretty sure you were fine.”
Starflight coughed awkwardly, as if he’d been trying to avoid talking about Fatespeaker’s visions for days. Sunny remembered what Stonemover had told her — that no NightWing had had prophetic powers or mind reading for generations. So was Fatespeaker lying? Or did she believe her own wild stories? She didn’t seem cruel enough to deceive Starflight about whether Sunny was all right — but then, Sunny didn’t really know her at all.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to take care of you,” Sunny said, touching one of Starflight’s wings gently.