Morrowseer dipped his head, flexing his talons. Starflight hoped uneasily that she meant “claw” in a metaphorical way.
The NightWings began to disperse, most of them through holes in the ceiling. Morrowseer jerked his head, and Starflight reluctantly followed him back into the tunnels.
The mention of eating had reminded him of how hungry he was, although he couldn’t really worry about food when he wasn’t even sure if he was a prisoner or a spy or just a failure. And after what had happened to Vengeance, Starflight was pretty nervous about what the NightWings might do with a failure.
Morrowseer’s wings billowed like thunderclouds as he stormed ahead of Starflight. Soon Starflight realized that they weren’t going back to the dormitory — Morrowseer had taken a turn somewhere, and now Starflight could see dim gray light up ahead.
They emerged onto a shelf of rock that jutted from the side of the fortress. Below them was a weird landscape of rocks that looked like giant lumpy gray-black dragon scales with a fiery orange glowing underneath, filling in the cracks. A lava field, Starflight thought.
He remembered a little about volcanoes from one of the scrolls he’d studied back under the mountain, what felt like a lifetime ago. But there weren’t any active volcanoes on the mainland of Pyrrhia, so he hadn’t memorized it like the other scrolls. It had never occurred to him that the NightWings, who’d written most of the scrolls, might have firsthand knowledge of volcanoes; might, in fact, be living on one.
Starflight couldn’t see any caves or a lava river like the one Glory had described, so he guessed they were on the other side of the volcano. But the air was as smoky and gray as she’d said, and as hard to breathe. He still felt that raw scraped feeling all the way down his throat.
Far overhead in the ashy sky, a pair of black dragons wheeled and circled, around and around, like vultures. Starflight wondered if they could see the mainland from up there. How far was the island from the rest of Pyrrhia? Did the NightWings have a way to get there other than the secret animus-made tunnels to the rainforest?
So many questions. His whole life, he’d been full of questions about the NightWings and their secret home, and now perhaps they could all be answered. He took a moment to think, I’m here. This is my home. This is my tribe. This is what I was looking for.
But it didn’t feel true. This awful place was nothing like the NightWing utopia he’d always imagined. He’d pictured a beautiful hidden place full of art and music and dragons who loved to read, with spires reaching to the clouds, and waterfalls and sunlight and a library around every corner. Not this — the smoke and stench and hostility and gloomy surroundings.
And even a million answers, even all the answers to all the questions he could think of, wouldn’t be able to take the place of Sunny and the other dragonets.
Morrowseer stared across the lava field and inhaled several times, his nostrils flaring and his tongue slithering in and out. He did this for so long that Starflight began to wonder if there was something wrong with his nose.
“Um,” Starflight squeaked at last.
Morrowseer glared at him in the middle of a giant sniff.
“J-just, um,” Starflight said. “I just want you to know I don’t know anything else. Really. About the RainWings attacking.” Almost immediately, his traitorous brain started clamoring, Except that Glory might be queen by now! And that RainWings are normally pacifists! And —
He fixed his eyes on the mountain behind them and tried to think of nothing but lava.
Morrowseer snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said. “You’re just about the most useless spy I’ve ever met.” He spread his wings and inhaled once more. “Let’s go.”
His tail nearly knocked Starflight off the ledge as he leaped into the sky.
“Down there?” Starflight called, glancing at the molten cracks in the rocks below them. “Is it safe?” He flapped to catch up to Morrowseer.
“Of course it isn’t,” Morrowseer snapped. “Several dragons have made the mistake of trying to land down there, only to break the crust and fall right through.” He nodded at a white shape sticking out of the rocks. Starflight peered at it until he realized what it was, and then wished he hadn’t. His stomach twisted as he spotted a few others: dragon skulls, their mouths open in an eternal scream.
“I wouldn’t suggest a closer look,” Morrowseer said drily. “We’re going over there.” He nodded to the far side of the lava rocks, where Starflight now saw a tangle of gray, ash-covered trees.
“So.” Starflight cleared his throat. “When Greatness said ‘if it’s your turn to eat this week’ — what did that mean?”