He could remember her dark brown eyes, the way they sparkled with intensity, with drive. The woman was so vibrant and alive in a way he only faintly remembered. Something about that spoke to him, arousing something in him that Altair had not felt for some time.
Curiosity.
There was more he wanted to know about this woman, about who she was, and why she was so interested in his reasoning for volunteering. Something more might have niggled at his consciousness, tiptoeing around the very edges of it, but Altair simply was no longer aware of such things.
He could see her beauty, of course; he hadn’t gone blind. To see something, and to truly appreciate it, however, were not one and the same, and he could only do the former. His brain wouldn’t allow him much else.
Her confidence was something his dragon approved of. It liked that she believed in herself enough to assume she would be a part of such a team. Then at the end, she’d told him he had better be at the training session.
Witches were filing out of the auditorium in massive droves now, and the hallways were filling with noise as they talked nervously of what was to come. Altair had never truly realized how many of them there were in Winterspell, but as he watched now he came to the conclusion there were hundreds upon hundreds of them.
“Are you even listening to me?” Rokh snarled, grabbing Altair by the arm and dragging him down a side corridor that was mostly empty of traffic. A pair of witches turned the corner shortly after, but a glare from the fire dragon sent them back into the main hallways with exclamations of “excuuusee me”. Clearly, they weren’t happy at the treatment.
“There was no need for that,” Altair said, keeping his calm. He very much disliked dealing with the fire dragon, finding him far too unstable for his liking. “They were just trying to walk past.”
“Oh, so you do hear.”
“Of course, I hear,” Altair said. “I’m not deaf. You’ve been yelling at me about volunteering without asking for your explicit permission, I’m sure. What do I need to listen to the specifics for? It’s all the same.”
Rokh’s eyes bulged.
Altair watched more of the witches file past the opening of their corridor. So full of life. Hopefully, his sacrifice would keep many of them from dying. Who knows what sorts of great and incredible things they would go on to do for humanity? But they would, and that was what mattered the most to him.
“Explain yourself then,” Rokh demanded. “If you won’t listen to me, then you can do the talking.”
“It was the right thing to do, Rokh,” Altair said bluntly. “It’s what we’ve always been taught to do. If something needs doing and you’re able to help, you do it. Easy as that.”
“We can’t afford to send anyone on the team,” Rokh ground out.
“Can’t afford to?” Altair asked, genuinely surprised at the fire dragon’s attitude. “What is that supposed to mean? Are we above the witches and the other humans now, is that it? You think we’re superior, so we shouldn’t get involved in their affairs?”
“No, you thick-skulled moron,” Rokh snarled. “We can’t afford it because it’s a death sentence. The demon-lord Berith is too powerful, and any dragon that goes along is likely to be more of a hindrance than able to actually help.”
“That wasn’t the impression Christine gave me,” Altair countered.
“Who is Christine?” Rokh demanded to know.
“The witch I was talking to when you came to find me, looking for an excuse to blow your top. And for your information, I will be a help to them, Rokh. Despite your lack of belief in me. Besides, I’m going. The Circe already said so.”
“You can’t go,” Rokh said. “You’re needed here.”
Altair looked up at the arched stone ceiling high above him. Even the side corridors had tall ceilings in Winterspell. “Why?” he asked, not wanting to give Rokh the satisfaction, but not seeing any other way out of it.
“Your people need you,” Rokh said, trying to inflict maximum guilt. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are only fifty of us here at Winterspell. Fifty Dracians. Who knows about the others that made it? They’ve been out in the mountains for over a month now. Are they still alive? We need to focus on rebuilding our race, Altair, which means you need to be here.”
Rebuilding the race. Something that would be easier if they had more young, more children to carry on the legacy. But they didn’t.
Agony stabbed at his chest, and Altair swallowed a hard lump in his throat.
“I can’t stay,” he said quietly.
“Why not?” Rokh wanted to know, his tone softening ever so slightly, as if he could recognize the anguish his earlier words had caused in Altair. It was unlikely the fire dragon felt sorry, but perhaps he was easing up on him, even if just for a moment.
“I just can’t.”
Altair ignored the questioning glance that came his way. Rane and Damien hadn’t informed Rokh of the waking nightmare he’d experienced, where he’d attacked Rane while asleep, reliving the experiences of his past. The two other storm dragons had banded around their brother, and he appreciated their trust.
It wasn’t something he wanted others to know he was dealing with. It was Altair’s job to handle his own demons, not someone else, and he wasn’t about to let it get out to everyone, because Rokh wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself.
“You’re going to need a better reason than that,” Rokh said quietly.
“No, I don’t,” Altair countered, almost telling Rokh that he wasn’t really his boss.
That would have been unfair though. Altair knew that the fire dragon had been doing his best to keep some semblance of order and function among the
