Chapter 49

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Frosted snow

It was just another wonderful day in his scavenger den. He’d finally figured out how the scavengers were working with metal so easily, it had taken forever for his tribe to figure out how to set fires and then melt things to make other things. Especially after the genocide, because apparently, when over half your population is suddenly no longer there, lots of things get forgotten. Or maybe his ancestors had never known how and had relied on the fire breathing tribes. 

Which was dumb, IceWings shouldn’t have had to rely on anyone. 

But the scavengers were amazing with their dexterous little paws. They could make almost anything and they would refine its shape in ways that Frost had never thought possible. He was by no means a metal worker, but even he knew expert craftsmanship when he saw it. Clearly, Frost’s hypothesis was correct. 

The Scavengers must be smarter than dragons, or at the very least, more creative. Just for that, their name deserved to be a proper noun to make them more superior to dragons. Who cares about grammar rules? 

He watched the nervous blacksmith for a few minutes longer as he began to polish the tiny blade, handing it to the little champion with another nervous glance through the small window at Frost. 

At that point, the little champion exited the shop, talking to Frost with a sharp clipped tone that probably meant something like, “go away!” 

Frost responded in the same tone, trying to repeat the strange Scavenger noises with his own mouth. Of course, it sounded right to him, but the Scavenger champion looked up at Frost with a confused frown and continued on his way. Frost followed him, trying to figure out what he would do next. 

This was the first day that Frost had dedicated to following the champion, and so far he had sulked in his home, which was quite unfair considering that Frost couldn’t follow him around in there. When he finally left to go about whatever business he did, he only traded his strange golden discs for various items, a sack filled with food, a new sword, and nothing else. 

After that, he returned to his home, dropped off the food for the smaller Scavenger that never left the house, and went out a different door to go hit a cleverly designed pile of sticks with his new sword. 

Every so often he would shout something menacing up at Frost, to which Frost would respond by mimicking it. At this rate, he would only learn the insulting words… 

“If you want me to learn good words, then please say them.” Frost explained in a perfectly calm voice.

The little champion said something back, which Frost mimicked. At that, the hero paused and looked up at Frost, a thoughtful look pouring onto his face. At least, it was probably thoughtful, Scavengers had such squished snouts, it was sometimes hard to tell what their faces meant. 

He finally said something slowly, in a calm tone, which Frost mimicked again. At the very least he might be able to get the pronunciation down. Frost imagined that this one meant, “what the heck.” or maybe it was something like, “I hate dragons.” 

Frost wished he could get language better. He contemplated searching for that CaveWing who’d sold out his entire tribe, because he seemed pretty good at picking up languages. At the very least, he had more experience than Frost. 

But that would require seeing other dragons again, and Frost had vowed to never do that.

So he would get through this by the grip of his own talons. He knew he could. It was just a matter of actually doing it. Frost sighed and realized that the Champion had gone back to hitting the pile of sticks with the sword. 

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