Starflight paused on the word SkyWing. “It says something about how there aren’t any SkyWings left who were hatched on the brightest night … what? That’s weird. There must be some in the Sky Kingdom. Maybe this author doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He kept reading, hoping to keep Sunny close to him for as long as possible.
“We don’t need a SkyWing anyway,” she said. “We’ve got Glory. Isn’t it exciting that there are dragons talking about us all over Pyrrhia?” she added dreamily. “Right now there are soldiers camped on battlefields talking about how we’re the ones who’ll save them from the endless fighting. There are dragonets who want their mothers and fathers to come home, and they know we’re the ones who’ll make it happen. We’re going to make so many dragons happy, Starflight.” She shifted her wings and shrugged like she was trying not to sound too dramatic. “I mean, I don’t know. It’s just nice to know for sure that we’re here for a reason, and we’re going to do something important.”
Starflight liked the way Sunny thought about the prophecy. The idea of that many dragons relying on him always made Starflight feel overwhelmed and anxious. But for Sunny, the prophecy was a promise, not an order. Listening to her talk about it was comforting.
“Here,” he said. “Possible ways for the dragonets to fulfill the prophecy. Um … all right, the first theory is that all the dragonets are royal daughters, so they’ll all become queens of their tribes and stop the war that way.”
Sunny smothered a giggle. “I can totally see Clay as a MudWing princess.”
He grinned back. “It doesn’t make sense, though, without an IceWing — and it means you’d have to be the next SandWing queen.”
“No, thank you!” Sunny said firmly. “I’m not Tsunami. I would never want to be queen.”
Starflight didn’t like the idea either, although the part that bothered him was the thought of Sunny being challenged by vicious SandWings who wanted to be queen in her place.
“All right, let’s find the next —” he started, when suddenly a commotion of running claws sounded from the tunnel.
They both looked up as Kestrel burst into the room with Dune and Webs right behind her.
“Give me that,” Kestrel snarled, snatching the scroll out of Starflight’s talons. He let out a cry of dismay as it tore between their claws.
The SkyWing peered at the scroll, then whipped around to glare at Webs. “What were you thinking? Handing them any piece of trash you find on the beach?”
“The fish trader gave it to me,” Webs said defensively. “She knows I’m always looking for new scrolls. I didn’t have time to read it, but I didn’t think it sounded that bad.”
“Where Are the Dragonets of Destiny?” Kestrel read off the title. “That doesn’t sound dangerous to you? Filling their heads with questions and ideas?”
“Our heads are already full of questions and ideas,” Sunny piped up.
“We’ll tell you what you need to know about the prophecy,” Kestrel growled at Sunny and Starflight. “You don’t need a pile of gossip and rumors and speculation cluttering up your tiny little minds.”
“Starflight’s mind isn’t at all tiny or little,” Sunny objected. She glanced at Starflight, and when he didn’t say anything, she whispered. “Hey, your line is, ‘Neither is Sunny’s.’”
Starflight knew she was trying to make him feel better, but he was too nervous to speak. Why were the guardians so mad? Had he done something wrong?
“This is not for you,” Kestrel snapped, waving the scroll. She pointed it at Starflight. “You. Battle training, now.” She turned and stomped out of the cave with the other guardians close behind her.
Sunny ran to the entranceway, then turned back to Starflight with a comically outraged look on her face.
“Are you just going to let her do that?” she said. “She took your scroll! That’s so unfair!”
Starflight thought so, too, but he definitely was not going to argue with Kestrel. “It’s all right,” he said, looking down at the gray rocks below his talons. “Hopefully Webs will bring a new scroll next week.”
“Oh, Starflight. I know you’re trying to hide it, but you’re so sad now,” Sunny said. She came and sat in front of him, reaching to touch his tail with her own. “Listen, that scroll wasn’t going to have all the answers anyway. You know that, right? Nobody knows how the prophecy will unfold. We just have to always do what we think is right and fate will take us in the right direction.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But a map on how to get there would be helpful.”
“You don’t need a map,” she said, “when you have excellent traveling companions. Like Clay and Tsunami and Glory. And, of course, me.” She beamed at him.
“That’s true,” he said, feeling again how lucky he was. Of all the caves in all of Pyrrhia — of all the eggs that could have been chosen — somehow his and hers had wound up here, and two dragons who never should have met were together.