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Hawthorn stood in front of the one counter in his hut that he called a kitchen. Upon the countertop, he had a wooden cup half-way filled with tea. He shifted his weight from one wing to the other a few times, seemingly lost in thought. It had been over a year and a half since he had been freed of Cottonmouth’s control, and he was ever thankful to Sundew, Cricket, Luna, Willow perhaps, and the others for being the ones to free him. He was also ever-grateful that Sundew, Willow, Mandrake (was he there? I need to reread book 13), and Cricket for sparing him in the jungle a while back. He stared, blinking slowly at the countertop. Despite being, well, himself now, he couldn’t go back to the leafwing villages just yet. He was certain nobody trusted him— Hell, they all probably thought he was dead! And to be honest, he couldn’t care less. As long as he was alive and in control of his own body, he knew he’d be fine. He picked up the cup, his claws lightly digging into the wood. He stared into the swirling orange-ish brown tea.
Was there a point in living if he were alone? Hawthorn sighed. He had no company besides the Dragonbite vipers still lurking around outside his hut. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d seen another dragon. He wasn’t even sure if he still knew how to properly socialize.
His tail swayed behind him, lightly hitting a cabinet a few times. He’d given up on being a scientist. Last time, he went too close to the sun, and ended up almost dying because of it. In other words, he had messed with the Breath of Evil and lost his free will to a husky corpse in the bottom of an abyss. His brow furrowed. Eventually, Hawthorn decided to get up and take a walk. Perhaps that would help clear his mind.
He set the cup down. The tea was cold anyways, and drinking cold tea was not on his daily agenda. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, not caring to open it like a civilized dragon. His curved horns brushed the top of the doorway. Closing the door behind him, he was left with himself and the poison jungle. Hawthorn sighed, then breathed in the fresh air. Sweet scents of carnivorous plants and flowers flooded his nostril, and he almost sneezed. Everything always smelled so.. strong. Outside in the jungle. Beneath his claws, he could hear seeds and trees whispering. He was a leafspeaker— something very few leafwings were born to be. He had very rarely stumbled across other leafwings with the ability to talk to plants. Sure, there was Sundew and maybe another stranger he passed by. But nowadays he never saw anyone.
And that’s when he heard it. In the distance, a stranger dragon— by the sound of their call, a leafwing— growling and shrieking. And then what sounded like crashing. Hawthorn’s ears perked up, and the leaf/petal-like frills behind his ears flared up, and he swiveled his head around. He listened in the direction or where the crashing and shrieking came from. Spreading his wings, Hawthorn immediately set one goal in his mind: Find that dragon, whoever they are.
Hawthorn flew over the treetops, gliding in the direction he heard the cacophony of sounds. Though, unlike to any other dragon, those sounds of struggle were like music to his ears. He hadn’t heard or seen another dragon in what felt like forever, and this was probably his only chance at finally speaking to someone. He dove down just at the edge of a clearing, the shadows of enormous trees providing him cover. As excited as he was— well, to be fair, he didn’t /look/ very excited..— he needed to be mindful of the fact that this dragon could be hostile. He didn’t want to pick a fight.
In the clearing was a muted greenish-brownish leafwing. His fins, spines, frills, and the undersides of his wings were various shades of autumn oranges. Something Hawthorn immediately noticed about this dragon was that the right side of his tail fin was just.. gone. And perched on a rock in the clearing was a huge lammergeier. The leafwing snarled and shook dirt and grime off his scales. Hawthorn watched as he spread his wings, attempted to fly, and crashed with a sickening thud. If he couldn’t fly away.. why wouldn’t he find his way back through the jungle? Hawthorn’s best guess was that the path through the jungle was too dangerous with all the plants and creatures and stuffs. Every insect, every plant, almost every animal, was oversized in the poison jungle. Especially around the eye. Which was where Hawthorn and this stranger were.
For another 30 minutes, he watched the estranged leafwing attempt to fly, then crashed pitifully. He almost felt bad, but was overwhelmed with a sense of joy and hope. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could help this dragon, and perchance find a new friend! Someone who’d visit him. So he steeled his expression, and stood up. He silently stalked his way over to the leafwing whilst he snarled and shook with frustration. The lammergeier noticed him approaching first, and screeched to warn the stranger. The dragon swiveled around, his pupils narrowing as he caught sight of Hawthorn.
Hawthorn tilted his head, silently studying the stranger.
” Who might you be? What are you doing in the eye of the jungle?” He asked, concealing his overwhelming positive emotions. The other leafwing just furrowed his brow, bared sharp white teeth at Hawthorn, and growled. This stranger was no larger than Hawthorn, but he still seemed to fear him. The other dragon had four horns— where the little spikes on the corners of his jaws should have been like any other dragon, two horns were instead. Hawthorn found this quite.. peculiar. He couldn’t recall seeing this in other dragons. Seeing Hawthorn distracted, the stranger started to back away. The lammergeier glided down and perched imposingly upon his shoulder. Hawthorn’s eyes refocused on the other’s maroon-y ones, and he froze.
”Leaving so soon? Come, why don’t you stay with me for a little while? I mean no harm, and I’ve noticed you’re injured. “ Hawthorn offered, before mentally questioning whether or not this stranger even understood him, as he got no response. Just a fearful glare that told Hawthorn not to approach, to just leave. He wondered if he said something wrong. He tilted his head. He knew he was.. relatively poor regarding communicating. Considering his lack of interactions. But he had carefully chosen each word, and didn’t understand what he’d said wrong. The dragon standing in front of him spared an ever-so-quick glance behind him, then cautiously, leaving his sharp glare on Hawthorn, sunk his claws into the dirt below him. Hawthorn’s ears perked up and his eyes glimmered. He’s only ever noticed this behavior from himself and Sundew— this stranger had leafspeak! Hawthorn dug his claws into the dirt, planning on listening to whatever this dragon had to say to any plants nearby. A flower whispered something to Hawthorn, saying it had a message to transmit to him. Hawthorn listened to what the flower had to tell him— ‘Ooooorriioonnn saaaays hee doesn’t neeeddd heeeelp!’ The little flower said slowly, and he hummed. Orion? He was guessing that was the name of the stranger, as he knew no other dragons were in this vicinity. When he refocused back on the other leafwing, he noticed he was on the other side of the clearing, circling a spot. He sighed.
”Orion, “He began, and Orion froze. He turned around so fast, Hawthorn wondered if he was alright. He was guessing he wasn’t /supposed/ to know the other’s name.. “I’ll leave you be, but you better stay safe. Alright? “ He finished speaking, and took Orion’s silent nod as a sign to leave him alone for now. He walked away from the clearing, deciding to walk for a little while instead of fly. He just didn’t want to risk Orion seeing Hawthorn fly, and long to be able to glide as well. He knew how it felt to yearn for something seemingly out of reach.
But that made him think.. if he could find some sort of interaction after over a year or isolation, could that mean he could help Orion regain the ability to fly? It seemed like a difficult accomplishment that would take a while, but he felt a sudden determination to make it possible.
—-
The journey home didn’t take too long, fortunately enough. As soon as he reached his hut, Hawthorn began to think about how he could help Orion. Hawthorn saw the other’s tail fin— it was shaped like a maple leaf, but in a way where it would be difficult to replicate. He knew there were probably some good blacksmiths or dragons who could make a prosthetic tail fin in the closest by leafwing village, but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Then he remembered— he probably had some old cloak laying around somewhere, and some plants he could grind down to cover his unnatural red scales. He knew it wouldn’t be perfect, but it would work. So he got to work, looking around for that cloak. He soon found a dusty old thing that looked more like rags, but it was good enough. He dusted it off, and layed it on a table. Now he needed the paints. He went outside to forage for the plants. He grabbed various things, knowing whether they were poisonous or not at first glance thanks to his experience and time in the jungle.
By the time he had gotten back to his hut, it was late. He knew he needed to sleep, and he would. He had gotten what he needed, and would be ready to go to the village first thing tomorrow morning. He put the plants he’d gathered into jars, closed them up, and left them on the counter. The cloak? He left it laying on a table. He dragged himself to his bed and lied down. He sighed, hoping Orion would be safe throughout the night. The poison jungle was unforgiving, and didn’t soften for fear or desperation. It could reveal its secrets to those skilled enough to find them, though.