Harsh air blew over Skuff’s mask, rushing over the top of his armour. The night sky glimmered with stars as he flies above the clouds in his deathgripper, Crook.

His breath was heavy as he flew. His knuckles tightened on the saddle of his dragon as its wings flapped in the freezing barren air.

He could only imagine all of the duties he was missing as the Chief’s eldest son — not that he minded. He was tired of his fathers prodding.