Some decisions, Boto thought, are impossible. Some are difficult, and some are simply hard. Then there are decisions where – though the choice should be easy – it is one of the hardest things to decide. He shook the musings from his head and tried to ignore the cruel grin of Doom-Darkstalker.

With only one option, Boto opened up the mahogany box and slowly, gently, pulled the single earring out. Some decisions are difficult . . .

This is not one of those.

"Fine Darkstalker . . . you win." He spat the words out like carrion, clenching his jaw as he prepared to tell a secret he'd kept for two long years. "In a far corner of the Kingdom of Sand, near the talon peninsula-"

Darkstalker twisted his – her? – face into a grimace, the small muscles near hr ears twitching involuntarily as if it hurt to hear. "You do realize I'm a mindreader?" She rose her brows, "There's no need for you to speak when I can hear it all in here." One cool black talon scraped gently against the side of his skull. "All you need to do is think it, and I can see it all . . ."

The dragon stepped backwards, giving Boto room to breathe, and gave a small, achingly familiar smile that he knew was a lie. That was not Doom . . . not now at any rate. With a sigh he tried to hide, Boto began to remember.

Scalding sand and glorious wind whirled beneath him, his wings carrying him high over the isolated dust storm as his talons checked that the blazing hot metal of his knives were still in place. Shiny black venom dripped off the edge of one of them, melting leather where it touched its sheath but doing nothing to his scales. Dragonbite's poison was his own, and had no power to kill him. His targets, on the other claw, were an entirely different matter.

Almost without noticing he tied strips of snakeskin to the knife hilts, his eyes scanning the sand for later recall as his wingbeats softened and his mind raced over the latest job. It was something that Boto would never do . . . but Boto was weak. Dragonbite, however, was used to it.

The target was in sight.

Dragonbite banked sharply to the left, scales changing to match the sky as he silently dove into the midst of a Mudwing battalion, knife at the ready. The captain – a minor figure, really – was easy enough to locate, his scales adorned with medalions and shiny badges of office. Might as well paint a target on your back, Dragonbite thought, but it certainly makes my job easier.

The air was thick with the stench of mud and sweat as he homed in on the Target, flying above and slightly behind the captain. A deep breath, and then he appeared.

The knife flew from his claws, a clear cut to his target's heart, and pandemonium erupted as the Mudwings registered that a strange Sandwing was in their midst, their leader dead. A few seconds later and they finally noticed two things:

Their attacker's diamond pattern ended halfway down his spine.

And the fatal wound was caused by a dagger wrapped in snakeskin.

It took them another minute to realize what that meant. Dragonbite. Three more dragons were dead before they started to attack, and in that time the assassin had vanished.

Or so he thought.

Wings tucked, scales camouflaged, Dragonbite dove between the two attacking soldiers, tail implant slashing their bellies as he darted away. One of them lost altitude, gasping with pain, but the other barely got hit.

Oh well, can't have it perfect every time. He thought, glancing back at the chaos.

The Mudwing was following him. Dragonbite felt a glimmer of terror, Was the camouflage not working? Perhaps the Mudwing had just guessed where I was going. He banked sharply right, spiraling away from the pursuer. Looking back, he saw the Mudwing even closer.

The Mudwing opened her mouth to shout. "Over here!" her voice was low and smooth. "You can see leather. I think he's a Rain-" She never finished the sentence, the poisoned dagger embedded in her throat. The damage – however – was done.

The other dragons quickly located him, and he downed two more dragons at a distance, twisting as the nearest soldier dove for him. He reached for another knife, but came up against empty air, and his heart plummeted.

He whirled in the air, twisting wildly in hope of confusing the enemy while he tried to unfasten the bandolier. His claw tore through the leather, but eight different clasps still held it in place. He panicked, shooting venom at the Mudwings without thought of hiding his tribe – though few knew about their powers.

A claw tore his wing, then a spout of flame singed his tail.

He dove into the sand, trying to bury himself, though he wasn't built for it, and prayed that they would go away. He waited a few moments, then heard a scream, followed by a solid thump into the sand. Several others followed, and he climbed out of the blistering sand, eyes widening as he saw the rest of the Wing dead on the sand. He looked closely at one of the corpses, and saw that the venom had finally taken effect.

He gazed at the carnage around him, and then the world turned black.

Darkstalker gave an exaggerated yawn, "Very, um . . . nice." She stretched as if from a long nap and then said, "Now when do you think we'll get to the whole 'finding Clearsight's earrings part of this long, long tale?"

Boto rolled his eyes, visualizing the scene, "Fine."

He woke up after night fell, and for a few seconds he thought he'd been blinded. Then he saw the stars. A star vanished, then another, and then he saw the silhouette of a dragon cross the moon. His heart raced and he dug himself into the sand, hoping to hide before they found him. The empty knife holster caught in his scales, and finally he ripped it off, the scales underneath is sore from sand and heat.

He burrowed farther into the sand, crawling below the surface for what felt like hours. Though the night was chill, the desert floor still radiated heat, and his eyes filled with tiny grains of pain. He closed his eyes and groped blindly through the sand, arms aching and wings stiff from being held close to his body. Finally he was able to come to the surface. Even if the enemy was still near, he didn't care.

He would die if he stayed down any longer.

He walked blindly forward, trying to scrape sand from his eyes even as the tiny stones pierced deeper. He stopped, and forced himself to continue on. Eventually his talons scraped against rock, and as he walked onto the slightly sloping area, it got colder and colder. A cave.

He walked until he no longer could, then collapsed. As he fell, his claws scraped against what felt like the remains of a wooden chest.

The next day – or perhaps more than one – he awoke to extreme pain, his jaws clenched as he registered his wounds, torn even more open by the desert sand. He pried his eyes open, and the first thing he saw was a pile of strange artifacts.

A scroll, a blanket, a single earring, and a faded letter.

The letter explained everything.

When finally he was able to move he stood, took the items that interested him, and left, beginning the painful journey northeast to the Scorpion Den. He left the letter, but kept the memories. Boto looked at Darkstalker, his mind and heart aching with the memory of that journey as he finally worked up the courage to ask: "Is that enough?"

The Nightwing hesitated, then said softly, "Yes. You can have her back." The shadow of sorrow graced those words – at least Boto though he heard it. Then Darkstalker exhaled sharply, closing her eyes.

Doomsayer's body collapsed, and Boto darted forwards to catch her. Her dark eyes flickered open for half a second, and he saw that the cruel light had left them.

"You're okay, Doom." She closed her eyes, falling limp. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest promised that she was alive.

"You're okay."