Glacierwind's Clan

Tundra picked at the golden necklace dangling from her neck. Her nostrils steamed out frost in wisps and gasps.

Stuck on a frozen island. How charming. She hated the floes, the water, and the frozen fish sinking beneath her. None of this exclaimed her as the next dragon in line for queen. She looked more like a seashore hermit forced to survive on mackerels and tuna, some of which were dead or dying. How was a queen supposed to survive and thrive on anything less than rock?

Her clan, however, would accept her. They had to, because there wasn't another queen or female to lead them. Her one chance of having a daughter failed, and her stupid mating with Zephyr only brought a weak and powerless male. Blizzard, Zephyr wanted to call him. Tundra said, of course, whatever, as long as he doesn't see my face ever again.

The hatchling would die, anyways. Tundra would make sure of it. Then, she would try again.

After killing Zephyr, too, of course.