Some Dreamers Can't Dream

(I AM STILL WORKING ON THIS!)

Thick clouds of fog hovered above the freezing mountains. The clouds would block out the bright skies of day, replacing it with pale shades of gray. Cold air blew, stirring the snow and carrying some of it as it passed. The mountains were always cold, no matter what the temperature was. The thick clouds blocked out the warm sun, allowing the rising stone to become cold and snowy. This never changed.

A white figure with long fur walked through thick piles of snow, gray wings folded back. It had a pair of pale gray horns curving back on the top of its head, ears under it. It turned out to be a GhostWing, the dragons of the mountains. Nobody would come here due to the harmful gases in the air, which was disguised as the clouds of fog. The dragons could inhale this toxic substance because they used it as a weapon.

The dragon took a breath, looking forward. It began to run, picking up speed every few seconds. It kicked the ground, pushing itself up and spreading its wings. Furiously, it flapped them, carrying its body above the snow-covered ground. It lifted into the air, flying forward. As if the mountains were a training ground, it dodged ledges, swerved around pointing stones and flew above other rocks.

It coughed, landing on a ledge and laying there. It took a few deep breaths before standing back up, ears twitching. It heard a voice in the distance.

"Featherfall!" It called. The GhostWing raised its head, ears perking.

In the distance was a large GhostWing, its horns reaching back and curling forward.