Another prison; another escape where Starflight did just about nothing to help. And then the rainforest and the strange unnatural tunnels: one to the Kingdom of Sand and one, apparently, to the secret home of the NightWings.
That Starflight remembered.
He remembered staring up at it — the dark hole in the tree that led to a home he’d never seen.
“I bet he’d wake up if I bit him.”
“I bet Morrowseer would throw you in the volcano if he found tooth marks on his prophecy pet.”
“I bet my mom would have him for lunch if he tried!”
He was definitely hearing voices — unfamiliar voices, very close by.
The memory of the rainforest was blurring. Starflight tried to fix his mind on it — on those last moments, guarding the tunnel so the NightWings wouldn’t come through and attack the RainWings. What had happened?
“Well, he’d better wake up and be interesting soon, or Morrowseer will take him away again before we get to ask him anything.”
“Ooh, I have an idea.”
Claws scrabbled on rock, and then there was quiet.
Starflight’s eyelids felt too heavy to open, as if extra scales were piled on top of them. He let the darkness drift up over him again.
Right — guarding the hole. With Clay. Morning sunbeams flickering through the green leaves, octopus-blue flowers turning their heads up to the light. Sunny was back in the village, with Tsunami, watching Glory try to become queen of the RainWings, of all things.
Sunny had brought them food the night before, her golden scales brushing against his dark wings as she passed him strange little purple fruits.
I love you, he would never say. Don’t hate me because of what the other NightWings have done. Don’t think I’m like my tribe. Don’t listen to Glory’s description of my kingdom, the smoke and the fire and the smell and the death and the trapped, tortured RainWings and the cruel black dragons. Don’t look at me like I’m one of them, like I could ever do what they’ve done, please.
And then she’d glanced up at him and smiled, and in Sunny’s eyes he could see himself as Starflight, just fine the way he was.
Her friend.
Which made everything better and worse all at the same time.
“Careful! I’m not going back for more if you spill it, idiot.”
“Get your great honking wings out of my way then, fathead.”
The voices again. Starflight caught at the memories, trying to remember the last thing that had happened before everything went dark.
He’d been staring at the hole, wondering what the other NightWings were really like. Wondering if they were all as scary as Morrowseer. Wondering if he went through and talked to them, whether they would listen. What if he could stop the NightWings and RainWings from fighting? What if his tribe understood him and believed in him; what if they thought it was better to be smart than brave? What if they didn’t care that he had no special NightWing powers?
What would Sunny think of me then?
She’d probably think: who are you, and what have you done with Starflight? Because there was no way he’d ever be brave enough to go through that tunnel on his own.
And then Clay had yelped, “Did you see that? I think it was a boar! I’ll be right back!” And poor ever-hungry Clay had charged off into the trees, leaving Starflight to watch the hole alone.…
In a heartbeat, dark wings had boiled out of the hole; dark claws had circled his snout; a dark voice had hissed in his ear, “Silence if you want your friend to live.” Another dark voice: “Better safe than sorry,” although he hadn’t made a sound, and he’d known it would hurt right before the blow struck his head and pain blazed through him, and that was the last thing he —
SPLASH!
Starflight jolted up with a yell. His eyes popped open. Freezing salt water cascaded over his snout and snaked down his neck, seeping into his scales. The muddled heavy feeling vanished in an instant.
“It worked!” cheered one of the unfamiliar voices.
“Drat,” said another. “I really thought he was dead.”
Starflight shook his head and the pain ricocheted around inside. He rubbed at his snout, trying to clear the ocean water from his stinging eyes.
Six or seven or maybe eight dark blurry shapes surrounded him. Beyond them, glowing red light pulsed in lines along the walls. The freezing water had cleared his nose for a moment, but heavy, smoky air was already pressing back in.
“Who are you?” Starflight gasped, or tried to.
“Huh. I thought he might attack us,” said a third voice. “That’s what I would do.”
“He doesn’t look very dangerous,” said another voice skeptically. “They should have picked someone bigger. Don’t you think? Bigger and scarier and fiercer.”
“Like me,” said the voice who had hoped Starflight was dead.
“You all have tiny RainWing brains,” said yet another voice. Starflight was losing count. “He was still inside his egg when they took him. They didn’t know if he’d be big or scary or even if he’d be male or female. Otherwise, of course, they would have picked a girl, obviously.”
“Like me.”