Chapter Text
Spyro wakes to rays of sunshine piercing the cloudy sky, falling on his face. Sleep still clings to him tight, but he fails to reach out for it amidst the wind licking at his face. Lavender pierces his nose, now that the smell of wet grass has faded. He takes a moment before opening his eyes, letting them adjust to the flood of light. Heavy eyelids constrict his vision until he blinks a few times, trying to focus on the scenery. The woods in front of him look surprisingly inviting, as if he was in a different place entirely than where he fell asleep. The sound of chirping washes over his ears, bouncing back from the cavern each time. His wing proves too soft to get up just yet, but the tension down his back does convince him to roll his legs over, un-twisting his spine from the unnatural position it was likely in all night.
He glances inside, spotting Cynder laying noticeably closer than when they went to sleep.
When did she…
The thought dies off as his gaze stumbles into it on her back. He perks his head up, and, after giving it a second look to confirm he's seeing it right, he tries his best to look away from the scene to no avail. His eyes are drawn to it, despite what it is.
Do we… tell her? She’s not gonna be happy about it. We should. Better for her to know, so that something can be done.
Hunter is already awake, though he’s not doing much besides quietly fiddling around with his cloak. His injured leg is swollen like a sack about to burst. It’ll be difficult for him to go anywhere with that for quite a while. If only he could have-
No, he’s explicitly stated you are not responsible for him. Stop. Either way, no sense worrying about could’ve-beens.
The cheetah looks back at him, giving him a quiet wave. He lazily nods back.
Her? he motions at Cynder quietly. Hunter tilts his head to the side, not understanding what he’s alluding to. He shakes his head, nevermind, before laying back down.
He wants to close his eyes, maybe go back to sleep a little while longer, but he just can’t help it.
She looks so… peaceful. At peace, rather. From just looking at her right this instant, it’s impossible to infer what fire she holds in her soul… and in her past.
Finally she stirs, causing him to take his eyes off of her in a hurry. She uncovers her face, stretching her wings wide with a yawn. She looks around, first glancing at Hunter, then at Spyro. Darker circles underline her eyes, clearly nobody besides Hunter got a good night's sleep.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Good morning,” he whispers back, maybe a bit louder than he meant to.
“Good, we’re all awake.” states Hunter. “Let us get going as soon as possible!”
“I don’t suppose your leg has magically healed itself overnight.” asks Cynder.
“It has not. I have devised a make-shift cast for it, though. It shall do.” He states as he pulls his hands away from his leg, revealing the mass of cloth that was once his cape. “We will take a detour to my tribe, though if it goes right we should end up saving time, not losing it. There is a secret cave next to them which leads directly to the inside of the dragon city.”
Cynder gets up with another big stretch, this time of her forelegs, and steps outside onto the grass. “If this route is so good, how come we weren’t going to take it originally?” His eyes follow her curiously.
“The problem is my chief, Prowlus.” Hunter begins. “He has… outdated opinions about a lot of things, among which are dragons, and their role in this conflict. I should be able to successfully bargain for help, but having to do so is a scenario I would have rather avoided.”
“Racist old man. Got it.” She proclaims before lifting her face towards the sun, basking in the light.
The two others exchange a look. Hunter starts gathering his belongings as Spyro, too, gets up and joins her on the grass. They depart down the river shortly, Hunter doing his best to avoid putting weight on his bad leg by using a longer piece of wood they found lying by as a crutch.
The only detour they make is for a small cavern nearby. Hunter explains he has explored it before, and it has an instance of the crystal they need to refill their mana. Power surges within them once again as they make contact with the gem.
Step after step, they waddle towards the tribe. He must admit, along the way he did consider suggesting the idea of just taking off flying with Cynder and heading straight for the dragon city. Surely, their friend would be fine on his own, but problems arise if he happens not to be alone: if he got ambushed in his injured state, it would mean his death. There is no choice besides sticking by his side so as not to risk him ending up grublin chow.
Eventually, along the way, the thought becomes unavoidable: the tribe already doesn’t like dragons… and if she prances into their territory like that… Something needs to be done, the conversation grows in urgency with every step they take.
Eventually, upon reaching a shallow part in the river, he makes up his mind. Let’s just get it over with
“Cynder… you… um…” he begins with exceptional smoothness. He gulps as she stops walking and looks at him blankly. Best not to say it out loud. He can see it too, but it’d probably feel more embarrassing. He leans in close to whisper in her ear as she waits in suspense without budging.
“You still have blood on your back.” he spills.
She pauses for a moment, processing his statement. “I… see.” she says, peering to the river. “Hunter, would you like to give your leg a rest soon?”
“We can stop if you wish.” he answers before approaching a tree to sit down in the grass.
Spyro follows him, sticking by his side, ready to be leaned on if he needs help. As he turns back around, Cynder is already in the river, sploshing about with determination.
He lays down in the grass next to Hunter, staring at a line of ants running around in front of them. The occasional sound pulls him away from his thoughts and the mesmerising organisation of the workers in front of him.
His staring grows in intensity, only snapping out of it when he realises her sounds have stopped. He picks his gaze up, looking curiously towards her. He can’t quite make out what-
“Spyro…?” she says, looking away from him.
His heart skips a beat, whatever it may be it can't be good. Before he even realises, he is already on his feet and approaching her. As his claws are about to make contact with the water, he pauses though, staring at her, as if waiting for her to clarify that she does not want him there. She does no such thing, so he dips a paw into the cold river, then another, making his way over.
He finally arrives next to her. She's still staring straight ahead, and he goes to mimic her. He does not dare look into her eyes. Not right now. She’s looking away for a reason, whatever that may be.
“Yeah?”
Her lips curl in on themselves as she steels her nerves. “I can’t… see my back.”
…Right!
“Or reach it…”
Obviously…
“Could you…” Her voice retreats before she can finish the sentence.
“Right! Yeah… yeah sure! Let me just-” he gets interrupted by her turning her back to him, gory splotches dotting it all over.
Ancestors, that’s a lot of…
He thinks for a moment: “What if you… okay, get down in the water and I’ll… do the thing.”
Without a word she submerges her body, then spreads her wings to get them out of the way.
Right. Just have to…
He lifts a paw to her back, aligning his skin with hers, before placing just the end of one finger against her, then another, then the third, and slowly lays his remaining phalanges then palm down as well. Her body is cold, alarmingly so. Not that that seems to mean anything to her, she's not shivering and doesn't seem uncomfortable. He begins shuffling his palm side to side, faintly hoping that the water will do most of the work for him. Her back is slick with the dried blood, causing his hands to get no friction. It barely even registers that he's touching scales in the moment, the feeling more closely resembling skidding on ice.
His digits brush over her bumpy scales, their pattern occasionally interrupted by streaks that misalign with the rest. He has a task to tend to, but he can't help but linger over them. With all the blood covering her, it is not immediately obvious, but soon the realisation hits: those are almost certainly scars. He retracts his hand sharply, he should have been more careful with those! Cynder's breath hitches in her throat, and he stammers out "Sorry, it's nothing", putting his paw back where it was. Scars are weaker than skin and he'd rather not add her blood to the pool as well, but there is no way to confidently discern where they are and are not, so there's no choice but to continue while ignoring them.
He is at it for a few more seconds, before Cynder's wings droop by her with a heavy sigh.
“I’m not porcelain, you won’t break me by using force.” she instructs, eyes still dead set forward.
He stops his motion, chuckling for a moment. “Right, obviously.” he says before placing his other front paw on her back as well and finally scrubbing with intent. For just a moment, he does notice a faint smile from her as well. Circle after circle, friction develops between his skin and hers. Circle after circle, he uncovers the messy bumps in her back, not that he can do much to avoid irritating them, the way he's doing it. Circle after circle, his breath grows heavier from the exertion, his paws not stopping for a second. Circle after circle, he's ridding her of all that.
Finally he pauses, then removes his paws to stop putting his weight on her, landing back in the water with an unelegant splash.
As he looks closer to be sure that every bit is gone, however, he notices discoloration at the bases of her wings. As if cloth was being ripped apart, tiny circles dot her scales, winding around each other with no discernable pattern.
She turns her head around as much as she can to peer at what he’s doing. He declares “Done!” nervously, feeling as if he was caught in an act. She simply blinks at him before faintly saying “thank you,” and turning towards him.
Their eyes linger on each other, only broken by Hunter speaking up. “I've rested enough to continue, if you wish.”
They turn towards his voice, Cynder departing shortly from the river towards Hunter, glancing back at Spyro before stepping out. He hurries after her, and as they step out of the water Hunter gets up. They can only hope there is nothing else that could potentially ruin any good impressions they may still have the chance to make.
The winding river finally leads them to their destination. As they enter the valley, a line of smoke reaches for the skies, and the smell of fish roasting hits their nostrils. In the distance, past where the river takes a sharp turn, a fence of sharp wood obscures the tribe from view. Watch towers stand over the wall, and as they get closer the silhouettes of cheetahs stir within the ones facing them.
As they approach, the frame of a gigantic door develops, and one half of the gate moves out of the way, giving them a slot to pass through.
Spyro glances back at Cynder, whose eyes are dead set on the top of a watchtower. Upon noticing him, though, staring, she snaps out of it and turns to him. He points at the entrance with his gaze for a moment, beckoning her for any reservations she might have about entering.
She narrows her eyes as she peers back at the figure in the tower.
Worst case scenario we just fly off, C.
She lets out a sigh, turning back to him and shaking her head dismissively. He nods and they turn their attention to the entrance, which Hunter has already used. They slip through, and 2 small cubs push the hunk of wood closed behind them.
They follow Hunter, making their way to the center of the tribe. Several heads turn their way as they head through the living quarters. Elders get close to whisper to each other, some stare, children get ushered inside their houses, some don't dare to stare.
“Dragons! Bah.” A raspy voice behind them cuts through the silence of the usually bustling tribe. Hunter whips around to face them, the 2 dragons in question following suit. “Hunter. Do you have such little respect for our laws that you would form an alliance with the very creatures that caused all our misfortunes?”
“Chief Prowlus!” Hunter begins. “Malefor, the Dark Lord, he alone is the one to blame. And these dragons, they are our last hope to end the war. You have to see that!”
The chief's face scrunches to a somehow angrier one than before, and he nods towards a cloaked figure amongst the crowd. The figure inserts a crystal into a crude, metallic lock fastened to a thick pole then closes it shut. Before they even realise what that might be, the collars around their necks appear for a moment. The chain no longer leads them to each other, though, but to the lock.
Cynder’s eyes go wide as their collars disappear again, and she whips back around, glaring at the chief.
Spyro leans into her, then whispers: “hey, if nothing else, I burn the pole and we fly off with the lock attached.”
“If we don't get pelted by arrows first.” she whispers back.
The chief continues. “I am aware of your little prophecy. But unlike you, I have not forgotten what they say Malefor was like when he was young, and I have not forgotten what she has done.”
The eyes of the crowd shift from the chief and Hunter to Cynder. She's looking around, sizing up the cheetahs, having already lowered her body and raised her tail. Some in the crowd are clutching at their weapons already.
Shit
He takes a step towards her, getting into the chief’s line of sight. He raises his head high, glaring daggers at him.
He glances back for a moment, seeing her lowering her tail and relaxing her limbs. They can only hope this puts the warriors at ease.
The chief's neck twitches for a moment, his gaze unbroken. Finally he turns back to Hunter.
“I relied on you, just as I must rely on all of us in this village to keep it safe. But you abandoned us!” He bends down a touch to be eye level with him. “And upon your return, you bring the dangers of the outside world with you.”
All at once, several watchtowers begin ringing bells as a faint buzzing sound commences.
“Grublins! Grublins in the valley!” Shouts one of them.
“Everybody to your stations!” Instructs the chief. “Now look what you've done! These two herald nothing but danger.”
Spyro speaks up, trying to get the chief on their side. “Let us go, we can help keep the grublins away!”
“You would fly right off! Or your fire could light up all of our buildings! That's if you even decide to actually help.” answers the chief. They do not like the implication.
“I-, we would… we want to help! We wouldn't just fly away!” He argues
“You're the reason these beasts are here in the first place!” Yells back Prowlus.
He cringes at the possibility. Could that be the case? They were not aware of anybody tracking them, but it-
“Fine then!” exclaims Cynder. “We will simply sit here and watch as your soldiers get slaughtered. With the ridiculous disadvantage of numbers you have, it will not take long.” she says as she, indeed, sits down on the ground.
The chief clutches his paws in anger, looking around at the fliers converging on their position, their archers not even close to sufficient to keep them at bay.
“Better yet, when was the last time they had something to eat? I don't see any farmland nearby, your tribe forages! Are your soldiers nice and satiated before this fight?”
If a look could kill when angry enough, they'd’ve reached it long ago.
“Better not risk the dragons you want out of your hair flying away, right? It's not like the grublins are after us anyway.” She adds.
Finally he breaks. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a key, then jams it into the lock and opens it. The collars appear again, at last only linking back to each other. The faint shimmer they didn't even notice the lock had before is now gone.
“Don't make me regret this!” Commands the chief through gritted teeth.
Cynder! Hell yeah!
Circling overhead, slowly descending on them, are wyverns. Their red, kite-like bodies wave like flags as they fly, and their teeth are dripping with saliva, itching to get a taste of that dragon meat.
Spyro spreads his wings and takes to the skies, creating a whirlwind of cold spreading outwards. As he twists around, already starting to get dizzy, his body rapidly starts losing heat. It is worth it though, as the creatures flying overhead slow down.
Cynder is… where is she? Gone… apparently. For a few seconds, it's impossible to make out where she disappeared to, in part due to his brain sloshing around inside his skull until finally, from the shadows she leaps out onto the largest assailant in the group, on its back before it even realises, and already slashing away at the back of its neck with her tail. As his body makes another rotation, expanding more mana and cooling the skies even more, all that's left of the scene is the body of the wyvern laying on the ground, and her again nowhere to be seen.
The cheetah archers make quick work of the unarmored grublins, and the ones on the ground are dispatched of by the rest. Their work is not flawless, but it is sufficient.
As he continues spouting ice and frost everywhere, one by one the wyverns drop as the black figure pounces on them.
She's terrifyingly efficient at this. She got her old title for a reason, I suppose.
Finally he stops as none remain moving. The two land on the ground near Hunter, looking around to see if anybody is still fighting.
~~~
When she confirms that they're indeed all safe, she looks to Spyro, who's staring at her, trying to catch her sight. He motions towards the sky, in what he probably assumes is the general direction of Warfang.
Agreed, let's go! She nods silently, but as he begins to spread his wings the sound of a sword being drawn interrupts them.
“Who says you're free to go?” Asks the chief, sword in hand, ready for suicide-by-dragon.
Who on earth does this cheetah think he is?
“Who are you to say otherwise?” she asks, stepping closer, teetering on the edge of his weapon's reach.
“Cynder stop!” Begs a voice from behind her. “We can just go. They don't have fliers, they can't do anything! There's no need…”
Is there no need?!
She bores holes into his eyes, just barely further than the length of a full swing.
“Look at your sword! Is it stained with blood? It seems shiny like silver to me.” she challenges him.
The chief's neck twitches for a moment again.
Nervous?
Finally she breaks eye contact to look around. His injured warriors are slowly making their way to the doctors, one even being carried. The rest are pulling arrows out of corpses, cleaning their weapons, a few still sitting around, lost in thought, as if it was their first ever brush with death.
Every way she looks, people avert their eyes, weapons get holstered before getting cleaned properly, the ones left standing sit down.
She smirks for a moment at the chief. “I guess there isn't.” she says before taking off in an instant.
Spyro’s wings make a loud fwoop as he follows suit, quickly matching her altitude.
After a few minutes of flying, the thought settles: they left Hunter behind. She can only hope that after this display, he will not be punished by his chief. Banished, perhaps. Though for that tribe, she would not count that as punishment.
She averts her eyes from the unending forest laid out before them, looking back as the tribe gets smaller and smaller in the distance. They're quickly approaching lower cloud height, Spyro's ascent slowing down. She obliges, and they keep sailing below. Sunlight falls on her back, blinding her for a moment as it reflects in her shackles. She stops looking around.
The silence between them is so thick it could dull a spear.
They need to be gone. First priority when we get there. She is trying her hardest to keep the thought of it at bay, but she can't help it. Her heart speeds up when she considers not only the fact that they're there, but also how they got on her body again. They weren't there, then the two passed out, and now they're here. What else could they have-
“One less potential ally…” says spyro
“Hm?” she perks up.
“That’s one less potential ally. They're a warrior tribe who aren't siding with the Dark Lord in the conflict. Maybe they could've helped us.”
…Having larger numbers definitely doesn't hurt if this really has become an all out war.
“Nevermind, I-” he tries to take it back before getting cut off.
“No, you're right, I could've handled that better.” she agrees with a sigh.
…to say the least. Humiliating him then flying off? Perhaps Hunter could have convinced them to send a detachment their way to aid them if they simply took off without a word.
The wind begins to pick up, carrying them towards their destination. Before they can even begin to think about that, though, heavy clouds are forming on the horizon.
“I've got some sort of gut feeling that this isn't how this was supposed to go down.” he says.
"‘Supposed to’? What does that mean?" she asks, puzzled. In retrospect it's obvious that this wasn't the ideal way to handle this conflict, but it's nothing devastating. The main advantage of cheetahs in a fight is their superior mobility, but there's no mobility superior to flight anyway. “Your gut is feeling some weird things, Spyro.” she pokes at him.