A/N: Not really feeling it anymore. It's been a while since I wrote anything. Been kind of questioning what I'm really passionate about these past few months and I still can't figure it out. Life has been spiraling out of control and I have so much work piled up for this summer and next year. This chapter kind went downhill. Sorry. I'll try to keep updating :(

~ Chapter 25 ~

Wings

The grass sang longing requiems for the lost girl. The wind murmured soft apologies to the silent boy.

His fist clenched. The tufts of green writhing from the soil clung to his boots, crying at his feet for their transgression. The invisible wisps of breath combed through his hair, trying desperately to soothe his mind.

He couldn't believe he had let her get away. He couldn't believe he hadn't paid more attention. He couldn't believe he hadn't screamed her name.

His mouth twitched.

But it was too late now.

He dug his shoes into the ground, crushing the grass. His former friends shrieked in pain, all their tiny, insignificant voices filling his ears with a symphony of destruction. He relished in their fright.

Here he was.

Standing.

Or floating.

He wasn't really sure.

The winds pleaded for him to stop. They danced around him, asking for forgiveness over and over again.

But it was too late now.

He hated the wind. He hated the wind so much he wanted to encase himself in stone so he would never have to feel it carassess his skin, tousle his hair, or brush against his lips so they tingled as if he'd just pulled away from a kiss which should have lasted forever—ever again

Above. Clouds caterwauled. Stars shrieked. The melancholic midnight blue beckoned.

Below. Waves wished. Rocks rumbled. The melancholic midnight blue beckoned.

He thought. He thought hard. He wasn't sure what he was thinking about, but he embraced the throbbing in his head.

Why was he doing this? Why did he come here? Why should he even care about her?

His swirling emerald eyes gazed into the forest.

He was lost. He was so fucking lost but he knew he had to keep going, he had to keep going because that was what she would do. She would keep pushing forward like a hurricane, tearing the world apart, not caring even when the trees turned to broken shards of glass under her step.

His clothes were stained from sweat and brush and the innards of the animals he'd hunted. His matted hair reeked like a month old meat pies. His pack was half empty, the other half filled with bits of last night's supper, old rope, and his second shirt. His mouth was a desert. His eyes drooped with fatigue.

A soft orange light pierced his skin. His gaze shifted up, never slowing the pace of his horse. The deep indigo was light lavender now, the color so many noble girls adored, with pink, orange, and yellow spreading at the edges of the earth. Soft white clouds dotted the expanse, floating like drowsy sheep across the sky.

Dawn.

He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. How long had it been? Six days? Maybe Seven?

Where was she?

A flash of blackened garnet in the midst of evergreen-snow. Butch yanked on the reins so violently, he was almost thrown off his steed. His horse circled back through the dense woods to a small clearing smeared with red. The faint bubbling of a stream sounded from the other side.

The familiar metallic scent hit him. All his memories of stabbing, crunching, slicing, severing, tearing, and pummeling slammed into his chest. On the trees, in the snow, dyeing the fallen autumn leaves—was blood. Darkened crimson, deep cherry, dried currant shades painted the most terrible, gruesome rose he'd ever seen.

The sight made bile rise in his throat. Was this her blood?

He tripped his way to the center: a tall oak with branches crouched over the mess. His hand shaking, he scooped up a handful of snow. Underneath, there was still a layer of faded blood.

He could hear his heart thumping faster and faster as his hands grew colder and colder, shoveling white snow over the pink, desperate to cover it.

The earth stopped spinning, or spun faster—he wasn't so sure anymore. Laughter started to echo throughout the forest. He staggered to his feet, unable to discern where the eerily familiar sound was coming from.

His chest and stomach began to throb. All he could see was that disgusting, half-dried, brownish red blood. He almost vomited; there was just so much.

This wasn't fun. This wasn't like smelling the sweet scent of his enemies' life as he slashed across their chests. This wasn't like watching his own deep red drops swell and gush over a gash in his arm. This wasn't what he'd imagined it'd be like.

His lungs burned, and he realized he was the one laughing. The maniacal, inhuman noise was erupting from his mouth.

And he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop laughing at how fucking bizarre this was.

The shades of red, undoubtedly her shades of red—he tore at his mind, trying to convince himself it couldn't have been her but he just knew—danced around him.

He needed water; he needed to get a grip and find out what happened. His horse was only a few feet away, and his water pouch was hanging there on its saddle.

Butch stumbled forward before his legs gave way and his knees dug into the snow.

What the fuck? He giggled, pushing himself up with his hands. This is stupid.

He couldn't move. Black and yellow spots taunted him in front of his eyes.

Oh God, he was passing out, wasn't he? Over what? A bit of bloodied snow? He laughed harder. This was stupid. This was stupid.

Dozens of brighter lights appeared, mingling with the blotches in his head. The ground beneath his legs hummed.

The forest zoomed into focus. The leaves were suddenly too sharp, the winter air too crisp, the world too real. It was as if he'd been half blind all his life, and had slipped on a pair of expensive looking glasses.

But the dots were still there. They beat his brain into a pulp, tainting his vision. He was still going to pass out.

Butch clung to his new vision, clung to the clarity of his life. But the darkness was dragging him away, and he couldn't fight.

His last glimpse was of an approaching girl, frozen in her tracks as she took him in. The wind shifted her shiny curled hair, revealing her widened brown eyes.

He slurred a weak "How ya doin'?" before it all went black.

Buttercup's eyes opened to brilliant blue skies and large crystal windows. She blinked a few times. So it wasn't a dream. She'd really made it to Mediphantia.

The duvet flew to the foot of the bed, and her form twisted as she stretched, extending her non-existent claws like a feline. For a brief moment she wondered what had happened to the Lynx, but dismissed the thought.

The room she was staying in was small, but not cramped. The high ceilings and arrangement of furniture created an open space, allowing her to breathe.

She leaned over the side of the bed to retrieve her pack, before unbuckling the strap and dumping its contents onto the mattress. Crossing her legs, Buttercup rested her elbows on her knees to inspect her belongings.

She'd started off her journey with nothing but a water pouch, her bow, and a few knives. Now, leaking from the leather bag were an extra set of clothes, a pair of socks, a roll of bandages, two leftover slivers of jerky wrapped in cloth, a vibrant red apple she'd picked from a tree, a full supply of water, freshly sharpened knives, and thirty gold coins Klaire had generously given to her, minus the five she'd spent on the room

Only six more nights before she would go broke, and that was not counting other variables such as food. She'd have to find a source of income soon if she was going to continue to live in Mediphantia.

She strapped a knife and her pouch of clinking coins to her belt, tugged on her worn boots—she needed a new pair, and was weaving in and out of streets within ten minutes.

God, she'd never seen so many people in one place before. Sure, the parties back in Selodia were grand, but these people were literally drowning her in their unfamiliar clothing styles and bizarre accent. Even when she looked up there were winged children prancing on the roofs.

Of course, they didn't really have wings. On their backs were colorful contraptions of a translucent material pulled taut against the wooden frame. It was mesmerizing to watch them leap thirty feet into the air to impress each other with fanciful tricks, flipping and twirling and diving.

She really, really wanted a pair.

A sharp push from behind shocked her out of the syrupy sweet daydream, causing her to stumble forward.

"Hey, watch it!" cried a tangy, high pitched voice.

Buttercup shifted her eyes to make contact as she dusted herself off. "Oops, my bad."

The girl's sharp face softened, but just barely. She cocked her head like a cat deciding whether or not to eat a bird."You're not from around here, are you? You've got a nasty accent."

"Um, yeah." Buttercup replied, her focus drifting off towards the whirling figures in the sky.

"Seriously, how old are you, twelve?" A caramel sand mop of hair draped in front of her. "You should see the dragons."

Buttercup blinked. "Who are you?"

The girl ignored her question, looking Buttercup up and down to size her up.

The brunette tensed, her hand inching towards the knife strapped to her waist.

"Hm...yeah...Yeah! Do you want to see them?" The girl's storm gray eyes flashed lighting, and she chirped like a bony, underfed chickling.

"Uh, dragons? Pretty sure they're not real. Also, hey, I don't even know you."

"Ah, you learn that later anyway, if you really want to fly." She grabbed Buttercup's wrist.

"No. Why are you acting so goddamn mysterious? This isn't some game. This whole 'come with me I'll show you the world' crap doesn't happen, 'kay? Who are you?" She seethed, baring her teeth slightly.

"Just, just c' 'll see."

"No!"

"Look, we just a tad short of new recruits this year and it would be absolutely wonderful if you could just help me out a teeny little bit."

"Recruits for what? Your murder cult?" Buttercup rubbed a finger along her ever-growing eyebags, slugging along reluctantly.

"Son of a bitch. Are you serious right now? Are you serious? Really, are you?"

Meyline threw back her head in laughter, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Does this look like a joke?"

"I'm not sure anymore—God, what is even happening right now?" It seemed she was destined to repeat these meaningless questions for the rest of her life. But it was just so magnificent, so unbelievable.

"They're real beauties, aren't they?" The seller, a tall, lean man with a thin mustache, beamed.

Meyline snorted. "They're alright. Better than most of the lot out there, but they're no show-ponies. See that one's scales? Dull and scratched! Hah! No, these barely compare to the professional ones." Buttercup, still recovering from shock, bobbed her head in agreement, unable to form coherent sentences.

"Well," his friendly demeanor turned sour, the line of his mouth curving down in offense "are you going to buy one or not?"

The gangly blonde shrugged, tilting her head at Buttercup, gray eyes locking onto her's. Buttercup met them with irritation.

"You got any money—"

"No." Buttercup glared, coming out of her trance. "I just got here. I barely have enough to last a week."

The seller snickered, making himself the victim of her fierce green eyes. "If you don't pay, you don't fly."

Meyline lifted a brow. "That's fine. I'll cover the trial fee."

"Trial fee!" Buttercup gawked. "trial fee?"

Back home it was either you bought something, or you didn't. There was no "trial fee!" And what the hell was this girl doing paying hers? Buttercup hated being in debt to someone; there was no way she'd let a complete stranger buy something for her.

The seller hesitated, but accepted after noticing the leather pouch swinging from Meyline's belt.

"Wait no, don't—"

A thin yet full smile. The slight cocking of hips. "Hm?"

"Don't buy a dragon! Holy crap, I don't even know how to ride one."

The smile widened. Buttercup felt her muscles tense reflexively. "Well, why don't you give it a go? It's not the easiest thing ever, but you should pick it up in a cinch."

The seller retreated his outstretched hand. A look of incredulity washed over his face. "You mean, she hasn't even had lessons yet?"

"No, but she's about to. Mind if we borrow one?"

"Yeah, sure." He mumbled. "Damn rich folk. Waving their money around like that."

Meyline ignored him, walking over to the dragon pens. She scrutinized each one, receiving a few puffs of steam and wing flutters.

"Which one do you want to try?"

Buttercup's gaze swung over the bright bodies and horned heads and tapered talons. None of them really caught her attention.

Focus leaping between a sleek, bluish, swampy kind of beast with luminous yellow eyes and a green—a forest-y, familiar, heart-wrenching shade that reminded her just a bit too much of home—serpent with slender wings and razor sharp claws, Buttercup came to a decision.

"That one," she pointed at the blue one, heart thumping in her throat. The green scales of the other dragon matched his eyes too perfectly. It gave her nerves.

"You sure?"

She nodded, rubbing a sore spot on her left arm. "Yep."

"Alright. What about you?" Flicking his hand at Meyline, the man rubbed his eyes before strolling to unlock the doors.

"I'm good. I don't want Blackbeak to get jealous. They can smell the scent of another dragon from miles away, y'know."

"Blackbeak?" Buttercup wet her lips. They were chapped and starting to burn. "You have one already?"

"Of course. You want to meet him?"

"Hell yes, I do."

Meyline grinned, showing off her long teeth. She lifted two fingers to her mouth and whistled, a shrill, ear-aching sound. Buttercup winced.

"He'll arrive in a couple minutes. Usually I let him roam the forests." Meyline wiped her fingers on her pants. "Go on, give it a go." She gestured with her arm.

Buttercup spun around to see the man holding onto a barbed lasso wrapped around the snout of the dragon. She wasn't so sure this was a good idea anymore. Horses she could deal with, but massive twelve feet long dragons were a whole different story. The creature seemed to smirk.

"C'mon girl, saddle up," he huffed.

A few awkward struggles and irritated grunts later, the world had dropped out from under her feet.

Biting back a scream, Buttercup gripped the reins so tightly her knuckles turned white. Far below her, a shrill laughter erupted from Meyline.

"Holy shit, holy shit."

A orange blur shot past, sweeping under her dragon and resting beside the two miniscule figures below. Moments later, Meyline joined her in the sky, lighting and thunder rumbling in her eyes.

"You ok?"

"Yeah. Flying's uh, interesting," Buttercup swallowed, closing her eyes to feel the wind tug at her hair. It was a little like horseback riding, but a lot colder and a lot quieter. Without the thumping of hooves on ground, she was left to stew in her own thoughts, a terrifying prospect.

"Well, go on, take him for a spin. Test him out for a bit." Meyline's grin was ear to ear.

Buttercup shrugged. "Oh, um, sure. Show me what you got, buddy." She tapped on the dragon's neck.

His mouth twitched, revealing two rows of yellowed fangs. With barely enough time to prepare herself, the dragon shot downwards in a spiral, his wings beating against the sky.

Her breath was ripped from her lungs and her stomach plummeted. The earth opened up, swallowing her whole as the beast weaved in and out the trees and dove under sheer cliffs. There was so much to see, so much to feel, so much to hear; but it blurred past her in seconds. Under her skin she felt her blood coursing through her veins, pulsing with life.

Her heart opened up and she realized

this was everything.

- end of chapter 25 -