you were curled up against the cold, clammy wall of the makeshift base that you and Roach had made of the small, cramped cave. Your talons ached from the rough chase earlier-you two had nearly been caught by a Nightwing patrol. Sure, the Skywing Alliance and the Nightwings weren’t at war(yet), but that didn’t mean they appreciated armor-clad dragons sneaking around one of their suspiciously fortified ‘treasuries’.

You’d narrowly escaped with your tails, but you’d acquired an ugly gash on your forearm from a guard’s spear. Roach had dragged you out of there, and was currently wrapping a bandage made of the strange, silk-like material produced from his wrists around your arm. He paused from his ministrations, raising a talon and signing at you, his snout crinkled in a concerned frown.

‘That was reckless,’ he chided, before returning to tending to your wound.