Creative Corner

Hello! This being a very heavily dragon-oriented fanfic, as it is a The Legend of Spyro story with lots of Classic Spyro elements, I figured putting it here would be pretty appropriate. This is a mostly lighthearted story about Spyro and Cynder picking up the pieces of lives broken by the touch of The Dark Master, and learning how to put those pieces back together, to finish the childhoods they were denied and start on the path towards adulthood... and hopefully make some friends along the way.

I primarily wanted to convey the kind of culture shock that poor Spyro and Cynder would experience, having been raised by Dragonflies and Weird Evil Magic Nonsense respectively, upon trying to re-enter society in an Avalar that is no longer being torn-apart by the wiles of Malefor and his dark forces. It means there's actually time now to realize that maybe you don't quite know how to talk to other dragons, and you're not sure what's going to be expected of you as an adult-- Fitting in can be awfully hard when you don't know the rules of the game! I've assembled a varied cast with lots of faces both new and old, so I hope you'll enjoy some of the characters and concepts that I've cobbled together here.


Read it here on AO3!


Chapter Index
1. Out of The Darkness
2. Healer Hall 2.5 - Concern

The first thing Cynder is aware of is a deep, complete exhaustion. Her every bone, skull to wing spars, feels like lead weights, dragging her down into the darkness. The second thing is surprise that she's aware at all, since she had well expected to die at Spyro's side when he renewed the world.

The battle with Malefor comes back to her like a blow to her throbbing head and she whimpers despite herself, feeling the faintest tremble of fear in her weighty limbs.

Was she dead?

Where was Spyro?

"Are you having a nightmare?"

Cynder twitches at the sound of the strange voice, but feels no alarm. She's just too tired to panic, her tiny reservoir of remaining energy taken up by the shiver of fright.

"Hush now, you're safe. I'll make you well," purrs the voice, a warm breeze stirring around Cynder's stiff wings. She settles back into the darkness as the heat sings sweetly in her ears.

~

The next time she wakes up, she's much more aware, and the world seems to be coming back into focus around here. There are many noises around her now: A crackling fire, the slow bubble of some thick fluid, and a grinding she knows vaguely as a mortar and pestle. There's even color to the darkness, a certain redness that she eventually realizes is nothing but her own closed eyelids. They refuse to open without a fight, so she strains her hearing instead, breathing deeply to try and gauge her surroundings by sound and smell. There's definitely someone else in the room with her, and their soft humming seems to be the same as the voice she heard earlier. The herbs they're grinding are moist and pungent even at that distance, and the scent of dried plants and grasses is just as heavy in the warm air, but neither of them can entirely mask the blessedly distinct scent of dragon all around her.

(A fire dragon, she thinks, but it's hard to tell without looking when she's so near a hearth and surrounded by herbs.)

The scrape of scales on stone, a tail sweeping back and forth, confirms her theory. She's among friends.

...Unless they were just waiting for the former servant of Malefor to awaken so she could pay for her crimes.

That awful thought makes her jolt, left hind leg kicking involuntarily as her eyes pop open. She's momentarily blinded by the light of the fire, and the rustling has already drawn the attention of her unknown companion.

The fire dragon's head turns, they make eye contact, and both freeze in place. With more than a little surprise, Cynder realizes that this is a female dragon-- she's never met another hen before. This one's bright blue eyes are only a few shades off from her own, and the surprise they show is quickly replaced with relief. She prowls away from the mortar and pestle on light paws, and as approaches the fire, Cynder can see great thorny spikes on her shoulders and hips. It's surprising that the stranger doesn't immediately come over or even speak, pulling something from the fire instead. It's the source of the bubbling noise she heard, an iron pot easily big enough for Cynder to sit in. She watches with wary suspicion as the strange dragon turns her back, gaze surely burning a hole in the other female's deep burgundy back. Paying no mind to Cynder's stare, she finally turns and comes to sit beside her dried-grass nest, a stone bowl between her buttery gold paws. Her stomach and the lower half of her face are the same color, and her horns are short and woody where they sweep back from her head and into the fiery mass of curls she has in place of fins or spines. The stranger sits quietly, a kindly smile on her face as Cynder examines her, and Cynder is so busy doing so that she doesn't immediately notice that the bowl is being offered to her.

The young dragon ducks her head to sniff at it's steaming contents, hoping the gesture hides her embarrassed expression. It's full of a dark, thick liquid and the rich, salty scent of it goes straight to her head before nosediving into her stomach, which responds with an eager grumbling.

"I was a little afraid you would sleep until you were nothing but bones," says her attendant in place of greeting or explanation, and Cynder recognizes her voice as the one who spoke to her in the darkness. Has this dragon been taking care of her? Her voice is soft, nearly a whisper, and she can hear a wobble to it that sounds like the hen is holding back tears. "I'm so glad you finally woke up. Here, try and eat."

Taking a tentative lick, Cynder briefly entertains the paranoid idea that the broth might be poisoned, but the taste makes her head spin in the most pleasant way possible. Even if it is poisoned, she decides she doesn't care, nearly scorching tongue and throat in her haste to gulp down the savory concoction. Her companion laughs, stifling the trilling sound with one paw while she settles the other between Cynder's wings.

"Easy now," she giggles, paw warm and soft as she rubs the black dragon's back. "Don't choke-- There are many pains I can cure, but soup in your lungs is not one of them! Breathe, young dragon, no one is going to take it from you."

Cynder coughs, paws shuffling in further embarrassment as she feels a drop of broth drip off of her jaw. She can only nod in response, forcing herself to blow across the bowl's surface before starting again at a slower pace. It's easier now that she has something else to think about: The spot of warmth between her shoulder blades. She's only ever felt Spyro's paws on her before, usually in the heat of battle or while they aided one another out of a tight spot. No other dragon had ever touched her so gently... Then she finds a hunk of meat in the soup, and the thought is dissolved by her trill of delight as she snaps it up. Warmth spreads from her belly as she eats, radiating clear to the tips of her toes, and she licks the bowl clean around one last scrap of mutton she's saving for last.

Then she notices the sparkles. There's something glittering faintly in the meat, a subtle shimmer that ripples along the bottom of the bowl. Cynder's gaze snaps over to the largely silent fire dragon, who has the grace not to laugh at Cynder's shock once she realizes the problem.

"It's just crystal dust. We grind up little gem shards and add them to the food for our patients. It helps expedite the healing process without overloading the patient or wasting gems," she explains, cheerful and open, and Cynder feels well enough that she knows it must be true. Her limbs no longer feel so heavy and cold, so she snaps up the last bit of meat with a contented sigh.

"...Thank you," she says quietly, and the stranger positively beams with pleasure. "Who are you? Can you tell me where I am?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, that completely slipped my mind. My name is Caroline. I'm a Healer, formerly of the Peace Keeper corps-- Or, er, of the former Peace Keepers corps? Hm. Well either way, my brother Ulric found you unconscious in a crater in the meadows a days flight from here."

A shudder runs down her spine, and she tries to shuffle her wings. They're still stiff and all she can tell by feel is that they've been spread out to either side of her body, but she doesn't have the energy to examine them just yet.

"And where is here, exactly?"

"Cliff Town!" is the bright, enthusiastic reply, but Caroline catches herself and continues more softly. "Well, the name is a bit of a joke, really, since we actually live inside the cliffs, but it's a cozy little place and we do like it here, even if we didn't have much of a choice when that big purple brute's army came calling. But you and your friend took care of that nasty situation quite nicely, didn't you?"

Cynder hangs her head with shame, not meeting the healer's eye. She had as good as personally driven this gentle dragon from her home, and now here the hen was speaking so kindly to her and caring for her wounds. Then her brain catches up with her ears, and her head jerks back up just in time to see Caroline's smile fade to something softer.

"I thank you, Cynder," she purrs, arching her neck and touching her nose to Cynder's brow. The tenderness of the gesture is surprising, but it makes her chest swell with a strange, warm feeling that has nothing to do with her healing wounds. She can't bring herself to pull away, no matter how foreign the touch. "You two are so young, but you have so much strength... Perhaps all of us can go home soon! I do so miss the sun."

Caroline pulls away, and Cynder can only stare at her with wide eyes, trying to find her own voice again.

"Both?" she chokes out, hopeful. "You found Spyro too, right? Is he okay? Where is he, can I see him--"

There's a warm, dainty paw on Cynder's back again before she can work herself up into hysterics, the gentle pressure stilling the weak but frantic thrash of her tail.

"Be calm! Be calm, Cynder. It's alright. All is well, the purple dragon was found beside you. He's resting in another room, but he hasn't woken up yet," murmurs the healer, wings halfway unfurled as she hushes her patient. At Cynder's stricken look, she hastens to add, "His injuries are not severe. He is cut and bruised, and one of his wings was badly broken, but exhaustion is by far his biggest problem. Never have I seen a dragon so drained before."

Both of them sag in relief, one after the other-- Cynder for Spyro's well being, and the healer for Cynder's.

The black dragon goes quiet for a while, and Caroline is happy to respect her silence. It's surely a lot to take in after everything that had happened. When Cynder's head droops all of a sudden, slumping down to rest on her fore paws, the fire dragon just smiles fondly and gets to her feet. Her worry for Spyro had been the only thing keeping her awake after her meal, and now knowing he was safe, it really wasn't surprising that she'd fallen asleep again so quickly. Tiptoeing away, Caroline banks the fire to burn less bright and then gathers up the mortar she had been working on earlier, creeping away with it and leaving Cynder to get some rest.

~

And thus it begins! Writing about these dragons is an absolute joy to me, and if you have any questions or even particular topics you want to see explored or addressed in this context, or even if you've got a dragon you want to make a cameo, go ahead and let me know in the comments or send me a PM. Happy flying, my young dragons! ♥ Hope to hear from you soon!

Meekly bumps my own fic, it would mean a lot to me if anyone who reads it would comment. ♥ Even if just to tell me you thought it was nice.

@marquiseMindfang

I'm a bit busy at the moment, but I will read it soon and tell you what I think. From some of the sentences I saw, it looks great. :)

The next few times Cynder wakes up, she's able to stay conscious for steadily longer periods of time, engaging the friendly Caroline in conversation and meeting a few of the other resident dragons. Mostly healers, but it isn't long before Caroline's brother stops in.

The fire dragon Ulric is... big. At least as big as Terrador, he has to duck to fit into the room and the wicked, stony spikes on his sides scrape the doorway as he enters. His resemblance to Caroline ends with those spikes, limbs thick with muscle and the rich red of his hide peppered with dark speckles. He’s a dragon who could take the Earth Guardian in a claw-to-claw fight, she thinks, but his resemblance to the stern green dragon melts away with an easy smile at her hello.

(She hates this newfound timidness in herself, but she can’t really help it. Weak, surrounded by strange dragons and so deeply in their debt for saving her and Spyro’s lives. She couldn’t really expect herself to keep up her usual bravado, right?)

While she’s thinking about it, she asks to see Spyro again, careful to phrase the question to both adults.

Caroline frowns and shuffles her wings, but the gesture is more thoughtful than worried and Cynder holds her breath. Both of them jump as Ulric’s laugh booms out like a thundercrack.

“The purple dragon hasn’t even woken up yet, little sootball. What’s the point?” he says, not unkindly, but it’s hard not to take it personally. Cynder’s expression must be quite crestfallen, because Caroline immediately butts her head against her massive brother and scowls.

“That’s not why I didn’t want her to go! Talking to dragons trapped in sleep can be very healing for both involved, and he’s not so badly hurt that her presence would endanger him somehow. It’s poor Cynder I’m worried about-- I don’t really think she ought to be moving around yet.”

Caroline’s positively pouting about it, and Ulric’s visibly shocked by her reaction. For Cynder, the implication that she could be so inept rankled with her. She was the former terror of the skies, she should be able to walk down a hallway without breaking anything… She doesn’t notice immediately that Ulric is looking between her and Caroline with bemusement, not until he’s leaning into her personal space, a scant few inches between his mottled snout and her claws.

“Hmmm…,” he tuts, as overly dramatic as he can be and tilting his head this way and that. He seems to be appraising her, and Cynder puffs up, tail wagging as she tries to look fit and energetic. Ulric lets out another booming laugh, and even Caroline giggles.

“I dunno, sis. Let her try, a dragon like Cynder’s got to be one tough cookie. I’m sure she can handle a little walk by now.” Cynder’s opinion of him soars, and she looks eagerly at Caroline as he continues. “And if she can’t make it there by herself, I’ll just carry her. Shards, I bet even you could pick her up, poor kid couldn’t weigh more than a newborn lamb by the look of her.”

Caroline gives her brother a stung look while Cynder stifles a laugh, huffing out a ‘and just what is THAT supposed to mean?’ before finally giving in and laughing again.

“Alright, alright you two! Pull my tail, why don’t you? We can go see the purple dragon.”

Cynder bites back a whoop of triumph, and instead, she asks, “Now?” Caroline nods.

“Yes, now. I’ve got to change your bandages soon and I can do it just as well in his room as I can here. Might even work better, since I imagine you’ll be distracted…,” Caroline hums thoughtfully at her own comment, looking pleasantly surprised and trundling off to put away the herbs she’d been grinding before her brother arrived. Ulric gives Cynder a conspiratory wink, and she grins back as she shuffles to the edge of her ‘nest.’ He was a little rough around the edges, in a lot of ways, but she liked him already.

Reaching for the floor, she’s a little surprised again by the stark paleness of bandages against her dark scales, but there’s no tremble in her limbs and she’s able to lean her weight onto her forelegs with no trouble. Relieved, she shuffles around sideways until she can bring a hindfoot down too.

So far so good, but…

It’s her other leg that causes some worry. It hasn’t hurt much since she woke up, and she can bring it down easily enough to rest on the floor, but the hard earthen cocoon encasing most of it doesn’t really let it bend. She can wiggle her toes, but she isn’t sure if it will support her.

The wiggling doesn’t hurt either, so she gives it a try, gingerly setting some weight on it, then standing normally when it fails to buckle. Cynder can even lift two feet, resting all of her weight on a foreleg and the one in the cast, and she doesn’t tumble over.

“That’s coming off today,” Caroline tells her, snorting at the sight, and Cynder quickly sets her other feet back down. The curly-maned hen has a large bowl cradled in one arm and Cynder can’t see what’s inside, but there’s a peculiar tool peeking out. “I’d be gentle if I were you but it shouldn’t hurt.”

She nods, and Cynder takes a small step forward, then a few more, only wobbling a little at first. She’s more or less steady on her feet, and Ulric lets out a snort of approval, turning and walking back to the cloth-draped arch that serves as a door. His spikes make an awful sound as they scrape on the stone.
Caroline keeps a few steps behind Cynder as they follow the spotted male, and it can’t quite be described as hovering but it’s no less vigilant. She reaches over Cynder’s head to catch the curtain when Ulric’s tail lets it fall, and finally, Cynder gets to see what’s beyond the room she’s been kept in.

It’s a large central cavern with a high, arching ceiling, wooden lattices built all the way up and across. The wooden beams are largely hidden by the many bushels and hanging nosegays of dried plants strung up, out of the way, but there are open spots giving a safe berth to lanterns and patches of what looked like a glowing fungus. Cynder can see lots of small, cloth-hung doorways leading to what she assumes are smaller side rooms like the one she was in, and a little over half of the room itself is taken up by neat rows of low wooden cots. A few of them are occupied by dragons nursing bandaged limbs or a wing in a sling, but one in particular catches her eye.

She can hardly believe what she’s seeing, but there’s a young red dragon who looks her age, wincing and squirming as an ice dragon rubs something on his palm. The coppery hen standing beside the cot rests a paw between his wings to reassure and keep him still, and Cynder assumes she must be his mother.

The sight is gone a moment later, to her relief, as they duck into another little room almost identical to the one she’d woken up in: Cozily small and nondescript, soft furs padding the stone floor and recesses carved into the wall for holding herbs and healer’s tools. A hearth with a crackling fire sits in the far wall, and she can see the corner of a mirror behind something blocking the middle of the room.

There’s a dragon standing watch, one who looks strangely gaunt and fractured in the firelight, but Caroline lights a few lamps to brighten the room and it turns out to just be markings, jagged bolts of dark color racing across his yellow hide. A lightning dragon, by his horns, he cocks his head and looks at each dragon in turn.

“Healer? I thought my shift wasn’t over until nightfall.” He practically leaps to his feet as Cynder continues hobbling towards him, giving Caroline a worried look, but Caroline smiles and nods so he steps aside. Cynder can see a familiar silhouette curled up in the nest just beyond him, and she barely hears Caroline explaining the situation to the guard as all of her focus zeros in on that form. She scrambles the last few steps and leans anxiously in to see what’s become of her friend.

The purple dragon seems… diminished, somehow, lying limply on his side with wings spread out like a blanket. His right wing is braced by a light wooden frame, pinned carefully to the arm , and another strange contraption hangs overhead, glittering sand trickling down from a hanging sack. Cynder reaches out to swipe at the stream with a claw, and the immediate warmth confirms her suspicions. More crystal dust.

He’s even more bandaged than she is, only a few spots of tarnished purple scales peeking out from under the strips of fabric, and she winces as she spots the edges of a raw, scaleless patch on his stomach. The memory of Malefor’s massive claws, pinning them to the stone as they all plummeted down into the earth with the remains of the temple, makes her hiss.

“Cynder?”

Warm breath tickles her scales as Caroline, misinterpreting the sound, gives her a comforting touch.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, really,” she says, her smile sympathetic. “We were actually expecting Spyro to wake long before you did.”

“So why hasn’t he?”

Caroline shakes her head, turning to watch Spyro’s claws twitch in his sleep. The lightning dragon peers over too, though his gaze is on Cynder, and Ulric remains in the doorway with a confident smile.

“He’s just too tired, I suppose. Now, let’s see what I can do for you. Go ahead and lay down.”

Caroline is gentle, but briskly efficient, peeling bandages away to reveal raw but healing skin and slathering on pungent herbal mixtures that make Cynder’s eyes water. She really was worse off, deep slashes on her flank and a set of cuts perilously close to her eyes. She can only feel those and doesn’t know how bad the damage is, but Caroline has her close her eyes and tilt her head forward as she brushes on something gooey that tingles. Through it all Cynder keeps as still as she can, wincing and grumbling now and then, but biting back any complaints or scathing comments.

“Atta girl, what a trooper you are. I wish the rest of my patients were so well behaved! Striker, fetch me the coarse grade bandages, I think we ought to let these breathe now.”

Cynder opens one eye, watching the black-striped dragon passing things to Caroline and occasionally having to take them back and fetch something different. He doesn’t seem to know where a lot things are kept, and when he catches her look, he grins sheepishly.

“I’m not a healer if that’s what you’re thinking,” he mutters, and Cynder tries not to smile. “I’m a scout, and I’m actually pretty good at my job. Honest. The spotty lughead over there--”

Ulric lets out an indignant bark.

“--is my troop captain and had me assigned here for a few days. To help out and help watch you two.”

Striker scratches his stomach thoughtfully, looking upwards. “Not that you really need much watching, but I’m useful for other things around the healer hall too, and they’ve been pretty short on helping claws lately.”

“What else do you guys do around here? I haven’t actually left my room until now, so I’m not sure what kind of place this Cliff Town even IS.” She cocks her head, trying her best to ignore the uncomfortable tugging of Caroline tending to her wing sails by focusing on a conversation with the guard. She can kind of see it in his shape, body lean but well proportioned. Sturdy.

“Ah, well…,” Striker dithers a little as he considers the question, and she wonders what’s holding him back until Ulric clears his throat from the doorway.

“Perhaps we ought to wait for Spyro before we dive into the big explanations, Striker,” he says, and his voice has an unexpectedly reprimanding tone. Striker gives him a sullen look in reply, snapping “I know!”, but Ulric grins a moment later and the lightning dragon relaxes. “Calm down, you’ll get to show off soon enough.”

To Cynder he adds, “The healers actually request him special, and he earned the nickname ‘Precision Strike’ for a reason.”

It doesn’t take long to find out what he means, and it’s not until much later that Cynder would realize how neatly he’d avoided the question. Caroline passes the strange instrument from her bowl over to Striker, and she finally gets a clear look at the strange indentations and designs running along it’s length. There’s a flat metal disk at one end, and Striker winks over it as he takes a deep breath, bites down, and exhales.

Electricity crackles along his muzzle as he starts a slow, rhythmic breathing pattern, the tool lighting up with a hiss as it sucks in the sparks. The disk at the end starts to spin.

“It’s a saw,” Cynder says with wonder, admiring the compact device until she realizes it’s being lowered towards her leg. “UM.”

“It won’t cut you dear, don’t worry,” Caroline assures her, but Cynder finds Spyro’s paw under the straw anyway, letting the touch settle her nerves. While no stranger to pain, that didn’t mean she welcomed it, and she shudders as the blade hits her cast and starts to snarl… But true to the healer’s word, it buzzes neatly through the earthy plaster and leaves her scales untouched. Caroline even speaks over it’s growl to explain how it works, and how a lightning dragon would have to have extremely fine control over their voltage lest they overload it. Over Striker’s head, Cynder spots Ulric trying not to laugh, and has to stifle a snort herself as he waggles his heavy brow ridges at her.

“Aaaand… All done!” The shrill buzzing of the saw cuts off, and Striker scoots backwards with it still in his mouth. Leaning in close to examine the cut, Caroline holds each side of the cast in her paws, and Cynder notices that they’re surprisingly rough. Not unlike Spyro’s, which she releases in embarrassment once she realizes she’s still holding on to him. His talons stay loosely circled around her wrist, just tight enough that she’d have to give a proper tug to get free. “Now I’ll just crack this off and that leg of yours is home free.”

SNAP.

“Owch!”

It splits easily, cracking cleanly into two halves, but the corner of one jabs into Cynder’s foot and makes her jump. The healer jumps too, gasping.

“Did that hurt you?! I’m sorry!”

“I’m fine, sorry,” she mutters, wincing. “It startled me more than it hurt.” Caroline sighs with relief and puts aside the broken halves of the plaster, taking Cynder’s foot instead. She presses the pads and flexes the toes, turning the entire thing at the ankle, and frowns as she hears a faint moan of discomfort.

“Is it sore?”

Cynder blinks. “I didn’t say anything…”

They stare at one another for a moment, puzzled, and Caroline shoots a suspicious glance at her brother, but his gaze is focused intently a few feet to her left. His surprised hiss breaks the silence, followed by someone else’s groggy mutter of, “Cynder…?”

Both of them whip around, the healer gasping as Cynder lets out a cry of joy she can’t quite restrain. Blinking blearily at his own claws, still clasped around Cynder’s wrist, Spyro lifts his head with some difficulty and turns towards her.

“...Wh’happened?” he slurs, voice slow, but he’s finally awake. “You yelped. Y’alright?” He blinks slowly down at his paws again, realizing after a moment that they’re bandaged, and frowns. “...Am I alright?”

Chaos erupts immediately.

Caroline puts her paws over her face, muttering thanks to the ancestors, then yelps as the blade of Cynder’s wildly wagging tail hits a vial of disinfectant and shatters it. Striker jumps back to avoid the splash of solution and Cynder’s tail, banging into the wall and bringing a rack of dried herb bundles down on his horns. Ulric, shouting, leaps forward to try and help Caroline mop up the floor furs before they stain, yanking a drying cloth from a shelf with his teeth… And dragging everything else out along with it. Cynder bangs him in the shin with her tail when she turns to try and help.

By the time they manage to settle down again, Caroline has a paw over her bruised snout(whalloped by one of Striker’s wings when Ulric had stepped on the tip of the other.) She pins the pair of males, heads low and wearing matching sheepish grins, with a disappointed stare. Through it all, Spyro stares with bemused, half-lidded eyes.

“...Are they alright?”

Caroline sighs.

“Ulric, please go let Father know that Spyro is awake?”

The spotted dragon snaps to attention, nodding and slinking past his sister. He winks at Cynder over Caroline’s shoulder, then ducks out under the curtain.

“Striker? Go get me a bowl of broth from the pot in Cynder’s room, I want to get something in this poor dragonet before he goes under again.”

“Yes, Healer,” he replies with a grin, feeling that he’s been forgiven for adding to the mess, and dashes off after Ulric.

Spyro watches it all without comment, brow furrowed as his brain slowly wakes up. Cynder has to bite back a snicker at his befuddled expression, but for once she has no smart remarks, clambering up into the nest to huddle protectively against his side. She would wrap a wing around his shoulders if she could, but with whatever brace the healers have rigged up on her, all they can really do is drape stiffly down her sides.

Caroline titters behind one of her own wings, trying to hide her laughter, and lays down to get closer to their level, tail curled loosely around the nest. She smiles kindly at Spyro, who doesn’t manage to look any less bewildered even as he mirrors the expression.

“Well now! That was quite the welcome you got, wasn’t it, young dragon. I’m sure you must have lots of questions, but for right now, let’s just get you taken care of, okay?”

As always I would really appreciate any and all critiques anyone happens to have on this story. I'm continuously trying to improve my writing and I'm always happy to answer questions about the story itself, or the characters therein. While I work on part three, here's a Pearlcatcher Caroline! [img]http://41.media.tumblr.com/dcc544f54d54b751f2faa93017e6f98f/tumblr_n5u7tlQCa11qlsxn4o2_400.png[/img]

Spyro manages to stay awake much longer than Cynder had, though his responses are slow and his overall demeanor is groggy. Caroline only asks him a few basic questions, how he feels, any excruciating pain or numbness, before Striker returns with the broth.

Cynder stays huddled at his side as he eats, head resting on her forepaws. It's a weight off her chest, Spyro finally waking up, and she attempts to wrestle down the rest of her worry about his recovery. It doesn't really suit her, she thinks, all this fretting. Even sneaking out of the temple in the dead of night, back when she was smaller, knowing that Spyro hadn't recovered his powers and that Malefor's forces were still out there… She'd still had full confidence that he could take care of himself. So why is this so… nauseating?

Shaking her head, Cynder tries to bully her thoughts into something more productive, but they all flutter away when the movement draws Spyro's attention, and he turns his drowsy smile towards her.

"...Hi."

She snorts.

"Hey, Spyro. How are you feeling?"

"Uh…," he considers the question, and Cynder can feel the end of his tail tapping hers as the tip flicks back and forth. "...Stiff, mostly. My head's all… Foggy. There's big chunks missing from that last fight. (Did he throw us through THREE different walls…!?) But uh, heh, we're still here, so I guess we must have done okay."

"Couldn't have done it without you," she says, bumping shoulders with him and choking on a laugh at a sudden thought. "Man am I glad Sparx stayed behind, though. I don't think I could handle being an invalid and his sass at the same time. Just throw me back in that volcano, please."

Spyro snorts into his paws, trying not to laugh- each tremor is followed by a soft, "owowow," and more snickering. Only a few seconds later, his expression turns to quiet horror.

"Sparx," he whispers, "We're a mess, if he had come up there with us…"

"But he didn't," Cynder cuts him off. "He didn't, he's safe underground with the Guardians and the rest of Warfang, remember? Sparx is fine."

"Who's Sparx?" asks Caroline, walking over, and both of them jump. Cynder hadn't even noticed her leave, she'd been so preoccupied. Spyro's looking at the healer like he's only just seeing her for the first time.

"Oh, uh, sorry," he stammers, pressing closer to Cynder. "Sparx is my brother. We traveled together, but he stayed behind at Warfang to help with the evacuation. There's, uh. C-caverns under the city, but only we knew the way, so…"

"How wonderful!" Caroline smiles in obvious delight, laying down nearby and curling her tail over her feet. "I didn't realize you had a brother. Is Sparx also purple?"

"N-no, he's yellow-"

"A yellow-bellied bigmouth."

"Cynder!"

Spyro turns to frown at her, though he knows he can't exactly deny Sparx's often cowardly nature, and Cynder laughs.

"Okay, okay, a dependable bigmouth, at least," she concedes, and Spyro's smile returns. "Don't tell him I said this, but he's actually pretty sharp. Sparx comes through when it really counts. ...But seriously, don't let him find out I said it. I've got a reputation to uphold."

Spyro rolls his eyes while Caroline laughs.

"Sounds like quite the character," she says, and Spyro gives her an odd look.

"Uh, I hope this isn't rude or anything, but… Who are you, exactly?"

"Who am I…?" She repeats, looking mystified. A moment later, she ducks her head under her paws and groans. "Oh, not again! I'm not a dragon, I'm a brainless pile of fluff… I'm so sorry, my manners are usually much better than this, I promise. My name is Caroline, I'm the healer in charge of watching over you two." She clambers back to her feet, tail flicking out behind her.

"Where you are now is a place called Cliff Town, and you'll learn more about what that means when D- I mean, Commander Titan debriefs you two. Tomorrow, probably, or the day after. He's a firm believer in not letting injury hold up information, but he also doesn't like to repeat himself." Bright blue eyes roll towards the ceiling, and Caroline's curly mane shivers all the way down her back as she shakes her head. Cynder lets out an 'ahhh,' of understanding and Spyro gives her a look, then nods. She can tell he's doing his best to communicate with her through facial expression alone, but he's never been very good at being subtle and Cynder doesn't want to draw attention to it in front of anyone else.

They lapse into a comfortable quiet, broken by Caroline's humming as she puts the room back in order. It's a pleasant sound, and while Spyro watches the crimson hen intently, it's Striker who draws Cynder's eye. The black-striped dragon is nodding off at the sound, wings nearly on the floor, and she wonders how long he was in here, doing little more than waiting for Spyro to wake up. The little pang of sympathy she feels is so unexpected, she almost doesn't realize what it is. Poor guy must be so bored…

Caroline's nearly finished tidying up, even finding a moment to dab her bruised nose with something from a small bottle, when Ulric finally returns. He only sticks his head in, horns tangled in the cloth draped across the doorway.

"Commander Titan," he drawls, and there's a funny, wry little smirk on his face, "has granted our young heroes one more day to rest, provided my Most Honorable Healer little sister raises no major objections, and comes immediately to the council room to make a report."

She nods like it's about what she expected, sighing a little as she stoppers the bottle and places it back on a shelf, then shoots a weak smile towards Spyro and Cynder.

"I think that you two are well enough to handle being on your own for a while, and I dare say you might like a bit of privacy to talk…" she says with sympathy, padding over to give Striker a nudge before Ulric could spot him dozing. "Cynder, you can head back to your alcove if you'd prefer- No? Heehee, I didn't think so."

Cynder had shaken her head vehemently no.

"I trust you'll keep an eye on our purple friend here. Just holler if you need anything, there's always someone in the big hall and they'll hear you."

Striker sits up straighter at that, head angled to the side and a hopeful smile curling on his muzzle.

"Ah, so that means…?"

"Go on, Striker, you're off the hook. How do you boys say it, dismissed…?"

He doesn't answer, slinking out the door at 'go,' and Ulric makes a fond if disgruntled noise as he passes. He ducks out entirely to make space for Caroline, grinning over her head as she pauses in the opening.

"See you later, sootball. Feel better. You too, purp."

"I shouldn't be gone too long, so you two just take it easy, okay?"

Caroline gives them a quick look over, hovering anxiously in the doorway for another moment before, finally, turning and leaving the room.

For the first time since she's woken up in this place, Cynder is alone with a dragon who isn't a stranger.


~


This was actually meant to be the end to chapter 2, until it decided not to be anymore. Too bad for it, I'm splicing it back in on the proper a03 and FF.net editions...
As always, comments, critiques and questions are more than welcome.