Friendship in the Far South

"Central Camp is being fortified as we speak. The builders are adding emergency insulation and reinforcement to above-ground exterior areas, and the engineering team is bolstering the central heaters and stockpiling energy crystals. Most of that work is already done," Legrane continued.

"Good to hear that," muttered one of the scouts, and Harkwin couldn't agree more.

Legrane's calm expression didn't change. "Home will be warm and safe, but first, our work is in the cold. I need you all to fly, and fly fast." Legrane twisted a knob on the light field projector's control pedestal. The sand within the pit shifted again, adding another layer on top of the map. Instead of just geographical features, weather was now visible too. Thin wispy clouds appeared above some areas; and at especially windy areas, snow could be seen blown up from the ground by gusts. But the most significant change was a huge wall of grey clouds which suddenly appeared over the left extreme of the map—the storm was coming.

Harkwin stared silently at the displayed model of the storm, feeling a sense of dread. That storm system was dangerous, it was their enemy, and yet it was entirely impersonal. It was just a force of nature that they would have to survive.

"This storm is different from the three that we have faced previously," Legrane continued. "It appears to be rotating, which the weather worker team was excitedly babbling on about. What does that mean? I do not know. They do not know. No one really knows yet. But practically, it means this storm seems to be moving slightly faster than the other storms previous."

The scout sitting beside Harkwin spoke up. "Does that mean stronger winds?" Drend asked.

"Oddly enough, no. The winds are about as strong as storm number two, and the temperature will drop to about as cold as storm one. This is a big threat, but we have faced these conditions before. This time the difference is that this storm is moving faster, so it will be of much shorter duration. The weather team estimates that once the storm hits Central Camp, it will have passed over us completely within just two or three days."

Excited murmuring accompanied that announcement. "A short storm? That's good."

Legrane opened his wings and beckoned for quiet, which he got. "That is the good news. The bad news is that because the storm is moving faster, we do not have as much time to prepare as we expected. Previous estimates were that we would have two more days before the storm arrives. However, just yesterday evening we got the latest from the weather outpost over at Bluefall."

Harkwin found his gaze drawn to one particular marker on the map. Just like all the other scouts, he was familiar with the terrain and the relative locations of all the different outposts of the expedition, since it was their job to regularly travel to these places to act as couriers. The outpost at Bluefall was one of the four weather stations which gathered regular updates on the weather conditions that the expedition would be facing. Just yesterday night one of the other scouts had flown in from that outpost, bringing the latest data to Central Camp so a forecast of the storm could be made.

Legrane did something with the control panel and the projected map advanced forward in time quickly. The shadows cast by the sun swivelled through every angle as time passed, and that immense wall of grey clouds billowed across the whole map, enveloping everything. "The latest prediction is that preparation time is reduced by half a day. The storm will hit Central Camp by noon or late afternoon tomorrow, so we need to respond accordingly. The weather stations are well insulated and the needlemir exploratory dig is safe too because they can shelter deep in the mineshaft, but all other outposts must fall back to either to those safe outposts, or preferably back here to Central. With the storm hitting tomorrow midday, they must be back here by tomorrow morning. The actual time depends on the location of each outpost, of course."

"Your instructions are to fly out to the outposts and relay this information to them. I say again—tell them to be back at Central by mid-morning tomorrow, or at another safe outpost. Outposts 1, 3, 5, and 6 are weather outposts which are safe, as is the needlemir dig at 11." Legrane unslung the large pouch which was strapped to his back and opened it up, revealing that it was filled with hollow wooden cylinders—each cylinder was a capped scroll tube containing rolled-up messages which were to be sent to each outpost. The scout section leader switched the projected map back to the present, showing the current location of the storm, and then he started illuminating the outpost markers one by one. "Flight assignments are as follows: Outpost 2, Kamatsi. Outpost 4, Thayles. Outpost 7 and Outpost 8, Drend. Outpost 9..."

Harkwin watched as the different outpost markers were lit up one by one, and different scouts were assigned to inform each area. As Legrane called out the assignments, he passed off the scroll tubes to each scout, making sure that they got the correctly numbered message tube for their specific outpost. This was the standard routine every day, as scouts were assigned their flight destinations during the briefing.

On regular days, Harkwin's assignment was usually to Outposts 19 or 20—these were the newest outposts built by the expedition, and they were the furthest from Central Camp. Harkwin being the scout most often assigned to these distant outposts was, in a certain way, a mark of praise because it was a tacit admission that he was one of the fastest and most reliable scouts. There was no room for personal grudges or petty squabbles on this expedition, not when the environment was so hostile—and regardless, Harkwin didn't mind the long flights. In fact, he rather enjoyed them. Every dragon could fly, yet not every one of them was good at it; but he was.

Outpost 19 was a botanical research team which had set up next to an icy lake, from which the scientists were digging up frozen trees to investigate the plants which had once grown in the frozen far south, long ago in the past when it was not so inhospitable. Outpost 20 was just as scientific in nature, but from a different field of research that investigated hot springs and geothermal activity in a mountainous region of the far south. Each of these outposts was small with just a scattering of researchers assigned there, which made it all the more crucial to keep them updated and in communication with the expedition's main camp.

Staring down at the map, Harkwin smiled slightly as he kept daydreaming. Professionalism aside, he'd even made friends with plenty of the others on this expedition, and one of the junior researchers at Outpost 20 had become quite a close friend to him—

"...post 18 and Outpost 19, Garilasor. Outpost 20, Harkwin. Scouts, you have your flight assignments," Legrane finished saying.

Harkwin snapped back to the present. Hopping to his feet, he trotted over to Legrane and took the proffered message scroll tube. Before he could head back to his place around the sand pit, Legrane reached into a different pouch on his flight harness and took out a different, slightly thicker scroll tube meant for document storage in addition to simple messages.

"One more thing for you, Harkwin. After you send that message to Outpost 20, I want you to cross over through the mountain pass and head to Outpost 3—Bluefall Weather Station. Get the latest results they have."

Without hesitation, Harkwin took the second scroll tube offered to him. "Outpost 20, then Outpost 3. No problem, drak. I can do that."

"Excellent. The weather worker team here at Central is itching for more data on the storm. And given the latest wind estimates, there should be a strong headwind for you all the way from Outpost 20 to 3."

Harkwin looked back to the map again, with all its various markers indicating the different outposts. Outpost 20 was the geothermal research outpost (the hot springs) which was the newest and furthest outpost away from Central Camp. Outpost 3 (the Bluefall Weather Station) wasn't as far away from Central, but it was in a roughly similar direction so he could just alter his course allowing him to pass by the weather station on his return trip from Outpost 20. That weather station was almost directly in the direction of the oncoming storm, so it therefore had the best weather data. Yesterday morning a different scout had flown to that outpost to pick up the updated information, but now it would be his responsibility.

Legrane looked around. "Those are your assignments, scouts. Get those messages delivered. Does anyone have any pressing questions?"

"Do we have the latest winds and weather conditions?" asked one of the other scouts.

Legrane tapped a button on the light field projector, and small markings were added all over the sand pit to indicate supposed wind directions predicted from the last batch of weather data. "As shown. Winds should be mostly quiet today, except for an irritating case of gusts right at Central which might make takeoff a bit dicey. Other than that, expect smooth, easy flying—at least until tomorrow, when that storm comes and the winds will kill. Any more questions?"

"Drak, if we fly fast, do we get extra rations?" asked one scout, smirking at their leader.

Legrane raised an eye ridge. "Once that storm hits we will be totally grounded and unable to fly. If you get double rations you will end up fat. Whether you want to be fat is a question left for your conscience to answer. Any proper questions? No? Then I shall see you all back here by this afternoon. Fly fast and fly well, scouts!"

Harkwin slipped the message scrolls into a large pouch of his flight harness, then he hopped to his feet. "Fly well," he echoed, as did the others.

---

Harkwin wasted no time. He scampered up the stairs taking several at a time, and then he pushed out through the command post's doors and into the snowy outdoors. He didn't really think he was an impatient dragon; it was just that he didn't like wasting his time.

"Are you in some sort of rush?" asked Zhalin, one of the other scouts, who was walking up the stairs at a pace which wasn't so frantic.

"You know how it goes! Harkwin's faster than you—he makes a better scout," retorted yet another of the scouts, whose name was Drend, in what might or might not have been a joke.

"Oh, of course. Harkwin's fast, sure. When I was his age I was just as impatient and full of energy. But now I have lost all my youthful vigour and become old and slow," Zhalin replied, in what was definitely a sarcastic joke. She wasn't old. Even Legrane wasn't old, and he was more than a hundred years old.

Harkwin wasn't sure how to respond to this joking about at his expense, so he didn't try. Expedition members came in a wide scope of ages—ranging from older dragons come to utilize their decades (or sometimes centuries) of experience with research, building, and other useful skills, all the way down to younger dragons such as himself, who were just here more for the adventure and the excitement of it all. One of the good things about being a scout was that experience and age was of limited use in their vocation, so the scouts all treated each other as complete equals despite their differences. In comparison, Harkwin had heard from some of his friends in other vocations that their team hierarchies were stricter and more formal—for example in the science teams, the senior researchers were clearly the bosses over the junior researchers, since they'd been doing science for potentially so much longer.

But such things were hardly unusual, and at this instant they all had far more important things to be concerned about. The storm was coming. Standing in the snow, Harkwin first took a moment to slowly spread open his wings and take in the surroundings, getting a feel of the wind direction and making sure that he wouldn't hit anyone as he took off. Winds were still gusting about the Central Camp and kicking up snowflakes, but this wasn't anywhere near bad enough to prevent flight, especially for dragons with air affinity.

The other scouts had all come out of the command post as well, and Legrane waved at them to go. "Come now! Less joking about and more flying, people. We can joke and laugh over dinner when those messages are all delivered. Fly!"

"Two destinations today... Outpost 20, the hot springs, then Outpost 3, Bluefall Weather Station," Harkwin muttered quietly to himself, fixing the locations and the flight course in his mind. Then he sprinted forward and leapt upwards, throwing his wings open to catch the air. The sharp downdraft from his wings sent flakes of snow spinning in the wind. That first initial leap into the air was always the most exciting as suddenly the ground beneath his paws was just gone, and nothing but the pull of his wings was keeping him up. As he beat his wings hard to rapidly gain altitude, Harkwin briefly glanced back and saw the other scouts leaping into the air as well.

For a moment, the young, light-grey scaled dragon circled around the camp, taking in the sight of all the buildings. Dragons could be seen moving from point to point within the camp, but from above they looked small—in fact, the whole camp looked small from the air, almost like the miniature sand pit models used in the command post for briefings.

From the air, Central Camp was visually understated. It resembled a collection of boxy grey buildings made from metal, stone, or concrete, barely standing out against a vast field of snow and ice. The greenhouses were the only buildings which weren't grey, as they were made from clear glass, but now they were already being covered up by in preparation for the storm. There was a flash of bright light as one dragon (with flame affinity) used his firebreath to soften the edge of one metal sheet, then another dragon (with metal affinity) used her magic to manipulate the structural element into place for a weld.

Circling about was not simply to ponder and reflect on life. As Harkwin flapped his wings hard to keep gaining altitude, he took this moment to orientate himself and make sure he knew which direction was which. Flight navigation in the far south was significantly more complicated than just standard flying back in the normal drakken-controlled territories. The outposts were all in different directions away from Central Camp, yet they all were northwards because this was the polar far south. The expedition was literally almost as far south as was possible, so everywhere else was northwards from here.

And this wasn't just a terminology problem—it was a practical one too. Normally dragons relied on natural compasses inside their heads to get a sense of direction, but that would not work here. Instead, that natural sense of direction just unhelpfully pointed right down towards the magnetic pole and the molten planetary core which created that magnetic field. Worse yet, it was hard to rely on the sun to get an idea of direction, because it did not simply rise from the east to set in the west, but just spun around and around in all directions. To navigate by the sun, Harkwin needed to keep checking his pocket watch for the time, as well as constantly recalculating the correct angles.

But these challenges just made success more enjoyable. Tilting his wings, Harkwin began his journey flying off towards Outpost 20. He knew the way based on landmarks and other more reliable navigational cues, and this was a common flight route for him.

Harkwin glanced back briefly at the camp he'd just left, and he caught sight of his fellow scouts all flying off in various directions, spreading out to many different outposts to deliver information about that incoming storm. Meanwhile the camp itself was busy with activity as builders worked at construction, and other preparations for the storm continued.

As Harkwin gained altitude and distance from Central Camp, he summoned that inner sense of power which had been with him ever since he'd grown up and developed air affinity. Reaching out all around him, he pulled on the air and it obeyed, pushing him forwards with even greater speed. Outpost 20 would be about four hour's flight away, then another three hour's flight to circle around to Outpost 3 and get the latest data they had, before finally another three hour flight back to Central Camp with those weather predictions. All in all, he would return by mid to late evening—a typical day's flying, all normal for a scout in the polar expedition, living and working in the far south.

It was a joy to fly, and it was an even greater joy to fly fast. The air rushed and swept across his wings, carrying him away from Central Camp and out into the bleak wilderness.

---

Being a scout could be a lonely job at times. Though scouts were all based in Central Camp with the other members of the expedition, their tasks involved being all alone in the skies for much of the day.

Harkwin flapped his wings, holding a steady beat even as his air magic pushed him forward. While flying, he took the time to look down at the frozen, desolate landscape he was flying over—the far polar south was bleak and barren, with snow and ice layered thickly over the world. There was undoubtedly some monotony to his job as he flapped his way through the air, with his only company being the wind and clouds.

Over the course of several hours he flew out from Central Camp, passing by a few notable landmarks which served as route markers on the way to Outpost 20—various things such as a narrow mountain pass shaped in a stretched V, a glacier made from blue ice which was ever so slowly sliding down a hill, vast frozen lakes, and even a big rock monolith which was tall enough to be visible out of the snow like a pillar of oddly angular grey. The far south was bleak but occasionally beautiful, though he didn't slow to admire the frozen sights.

As was proper procedure for a scout, Harkwin would occasionally take out his pocket watch from his chest pouch to check how fast he was flying. His watch had a short metal chain which tied it to his harness, so he wouldn't lose the timepiece even if it slipped from his paw whilst in flight. Everything was on schedule.

As he sped across the polar landscape, the sky remained mostly clear and there was no turbulence to hinder his journey. After about two and a half hours of flight time, the ground far below started to change—instead of flattened plains, the terrain grew increasingly hilly, though it remained exactly as snowy and cold as before. Harkwin mentally ticked another waypoint from his mental map of his flight path, and he changed heading slightly to continue towards Outpost 20. Up ahead in the distance, he could already see the hills continue to rise in height as the terrain gradually grew bumpy and uneven.

Within another hour of flying through the polar highlands, Harkwin was coming to the end of his journey—or at least, the first portion of his journey. At some point within the last hour, the hills had transitioned into mountains, though there was no clear point which demarcated mound from mount. However, it was undoubtable that Harkwin was now flying amongst mountains—before he could easily soar high above the hills, but now the mountain peaks stretched so tall that it was simpler to fly around instead of above them.

The sky was no longer as clear as before. Puffy whitish clouds stuck to some of the mountain peaks, and increasingly the air was turbulent and bumpy as Harkwin flew on. The scout continued to follow along the familiar mountain ridges, tracing snow-filled valleys and flying past rocky grey cliffs.

Finally, about three and a half hours after he'd first left Central Camp, Harkwin was almost at Outpost 20. Flying through one final mountain pass, a large bowl-shaped area came into view, nestled between several taller mountain peaks. From previously speaking with some of the scientists at Outpost 20, Harkwin knew that this whole area was a summit crater—long ago this area had been an active volcano, but then at some geologically ancient time the volcano had run out of magma and its top had collapsed inwards, forming a huge circular depression in the ground. The floor of the summit crater was still much higher than in the flatlands, but it was surrounded on all sides by taller mountains which made it look lower by comparison.