Isolated

Warning: This fic will have blood, death, and violence. If you don't like that, don't read you fool.
The battlefield was surprisingly relaxed. There was no artillery fire, no air strikes, no roaring vehicles. Only a familiar standstill. Tension was still there, a familiarity with death that no dragon should ever have known. Death chose randomly, and it took rapidly. Everyone in the silent, abandoned city knew it. Snipers acted as his silent hands, and rockets his reaping blade.
Solbrann's team knew death. They had given it, and they had taken it. Solbrann himself was the team's most experienced sniper, and, as a sandwing, and oddity. His alliances went against the rest of his tribe. The sandwings fought against the rainwings, not for them. Yet here he was. Working with two rainwings and an icewing. Probably the only icewing participating in the war. Only a week ago, they had had five members. One month ago, there had been seven. Their casualties were light. The war was nearing it's end. Analysts predicted a rainwing victory within two months, and fighting had been steadily decreasing. Solbrann had never known the chaos during the heaviest fighting, but the icewing had. He refused to talk about it, and even the least sensitive of dragons could see the pain in his eyes when someone mentioned any one of the three largest fights. Even now, he was staring at nothing. 
They all were laying flat on a rooftop, with an incredible view of the dusty city they occupied. Solbrann was acting as a spotter for one of the rainwings, who was calmly scanning the horizon with the powerful scope on his sniper rifle. The other two were resting, but neither of them was asleep, both occupied by some halfhearted card game. Solbrann was focused on a cluster of specks on the horizon. Under the magnification of his binoculars, the specks became artillery pieces, prepared to bombard the city. They were intimidating, but not to dangerous. The sandwings wouldn't fire into one of their own cities, even one under rainwing control. Solbrann still kept an eye on them, just in case.
He felt a gentle tap on his leg; the rainwing next to him, nicknamed Colors, catching his attention.
"See that?" He spoke in a whisper, his attention completely devoted to his sniper's scope.
"Where?" Solbrann spoke in a similar whisper, practically holding his breath as he scanned for anything abnormal. Sand. More sand. Trucks. Sand. Nothing.
"Thousand yards out. Three hundred yard right of the artillery. Something moving." His scales shifted as he talked, turning into a more pale shade of the tan he had been seconds ago. He wasn't very good at keeping them under control, and thats how he came across the name. Colors. Just like his scales.
Solbrann's vision finally caught the movement. Dragons, away from shelter, within sniping range. Easy targets on the empty desert. Hard to notice, but easy to track, now that they had been spotted. Tan uniforms marking them as the enemy. He didn't waste time.
"Sight in to nine-fifty. No wind. Take shots once you're comfortable." He heard a distinct clicking sound as Colors adjusted it, followed by a full minute of complete silence. Even the card game froze. Then Colors inhaled. There were two seconds of silence before the gunshot. Another two seconds before one of the dragons in the distance jerked and dropped to the ground. The other started to run. Solbrann tracked him with the binoculars, and soon a second shot dropped him. The desert plains went silent again, and motionless. Anyone who had heard the shots would have returned to cover, and that meant it was time for them to relocate, before the enemies discovered their position. He looked to the second rainwing, nicknamed Flare, who held the highest rank among them now that their captain was dead. Color's started sliding away from the edge of the roof, ensuring that his silhouette wouldn't be spotted. Flare gestured for them to collect their gear.  
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Fanon)
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)