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The cold was marrow-chilling in the SkyWing dungeons for, the MudWing, Chesil. The cell he was in had a small barred window on the back wall, it was where the thick stone wall met the stone roof. The view was of shrub-laden and tree covered earth with dustings of snow. Each morning death-inducing winds would blow into the cell and would reduce him to a shivering mess. It had been twenty days since he had been in the cell. Each day, at the retreating of the sun, he found him self hit with worry. Worry of being selected and forced to fight in the arena. Each evening he though about the horrid amount of death that had been brought into world through that place, that vile vector of gore, agony, and torment. During the days it got warmer after the morning winds. These were the times when he would count the amount of water drops that came from the melting snow outside the window. The morning had now past and Chesil heard movement outside his cell, looking out he saw two guards who were escorting a large-framed IceWing prisoner. They stopped at Chesil’s cell and tossed the dragon in and locked the door. It was now only Chesil and the IceWing. In the dim cold light, he saw that the ice-white dragon was covered in scars, and that he was missing a digit on his right foreleg. The two stood there, looking at each other, for a breath’s worth of time.
“I’m Chesil.” The IceWing looked at him for a moment longer, seemingly staring him down.
“Verglas.” Verglas’ voice was aged the same as Chesil’s, but it sounded more deep and uneven. The The IceWing stood still, looking at the bars, then spoke,
“How many times are we fed?”
“Once before midday and once at nightfall. The food changes, it’s just whatever they happen to have.” Verglas nodded and went to the back right corner of the room and curled up. Chesil, sensing that Verglas wanted to speak no longer, went to the small spot of sun that projected in and curled up. The cell’s air and grown colder due to the IceWing. Chesil wondered if he was going to slowly freeze to death due to his new cell mate. Trying to ignore the thought he did his best to fall asleep. His quick rest was unfulfilling, he drifted in and out of sleep, never quite reaching a true slumber. He cracked open his eyes slightly, Verglas was looking at him, the dragon turned his head away when he saw Chesil arouse from sleep. The MudWing looked out the window and noted the position of the Sun.
“Food should be here in thirty or so minutes.” Verglas nodded and then asked,
“So, how long have you been in here?”
“Twenty days,” he pointed at tally marks by the barred opening, “I’m a prisoner of war, I assume you are to?”
“I am.” As they spoke a guard walking by tossed in food. The midday food was scraps, barely anything. Two fish and some other fleshy, unidentifiable thing. Chesil stared at the lumps, his face was blank. He whimpered to himself,
“Am I ever going to get out of here?” Verglas, hearing his words, spoke.
“I’ll abstain from this meal. I understand its not the most...appealing. But it's better that it goes into you, you need your strength.” The MudWing nodded glumly,
“Thank you.” The night had settled in and after another unfulfilling meal, from which Verglas abstained, Chesil moved to the corner and curled up. His dreams were of snows-capes and dead forests frozen still in the cold. In one of his dreams he found himself in the middle of a dense wood covered by thick snow and frost. In the distance he spotted a circular, disk-like, wisp of blue light that fluttered through the air. He trotted over it and as he did it danced away from him. He started to chase it through the woods. He went around trees and crashed through brushes, he had nearly caught up to it before feeling a sharp pain on the side of his neck. He faltered and stumbled, slowing his run to a weak jog. Still, he followed the wisp as best he could. He rounded a tree and saw something that should not be. A large pool of steaming mud in the middle of the winter-chilled woods. He then awoke, his eyes slowly cracked open, morning light drifted in through the window. Verglas was curled up in his corner, his breath deep and slow. Chesil, wanting to stave off the soon to be morning winds, went over and tapped Verglas. The IceWing’s eyes opened slowly.
“What?”
“The morning winds blow into here through the window and are painfully cold. I’m asking for to put a wing up to the window to block the winds in the morning. If I did it I would get frostbitten.” Verglas sighed and stood up and stretched out. Just then a large gust of wind thrust chilling air into the cell along with sprinklings of snow. Chesil shivered and cowered down to the floor and curled up on him self. Verglas put a wing up to the window as the gusts continued. Chesil spoke, his words vibrating with his shivers. “Thank you, really, thank you.” The rest of day, as with all the others, was the same. The scant ephemera that was food, the cold heart-stilling air, the stone-bricks which purloined warmth, and the dripping of water from half melted snow. Chesil knew how he dealt with it; he didn’t think about it. He just faded his mind out and tried to live day-to-day, rather second-to-second. Because the second he thought about the future he knew he would crack. That night his dream picked up where it left of. He stood in front of the hot pool of mud. He saw the blue wisp again above the mud pool, it lowered down into it and vanished underneath the mud. He gingerly enter into the mud himself. It was wonderful, the mud soaked between his scales and warmed him up from his head to his heart. He then felt small twinges of pain, he ignored them, assuming them to be his body’s reaction to the sudden heat. He sunk deeper into the mud and then woke up. Again it was morning, again it was cold, again he traveled over the curled up form of Verglas. He tapped the IceWing,
“Hey could you…?” Verglas’ eyes opened and he slowly nodded. He slowly stood and went over to the window and lifted his wing to block it. Chesil was stretching out, trying to rid himself of a strange soreness he had just noticed, when he spotted something he did not expect. Now just barely visible on the wing of Verglas, due to the Sunlight, were SeaWing patterns. Chesil paused and asked,
“Verglas, are you part SeaWing?” An unreadable expression flashed across the hybrid’s face.
“Uh, yes. Or rather my father was.” Chesil tilted his head.
“Why did you not tell me?”
“I’m a bit ashamed of it. IceWing culture doesn’t take kindly to hybrids.” Chesil nodded,
“Well I don’t care if your part SeaWing or not,” he paused, “can you do the light up thing?”
“You mean this?” The scars lit up along his body. “My patterns don’t light up. The luminescence, for whatever reason, only happens where I have been scared, damaged, and what not.” Chesil nodded. The rest of the day was nearly the same as it always was, but the MudWing felt himself start to crack. At night fall Chesil confided in Verglas.
“I just don’t know how I can keep going like this. Each day is so hard and cold. It’s horrid!” He started to weep.
“Chesil. Look at me,” The MudWing turned his gaze to Verglas, “I promise you this will get better for you. But right now you just have to keep pushing through it.” Chesil looked into the eyes of the hybrid. He saw care and concern, but he saw something else. It was deep in his soul, something corrosive, something unsettling. Verglas turned away before Chesil could get anymore information. “Just rest deeply tonight and let your mind clear.” That night the Mudwing returned to his dream. This time he was already deep under the hot mud. His eyes were closed, but strangely he saw in the blackness of his vision, the blue wisp. Then he felt a gentle pressure on his throat that was half soothing and half alarming. The wisp glowed brighter and the pressure became fully calming. The then suddenly found he was unable to feel his throat, but he was unbothered by this. He next felt pressure on the side of his abdomen. Again, the feeling felt half soothing and half alarming. He tried to move around, but the wisp glowed brighter and he became lethargic. He soon became more and more relaxed, the wisp slowly faded and Chesil drifted into an endless oblivion as Verglas sated himself.