Chapter 4:

"That's how the Skywings do it."

Those were the last words he heard from his mother.

***

Watchful woke up startled. His house was dark and it was still several hours until the sun rose. Not that he minded one way or the other, being half-Nightwing and half-Icewing, he didn't have much issue living during the day or during the night. What bothered him was this recurring dream were he saw his mother walking away from afar. So far away. On top of the cliff. That very cliff from which he fell.

He had visited the place once since he recovered but it gave him such strong twists in his stomach that it felt as if he wanted to puke. Tears had poured out of his eyes without stopping until he had walked far away. He was still confused about what happened that day, and yet he thought he knew perfectly the reason why his mother did it.

With a low sigh, he got up from his bed. It may have been early but he didn't feel like going back to bed. First and foremost, not wanting to risk reviving the dream that night plus he felt rested enough anyway -That's what he told himself-.

He walked into another room, the walls were covered with several different paintings and portraits that he had collected since he settled here, mainly finding them at the market in Where-No-Dragon-Goes-Hungry -That same market he had to go to work today-. Underneath them, a simple white coat of paint that barely hid the bricks. In the middle of the room stood a blackened firepit, that he refilled the night before with logs, ready to be set ablaze.

He gently blew a nearly-invisible blueish flame on the wood, which immediately ignited, turning the pitch-black room into a red-orange place with long dancing shadows over the portraits and the two shelves full of books and scrolls that sat on each side of the door to his bedroom.

Watchful swiftly put a pot on top of the pit after having taken a whiff of the cold liquid inside it.

"I j-just l-love the scent o-of coffee in th-the morn-ning!", he said to himself and winced.

He hated hearing his voice and tried to avoid talking as much as possible around others. Whenever he had to, he would revert to a handful of words he knew he could say mostly without stammering. The few he had mastered before the accident. He shook his head and pushed the thought aside, he didn't want to ruminate about it right now, his nightmares were enough to keep him from ever forgetting.

The pot hissed softly, he removed it from over the fire and then poured the smoking beverage into his favorite mug. Outside, the ice started glowing a very pale blue as the dawn was coming. The coffee felt so soothing as it ran down his throat. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the silent stillness of the world moments before the animals of the forest woke up.

The firepit crackled.

He sipped the last of his cup and covered the firepit with some fresh snow from a bucket that had filled overnight. Living in the Ice Kingdom surely had its advantages. He looked outside, the sun was still nowhere in sight and yet all the land was already visible. The pine trees shining with their deep-green needles and their brown trunks growing way up as if they were competing into reaching the sun. The white snow on the ground was almost already blinding for any non-Icewing. Far up North, A couple Scavengers were crossing along the forest edge towards the sea. "Pro-prob-bably going hun-unting some b-bear", he thought.

His house in the middle of the Among-The-Evergreen forest was rather inconspicuous. He built it in a way that wouldn't stand out if anyone were to come too close to it.

He despised the presence of other dragons since what happened in Possibility. It was so long ago and yet he had never felt better since he retired from most interaction with other dragons. And it certainly helped his interest too, he thought, eyeing the pile of plants and junk he had stored in a corner of the room. Probably more than he ever needed but he was prepared for the future. "Bet-better have mo-more than no-not e-enough."

His gaze focused on his talons, one white and one black. He hissed. It kept reminding him of his lineage. He was part Nightwing. Part of the tribe who rejected him.

Part of those Nightwings.

Those stupid mind-readers.

How he hated them so much. How he hated his mother about it. What did she feel? Was she afraid of him reading her mind? He barely remembered what happened then, all he knew was that he had been so happy when he discovered his abilities, he just couldn't stop himself and wanted to show them to everyone, and to be able to help others. But he didn't even had time to say anything. The next day, he had woken in a pit of poison Ivy, and the last thing he remembered was the dark look of his mother before he lost consciousness.

He only woke up many hours later, the sun had already set and no one came to rescue him. He felt agonizing pain in his right wing. It wouldn't move at all and when he looked at it, it was as if it had been bent in a way it shouldn't. He managed to pull himself out of the pit and drag his body into a nearby tiny lake which soothed the itchiness of his scales, his Icewing left side cooling the water down to a chilling temperature. The lake had then turned to a light pink color around him when he dipped his head and a sharp pain rose from his skull making him almost pass out again. Fortunately the water wasn't very deep and he rested his head on the shore as he cried. What was he going to do now? He was not even two and his mother had clearly rejected him. Was he even lucky to be alive?

Watchful instinctively touched his skull. There was a smooth but deep dent there. He winced a bit. His talon slid down along his black side and touched his sensetive silver teardrop. He could feel the scars on it from the many times he tried to rip it off hoping that it would make him more acceptable to his mother if he ever found her again. It just would not come off. He had hurt himself to sleep many times in the past and had refused to even look at his reflection. He hated himself so much.

He found his white side more attractive, if only he could have had the spikes from the Icewings all the way from his head to his tail but they had only grown on the side with his perfectly white scales. The left side of his neck presented with those magnificent horns that adorned all Icewings but the other side was devoid of anything as if he had been scalped and charred.

"I gu-guess b-being a m-mind-read-der isn't s-s-so bad..." he thought

"And be like those despicable Nightwing?", a voice in his head replied

"B-but then I ca-can hag-g-gle bet-t-ter p-price at the m-market", he argued

"Really?! That's how low you're going to be?...", the voice snapped.

He gave up. He once tried to use his mind-reading ability with a customer and managed to haggle so well that he felt sick about it. He felt like he abused them. Do mi-mind-rea-di-ding Nightw-wings ab-buse other d-d-dragons t-too? OF COURSE THEY DO! The voice yelled at him. And he knew deep inside it was right. How couldn't it be? If it wasn't, surely his mother would not have tried to k-kill him... The word was very difficult to formulate. It was like his mind refused to accept the fact even years after.

He had never used his power consciously since that customer. He felt lucky that he couldn't hear anyone further than a few meters away and only when they were on his right side. He had tried wearing a band over his teardrop scale but nothing was really effective and he thought he looked silly with it as if he had a toothache.

He grabbed his bag and secured it at the base of his tail, the large polished greenish-brown scales of the leather mixing nicely with his own, the blackened metal buckle almost invisible against his Nightwing side. He continued with wrapping the fruits he had brought from the Rainforest the previous day. The good thing with a weather like the one in the Ice kingdom was that fruits wouldn't spoil as fast as in other places. He would buy barely matured fruits so that by the time he flew back here, they would be perfect to sell at the market. He had managed to secure a good load this time with even more rare white pitayas with red flesh that were really sought-after by the royalty Icewings. They even could pay some handsome amount of money if they were just ripe. But that's not what the market was for. In Where-No-Dragon-Goes-Hungry lived mostly the poorest Icewings and the scummy ones, and even if the latter paid well for some stuff, he usually sold barely over the price he had paid for the fruits. He was only really compensated when he visited the Palace to sell his fruits at much higher margin. In the couple years he had been in the Ice kingdom, he gained a reputation for being the provider of the best exotic fruits.

Surely, a few dragons had tried to steal his secret and follow him but he made sure to lose them before heading anywhere. Of course, others would have tried to directly double him with the Rainwings but the traders he worked with had straight up refused to do commerce with anyone else. Eventually, they all lost interest and he had kept his business going. And it also certainly did help that he had draconophobia, a deep fear of the crowd, and of being judged, keeping him secluded and introverted.

Whenever he visited the Palace, he'd do so through a back door, and just bring the necessary items to be able to do trades with the royalty dragons themselves. However he had had to do some explanations to Queen Snowfall after she found about him when some of her close siblings had brought those fruits for the first time and it had been the only thing they all talked about in the Palace. She had trapped him before he could walk out of the Palace the second time he visited. One of the rare times he had used his mind-reading ability again to determine if he was going to die or be jailed for life. Fortunately for him, that was not Queen Snowfall's intention and he stopped listening to her thoughts before he explained that someone discovered him in the market and then invited to sell at the Palace. He had only accepted on the condition that he would not be seen or mixed among the crowd.

Queen Snowfall reluctantly accepted that he used the back door only after he offered her to have a taste of the fruits. She then made her guard swear to not let anyone know about him and let Watchful sell his wares as he saw fit.

In the few months that followed, he went from selling pitaya to selling all sort of rare things to the Ice kingdom. But he still insisted on keeping a low profile and whenever his reputation grew too high, he would either retire for a couple of months until things die down or use a middle-dragon to sell for him to avoid being overwhelmed.

His place on the market in Where-No-Dragon-Goes-Hungry was permanent and he didn't have to tear down his tent every time he closed it. He was offered to have a boutique instead of a tent but he refused vehemently on the reasoning that it wouldn't be fair to other sellers in the market who struggled, and he thought he didn't deserve it anyway. Somehow though, he had seen less and less goods disappearing from his store compared to the others since his meeting with Queen Snowfall, so he'd sometimes just hide fruits in the poor kids bags whenever he noticed them around. A trick he learned back from when he was entertaining dragonets in Possibility with his slight-of-talon.

Despite Queen Snowfall effort to erase circles and disparities among her tribe, Where-No-Dragon-Goes-Hungry was still a place for the out-of-circles dragons and those who were close to royalty tended to avoid it. Dragons there had barely enough to live, and couldn't afford to buy the more fancy foods and goods. Comparatively, the dark market had thrived and Watchful had been part of it a couple times.

He was quite fond of the place also because of its quietness. Sure, the market was busy almost every day but no dragons rushed shopping or stood in front of his shop in such a crowd that it felt uncomfortable. He smiled every time a dragonet had eyes full of stars when they saw the fruits on his table, and even more so when they realize one magically appeared in their bag after they left.

A-at least, th-there is n-no Nigh-nightw-wing dr-dragonet, he contemplated. Would he do the same for them? Surely not, they don't deserve it. Nightwings are not poor, they got that whole village for themselves where anything they need is covered, they don't even need to care for royalty anymore, another tribe care for them. They wouldn't come here in the first place anyway, way too cold for them.

Watchful raised his snout and caught a nice cold breeze coming from the sea with mixed scents of salt and kelp. He sometimes wondered what it felt like to be a Seawing and swim among seaweed and fishes. Would they survive the cold sea along the coasts of the Ice Kingdom?

He pulled the heavy and precious bag of fruits and slowly secured it on his back right between his wings where it would move the least. Each fruit was carefully wrapped inside individually and then intertwined with the others to make a more stable load. A second bag would be tied to his chest. The preparations were long and tedious but he had his method that he enjoyed doing and repeating, each gesture always in the same order as not to forget anything. But no matter how many times he had done it, he would always check thrice that he never forgot something. And yet, that lingering feeling on the back of his mind kept haunting him. It happened only twice since he settled as a merchant. It was still twice too many.

***

After a night full of pain and nightmares, he tried to get back to the Nightwing village in the Rainforest, it took him most of the day with his injuries. Nobody there seemed to notice him, and he was just too afraid to ask for help. He could hear everybody judging him in their mind, one for his broken wing, the other for his knee which really hurt and another for the injury on his head. They were judging him because he looked different, neither a Nightwing, nor an Icewing, and even less a Rainwing. He felt the resentment they had for him, for being the worst of both tribe, the old and painful memory of The One who almost destroyed them. He had heard the name many a time before but he was still too young to know what that meant and why they hated him so much. Of course, a few years later, he'd find out about DarkStalker and his deeds both old and recent.

"We a-are no-nothing a-alike, h-he and I... I'm j-just a drag-dragonet!", he justified himself.

But he could hear the others' minds. He could hear what they thought of him. He would never forget some of the words they used.

When he arrived at his mother's house after what felt like an excruciating time, he found the door closed but not locked. He carefully pushed it as to not hurt himself and walked in. The place had been emptied of all his belongings and hers as well as if she left in a hurry. His bedroom was mostly untouched except for all his favorite things. Everything he cared for was gone. He sensed the sadness growing quickly from deep inside of him and just couldn't hold back tears. He rolled onto his bed and cried himself to sleep.

The next morning he woke up and stretched gently. Immediately the pain reminded him that it hadn't been a dream and he had to decide his next move. He knew he could stay there alone but he was just a very young dragonet and from the minds he read, it was clear that no one was willing to help him. The dragons not only despised him but even more so his mother for having the audacity to have conceived an egg with an Icewing.

"Darkstalker" "Darkstalker" "darkStalker" "DARKSTALKER" "The New Darkstalker" they all seem to repeat endlessly.

He knew he had to run away before they all tried to kill him like his mother almost did.

He looked around the house for things to take with him and found a scroll were she used to write poems. He unrolled it, and as soon as he start reading, he could feel the tears running down his face and he rolled it back quickly. He had found a pouch in the house so he shoved the scroll inside, he would decide later what to do with it. It was the last thing that linked him to his mother.

There was nothing more of value that he think he'd need or that he could carry with him. He sat down in his bedroom and waited until the night.

Even if his tribe was mostly nocturnal, he still would attract less attention at night than during the day. The thoughts seemed to have stopped, somewhat. He could feel that by turning his head a certain way he lessened their strength. He could use this technique later if he needed to relieve himself from hearing others. Very slowly, he pushed the door. It creaked. He froze and waited for a few minutes but he heard no sound and the only thoughts he could sense were about building the next part of the village or partying.

He walked out and made himself as low on the ground as possible. A few Rainwing guards noticed him but they didn't seem to care one way of the other. He hastened his pace until he had reached the outskirts of the village and spread his wings.

A very sharp pain pinned him down. He almost yelped out loud but managed to contain it into a low hiss. His wings were unusable. They wouldn't hurt when he kept them folded but he just couldn't spread them. He will have to walk his way out.

Where was he going to go anyway? It's not like he knew a place where they accepted dragons like him. And then he remember hearing dragons talking about Possibility and how the city was full of hybrids and other rejected dragons. It was where he should go!

But in which direction? He focused on his memories.

"I-in San-Sandwing ter-ritory", good but still he wasn't sure which way to start and walking wasn't like flying, he couldn't just recognize the terrain as if he was looking from above.

He couldn't stay there nonetheless so he started walking in one direction and would see how or if he could ask for help to find his way later. For now, the further he was from the Nightwing Village, the better.

***

He arrived early at the marketplace. Only few other merchants were already there. They were all busy opening their tents and placing their goods in an appealing disposition and writing the prices of the day. Here a bundle of fresh fishes, there another of talon-made woven bags. Each dragon prouder than their neighbors about what they were selling. Watchful didn't pay much attention to the other dragons. He had put some puffed up white plants in his ears. Something he found in another market long ago. He was looking for a device which would help cut outside sounds and there, was that merchant selling fluffy balls, that he called cotton. After some careful discussion and meticulous thinking, he had woven several of them together and attached them to a headband that was sold to dragonets during festivities when they wanted to play "Be-the-tribe" where they'd sport fake horns of other tribes for fun. The balls of cotton felt very soft and immediately comfortable, and as they slid into place, they dampened almost all the sounds around him. Watchful had never experienced that before. It felt so good to finally mute all the noises around him. If only he could do the same with others' thoughts.

Ever since, he'd regularly buy those balls, of varying size depending on how much he would need to cut himself from the outside world, And whenever he prepared his stand, he would don his favorite pair and sing or whistle to himself.

In those moments, all the thoughts around him faded away making him feel like he was the only one in this world.

The other merchants really appreciated hearing him sing. They all thought that he had a very melodious voice and a nice rumbling growl which he would sometimes modulate along some lyrics that no one understood.

His tail marking the song's tempo; going from side to side and raising to a stop as if it was hitting a drum. Some dragonets in the known came early just see him sing and dance.

Watchful didn't mind. As a matter of fact, he mostly didn't notice as once he finished installing and stop singing, all the little ones mysteriously scooted away.