Friendship in the Far South

Nacen grit her teeth, but she just chuckled. "Hah! No, we'll make it through. We have to! I've got way too many things to do with my life still. I don't... I don't have time to die."

"Let's not die," Harkwin agreed, though they both knew all this was just being hopeful. There was nothing they could do to control the weather, and nature itself would decide if the storm passed fast or slow.

All around them, the storm raged on.

---

Harkwin jerked awake. For a few moments he couldn't remember where he was or how he'd gotten here—all he knew was the harsh, freezing cold which was everywhere. Hiding until the blanket, curled up into a ball, he could feel that cold still digging into him, stealing away his body warmth.

Being so cold was an incomparable experience. Harkwin felt all his muscles spasm and shiver uncontrollably in an automatic effort to warm him up, but even that did little against the all permeating cold. Warmth and comfort felt like a distant, forgotten memory which he might never know again.

Glancing around, Harkwin realized that there was another dragon curled up beside him—Nacen. Both of them were huddling against each other under the blanket, but that seemed to do nothing against all the cold. And yet the sight of her managed to jog Harkwin's memory, lifting him slightly out of his hypothermic confusion.

It was the two of them, sheltering in a snow hut they'd built, hoping to somehow make it through the worst that the far polar south could throw at them. How long had they been in the storm? Harkwin wasn't even sure. Time seemed to have lost all meaning, and the cold seemed eternal. Slowly memories filtered back into place.

First there had been mad desperation as they'd built the snow shelter over the hot spring, working out in the cold as the storm gradually arrived. But then the shelter had been complete, and everything had seemed better—the inside was warm and steamy from the hot spring, and there had been time to enjoy food, drinks, and even each other's company.

More memories clicked into place as Harkwin tried to recall what had happened. For the first day or so, the snow shelter had been warm or even comfortable. He and Nacen had passed the time with conversation, talking about life, about themselves, each other, or about anything else that came to mind.

Harkwin's gaze shifted to a sheaf of documents that was lying dropped on the rocky floor, a short distance away—a collection of research papers, record logs, even old messages between Central Camp and Outpost 20—those various documents had been in one of the crates, amongst the supplies and equipment they'd hurriedly dragged over from the outpost. Left with not much to do inside the shelter, Nacen had taken to simply reading the paperwork again, simplifying and explaining things aloud to Harkwin as she did so. Harkwin now knew more about geothermal activity and hot springs that he ever had before, just from listening to her talk.

Harkwin shuddered at the thought of what it would have been like if he'd been all alone here, trapped for days without anyone to interact with. But now at least they had each other. They'd done so much talking—discussing everything from their personal viewpoints, to the workings of the expedition, to even about what they planned to do what they when they finally returned to the City of Wings—if they returned.

How long had they been trapped inside this shelter? Time seemed meaningless. They had no view of the outside world and no visual cue for what time of day it even was. There was nothing to do but to eat, sleep, talk, and mate. And they'd done a lot of all of those activities—but especially that last one. Harkwin glanced at Nacen, watching her as she slept, curled up under the blanket.

In the past few days they'd exhausted so many different sex acts just as a means to pass the time and avoid boredom. Harkwin felt like he was almost as familiar with Nacen's body as he was with his own, and his genital slit felt faintly sore from how well used it had been. They'd done mating with him on top of her, with her belly down; or belly up; also mating with him lying down, and with her straddling atop of him; mating with both of them lying on their sides, facing the same direction; or both facing each other; or not even mating properly but using their paws to pleasure each other; or using their mouths; or even tails. The two young dragons had even tried both just playing with themselves, lying on separate sleeping bags but watching each other touch their own bodies. And kissing—so much time spent kissing, figuring out how to do it properly.

Harkwin blinked. Had he imagined all that? No, definitely not. His imagination wasn't anywhere near that capable, even if sometimes it felt like he couldn't tell the difference between dreaming and being awake. Even in his dreams he was always in this snow shelter, trapped by a storm and unable to leave.

But as the hours and days had passed, the storm continued unrelenting, and slowly the cold had crept in. Inside the snow shelter there was a circle of warmth spreading out from the hot spring, but that circle had gradually shrunk as the temperature dropped. Eventually they'd had to put their sleeping bags right beside the pool of boiling water just to stay warm, and now the time had come when even that wasn't enough. The oil lamp and the kettle were still running, continuously burning oil to produce what meagre warmth they could, but that wasn't enough either.

Harkwin yawned and closed his eyes for a moment, but he wasn't sure how long that moment lasted. Had it just been a few seconds, or had he drifted off to sleep for another few hours? The cold seemed to have affected the passage of time, or at least his perception of the passage of time. His pocket watch was inside his flight harness, but that was located away from the hot spring, closer to the wall of the snow shelter along with all the rest of their supply and equipment pile. Knowing the time wasn't worth leaving the blankets and the hot spring—it was too cold to bother.

It must have been a few hours at least, for the oil lamp was now starting to dim as its fuel supply ran dry. Yet the cold seemed worse than ever, and he didn't even dare to run over to the supply pile to drag over that small metal barrel of oil.

How many days had they been inside this shelter? It must have been at least three. Perhaps four? Or perhaps his sense of time was completely skewed. How long more could the storm last, with the cold and the wind that was slowly killing them?

Harkwin huddled against Nacen, and she briefly blinked her eyes open. "It's... it's... co—cold..." she whispered, her teeth chattering.

Harkwin nodded. "Brrr. The storm will... it will pass soon. It has to be soon..." he replied, but this was nothing more than hope. If he was wrong, and the storm didn't pass soon, then neither of them would be alive to know it. They were at the limits of their ability—their natural frost magic tried to hold onto body heat, but the environment was too cold and too hostile.

He closed his eyes again, and once more time seemed to distort.

---

When Harkwin next woke up, the oil lamp had almost died out completely, and the inside of the snow shelter was barely lit at all. Yet the winds of the storm were still raging, roaring against the outside of the shelter and with wind chill snatching away any heat.

Turning his head, Harkwin saw that the hot spring had gone still. Instead of a gently bubbling surface, whirls of ice crystals had spread across the water, freezing in place in beautifully bleak fractal patterns. Their source of warmth had stopped, frozen over by the storm. "Nacen..." Harkwin tried to say, but his voice was barely a croak.

The hot spring had frozen over, but surely there was still warm water below the surface. Geothermal activity powered a hot spring—that same raw power that fuelled volcanoes and quakes, so surely there must be hot water somewhere below. If Nacen was awake, perhaps she could use her water magic. Perhaps she could have controlled the water deep below the surface to have it come bubbling up again, bringing some semblance of warmth.

"Nacen. Wake up." Harkwin nudged the drakka beside him, but she didn't respond and her body felt too cold. In the dim light, Harkwin could see his own breath as he exhaled, creating a tiny cloud of condensed vapour. Small ice crystals were forming around his nostrils; and not just there, but all over. Ice was forming everywhere, on everything. He nudged Nacen again, to no avail.

"Nacen? Please! Wake up, please..." Harkwin tried one last time to rouse Nacen, but no matter how he shook her, she didn't respond. Without the warmth from the hot spring, it was too cold to be awake—too cold to live, even. Harkwin pushed himself to his feet, but his muscles were shivering continuously and his limbs all felt stiff and numb. Taking a few hesitant steps, he left the relative warmth of the sleeping bags and the blankets as he walked onto the frozen hot spring pool. Each step was stingingly painful as the cold jabbed at his paw pads, and Harkwin couldn't seem to control the muscles which should have let his claws extend out from his paws.

The ice didn't crack under his weight, not even after he reared up on his hindlegs to slam down his forepaws. Not seeing any alternative, he unfurled a wing and swung it down, desperately trying to break the surface of the ice. His wing smacked against the frozen water and Harkwin let out a pained cry at the impact, but the ice didn't even crack.

Stumbling back, he collapsed down on the sleeping bag, clutching his wing where a thin scratch marked the leading flight edge, gently oozing thick, crimson blood. He wanted to stand up and try again to break the ice, but he didn't have the energy to rise. Everything seemed to be fading, going dark—perhaps the oil lamp was running out of fuel entirely, or perhaps he was drifting away.

It was hard to breath, and harder to think. Harkwin closed his eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to be warm, and safe, and not alone.

He dreamed of seeing the sky, one last time—not in a sky obscured by ominous grey storm clouds, but instead a proper blue sky half filled with puffy clouds of white, lit up by rays of warm, welcoming sunshine. Nacen was right beside him in this vision, looking happy and healthy, playfully swooping against him and making him dodge. As they spread their wings, Harkwin imagined them soaring through the world, free to go wherever they wished.

He couldn't feel the cold anymore. He was free.

---

---

Everything was dark and formless. It was impossible to tell between reality, memory, and hallucination. Voices echoed through the world, but Harkwin tried his best to ignore the madness—the voices whispered to him, digging into his mind and babbling in their incoherent loops. Was this what it was like to be a hatchling before the hatch? Trapped in an egg, unable to see or move; distantly able to hear voices from the outside, but unable to understand anything?

Or perhaps not. Eggs were supposed to be kept warm and safe and treasured, but everything was so cold. It was so cold that he couldn't even feel anything, not even the cold itself. Harkwin was so numb and he couldn't muster the energy to move, to talk, or to even think properly.

Suddenly a loud thump sounded out. Harkwin was too tired and cold to even be surprised. Was he in an egg, hatching out to being his life in the world again? No, no, not that. It was... the thumping sound was... the white, round things that came from the sky. Sky ice. Sky ice was hitting the shelter again. He couldn't even remember what the word was called. It took him a few more seconds of pondering before he could recall it.

Hail. It was hailing again. He wanted to talk to Nacen and tell her that it was hailing again, but it was so dark that he couldn't see her. Was she still lying next to him? Had he imagined her? Had he imagined everything?

The hail seemed to sound different than before. Instead of regular, staccato beats of hail lumps raining down around the shelter, the sounds seemed intermittent, and to be coming from one specific direction. "Crackk!" Then suddenly there was a loud cracking, crunching sound and a flare of light appeared out of nowhere. Harkwin turned his head towards the light, blinking at the strange sight.

The brilliant flash disappeared in an instant, but now everything seemed faintly brighter than before. A thin sliver of illumination was visible from one side, as a vertical crack of light appeared out of nowhere. For a moment Harkwin wondered if he was dreaming, but then the flare of light appeared again.

Faint tendrils of orange flame licked in through the crack, rapidly making the crack expand as the wall of the snow shelter melted. Even when the flame briefly stopped, the light was brighter now as sunlight streamed in. The fire came back, and this time it was clear what it was—firebreath. The smoky, sharp odour of concentrated flame magic seemed to fill the snow shelter.

Then the flame stopped once more, and claws appeared in the gap as someone tore open the shelter from the outside, widening the crack even further. "It's hollow!" came a shout, this time far clearer and perfectly understandable.

There was a crunching snap as a large piece of the icy wall broke free, and then a dragon stuck their head into the shelter. Harkwin wanted to yell in joy, or scream madly, or even move, but he was too weak to react. He couldn't even lift his head anymore. The dragon glanced around in the darkness, then their gaze locked on Harkwin. "Here! They're over here! At least one of them is still alive!" exclaimed the dragon.

More firebreath, more cracking, more shouting and yelling. All around there seemed to be so much motion and noise and light as expedition dragons tore open the shelter, letting light and fresh air pour inside. Harkwin felt his eyes watering from the sudden brightness, and he squinted.

"Nullfire-blasted, twice-cursed sky spirits be blessed, you're still alive!" muttered a familiar voice. Harkwin blinked his eyes open to see Legrane—the scout section leader—was one of the dragons helping to rip open the snow shelter. "Careful! Don't pull away too much of the wall or the roof might collapse!" Legrane ordered to the other dragons. "Let the medics in first! Stand aside!"

Harkwin tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. There were two medics who leapt into the snow shelter quickly, as soon as there was even a big enough hole for them to slip in—one attended to Nacen, while the other went right to Harkwin.

"Alright, we have you. You're going to be alright," said the medic. "Harkwin—that's your name, right? Can you talk? No? Ok. Just relax. You're going to be alright."

The medics acted quickly. The lightweight blanket covers which came with the sleeping bags were tossed aside, replaced by shiny, highly-reflective emergency blankets that were even more insulating. Water packs filled with hot water were tucked under Harkwin's fore and hindlegs, right in the armpits and groin so they could warm him up. The heat was so sudden that it felt almost painfully hot, but Harkwin wanted to cry tears of relief.

From one of the numerous pouches of her flight harness, the medic took out a large whitish chunk of crystal about the size of a clenched paw. She then used a small strap to hold that crystal against the back of Harkwin's neck—it was a healing crystal, filled with a special type of magic that could target wounds and repair injuries.

Medics were dragons who were fully trained in medicine and they were therefore considered doctors, but they weren't healers. Healers were dragons who specifically could use healing magic, but that type of affinity never came as dual affinity. This meant that there were no healers with frost magic to go on the polar expedition, so instead special crystals charged with healing magic were used. It was a paltry, unfocused measure compared to the targeted expertise of a real healer, but it was still better than not using healing magic at all.

Even as relieving warmth finally started permeating through his body, Harkwin could see tiny sparks of magic pouring out from the healing crystal, spreading out to sink into spots where frostbite had damaged his scales and skin. The magic spread out and extended over the leading edge of his wing, where he'd scratched himself from trying to keep the hot spring from freezing over.

The medic then used something wet to wipe Harkwin's wing base, and then she lifted up one of the scales there and smoothly jabbed a needle into one of his veins. This caused a prick of pain, but the discomfort faded away as sparks of healing magic continued to wash over his body. The needle was connected to a long thin tube, the other side of which was attached to a bag of clear liquid that the medic held up using her tail. Harkwin could feel the fluid flowing through the needle and into his bloodstream, directly spreading liquid warmth into his body. He tried again to speak, but his voice came out as a cough. "Ahkk..."

"Careful. Careful. You're safe now. Don't worry," the medic reassured him. Holding Harkwin's head, she carefully placed a bottle against his jaws and let him drink slowly—the warm water tasted faintly sweet and salty, but it was like liquid relief wetting his mouth and soothing his throat. "Don't rush or you'll choke. Just take your time. It's alright."

"Mmh." Harkwin drank until the medic lifted away the bottle, then he licked away a few droplets of water which had dribbled down his chin. Her voice still sounded so weak, but at least he could speak now. "Nacen. Is she...?"

The medic was busy wrapping a padded cuff around Harkwin's foreleg, presumably to check his blood pressure. She didn't even turn to check with the other medic before replying. "She'll be fine. Don't worry about her. You're safe. Do you have any injuries? Can you tell me if anything hurts, Harkwin? I see your wing is scratched. Can you tell me how that happened?"

Harkwin wanted to press the question further, but he was just too tired. He could see the other medic doing something with Nacen, so presumably she was still alive—a medic wouldn't try to treat a dead, frozen dragon, surely? Harkwin put down his head and closed his eyes, despite the medic continuing to ask him questions.

The next thing that got the young scout awake was when several dragons grabbed him by his wings and gently lifted up, then carefully placed him back down on a stretcher. His wings were then furled up and tied down to the stretcher, along with his paws, and even his tail so it wouldn't dangle. That reflective insulating blanket was wrapped all around him again, just to keep him warm. "We're going to get you back to the infirmary at Central Camp. Don't you worry," said the medic, even as other dragons began attaching ropes to the stretcher, so it could be carried between them from their flight harnesses. Four dragons to one stretcher, sharing the weight in flight.

Harkwin vaguely recognized some of the other dragons who were going to be carrying him back. They were his fellow scouts, and his colleagues nodded to him as they saw him make eye contact. "I always knew you'd make it through the storm," said Zhalin, one of the scouts. Her tone was so casual that it was almost as if they were just having a friendly chat after any regular day, instead of in the midst of a rescue and emergency medical evacuation. "We had a bet, and I was one of the few who said that you'd somehow made it even if you were stuck at Outpost 20."

Harkwin let out a single tired, amused chuckle. "Hah. You were... betting whether we lived or died?"