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Floe was not a patient dragon, but yet, she stood, frozen still. Her crystaline, bat-shaped wings folded flat against her back, and long thin tail, studded with dangerously sharp spikes, stiffly curled around her talons- curled and ridged daggers, gripping the ice below her.
Floe hated being told what to do- yet her sharply thin snout lowered and spiked neck bent in a nod.
Floe hated the cool, blank experssions on the surrounding dragon's faces, yet her own held exactly the same one- black eyes, staring vaugley ahead, surrounded by white frowing white scales.
But most of all, Floe hated the wall, with the name every single Icewing in the aristoracy carved into it, located at their according rank. She hated the Queen, heavy crown atop her head, who slid those names so .. carelessly along, moving them up and down and rearranging as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
Rearranging dragon's lives as if it was NOTHING. Righto, just flick them away, without even a though of how they'd feel about it, apparently.
Every icewing dragon in the aristocracy's life was determined by where their name was on a wall- it decided what duties she was assigned, how they were treated by other dragons, when she could and couldn't speak, when she hunted and who for, where she lived and was.
Her whole life was conducted by the rules that she had to follow to keep position on the wall, to climb up and never fall down. Every action carefully calculated and judged. She worked so hard, every day, standing HERE, achingly still. To be able to slide names along the wall so easily- to be able to conduct dragon's lives, with just a flick of a claw- she ACHED for it.
And so did all the other icewings, lined up beside her. Each one as tall, thin faced, pointy, pale and still as the other.
She sighed, letting out a breath of relief- her wings sagging a little, quickly pulled back up as someone glared at her- when the huge dragon queen turned, delictaley removing the diamond-studded crown from between the long horns on her head and placing in ona velvet cushion. The dragon holding the cushion whisked away.
The queen's expression was blank and conveyed nothing. Floe personally thought that it looked disdainful, (Not that she knew if any-one else thought so. To critisise the queen would be treasonous and absolutly lower one's ranking on the wall.) looking down that thin snout with raised eyebrowes and dissapointment- but the Queen always looked that way.
"You are dismissed." The queen hissed commandingly, her voice resonating far across the silent, cold tundra.Like clockwork, they all began to shuffle away, talons scraping on the ice- including floe. She was no better than the rest of them.
