Unnamed Pandionese book 1

Chapter 1
Thunderbolt wanted all the friends on the face of Pandion. He wanted to be known near and far: “Thunderbolt, the dragon that knows everyone.” He wanted dragons of all tribes and variations to be equal, to be healthy, and to be his best friend. Yes. That’s what Thunderbolt wanted for his Hatching Day.
“Hurry up!” He called to his parents, bounding toward the Clouds Race. He knew he should save energy for the actual race part, but he couldn’t resist running. Races were his favorite thing in the world. But this was his first time in the Clouds Race. The “Super Amazing Cloud Race For Professional CloudWings That Also, By The Way, Is The Bestest Tournament On The Continent.” Or the “S. A. C. R. F. P. C. T. A. B. T. W. I. T. B. T. O. T. C.” for short.
He could meet hundreds of millions of willions of dragons there.
The sun was a faded purpley-yellow, and one of the moons was peeking over the horizon. 
Sunset.
That meant the race was about to begin. He put on a burst of speed. There were still ten minutes left before it started, but he’d have to sign up and get ready. 
“Wait up!” Called Tornado from a few yards behind. “We’re lemons!”  
Thunderbolt slowed down by a few inches per hour. He dashed to the stand, where two CloudWings were giving out tickets.
“I need-” he started.
“Three tickets.” Finished a ThunderCloud dragon, motioning to his family.
“No, no,” Thunderbolt said hurriedly. “I would like to participate in the race. Two tickets for my family.”
“Oh, OH! Yeah! The race is that way, but HURRY. There are a few minutes left! So you have to hurry. Snowfield, we have a new racer!” 
The other CloudWing, a SnowCloud, nodded her head. “Yes, Overcast, I’m right here. Here’s a paper. Sign it. Don’t ask how.” Thunderbolt saw Overcast roll his eyes.
“Go on. If you absolutely need information, Coach Hurricane is that way.” She didn’t point.
Thunderbolt sighed. That was fine, he thought. Snowfield must’ve just been too busy. By this time his parents had caught up and were getting tickets. Overcast got up and scuttled toward Thunderbolt. “Sorry about Snowfield,” he whispered. “She gets grumpy when the game is about to start. Sorry about her. Follow me, the training room is this way and I’ll sign for you. The training room is this way, follow me.”
And with that, they emerged into a vast room with racing ThunderClouds, chatting RainClouds, SnowClouds drinking water, and even a HailCloud stretching his legs. In the corner, a SnowCloud stood at a desk, advising newcomers on racing. 
“I must leave you here, good luck, I have to leave. My name’s Overcast, by the way, but you can call me Overcast.” And he took off toward the ticket stand.
Thunderbolt schweeshed towards the SnowCloud, (he ran out of running words, so he made up “schweeshed”.) and gave her the racing certificate.
“You didn’t sign it.” The SnowCloud, Coach Hurricane, said.
Oh, yeah, he remembered. He quickly wrote that he was a ThunderCloud, that his name was Thunderbolt, that he was indeed participating in the race, etc, etc, etc. By the time he finished, most of the CloudWings were already making their way to the entrance hall to be announced to the stadium.
ThunderBolt took a deep breath. This is it. My first professional race.
He sprinted very slowly towards the entrance hall to conserve energy, made a slightly grumpy bouncing-off-the-walls face to look professional, and screamed fairly quietly with joy to ensure no one went deaf. Thunderbolt emerged into an audience of whooping dragons. Screaming the names of their favorite racers, eating candied potatoes and watching intently, or yelling that the race should’ve started already.
A tall RainCloud with long horns was in the center of it all, looking very pleased. “We are beginning our twentieth season of competitive racing,” he declared, “where RainClouds, ThunderClouds, and SnowClouds alike can show off their speed and stamina. Where all fellow CloudWings who show promise are cheered for and shall someday be professional athletes. It’s about time to introduce the racers. First, we give you…Blizzard of the SnowClouds! Winner of one in five games! Second fastest racer of all time!”
A small SnowCloud with a scar on his leg and determination on his face entered the race track.
“And next… we have Hailstone of the HailClouds! The number one fastest racer of all time! This is only his 50th game, but he has won 32.”
Thunderbolt was Hailstone’s biggest fan. Hailstone wasn’t just fast. He was creative in the way he jumped over dragons, or swerved in front of them. Quick running, yes, but mostly quick thinking. ThunderBolt would have to get used to competing against him instead of cheering for him or trying his techniques to practice. He caught HailStone’s eye, and he waved to him. The fastest dragon on the continent was waving at ThunderBolt.
ThunderBolt sat through the rest of the introduction. During the presentation of Mist of the SnowClouds, Downpour of the RainClouds, and Hailstone of the HailClouds, however, ThunderBolt thought he saw a glint in the shadows as if someone was trying to get a close look at them…in secret.
No. It’s just my imagination, he thought. But his imagination was always happy, so it must not have been. Maybe the secret dragon was just unwilling to admit their favorite racer, for whatever reason? Maybe they were supposed to be at the top of the stage, but wanted a better look? The thought continued to nag at ThunderBolt for the rest of the presentation. But then it was his turn, so he let himself be excited. He bowed shyly at the cheering crowd.
“Let the race…begin!” Suggested the announcer.
All at once, everyone speeded ahead, with ThunderBolt in the back. ThunderBolt found it very hard to concentrate with all the watching dragons screaming at the racer they were cheering for. ThunderBolt was in the back, so he looked at Mist, who was in the lead at the moment, and followed her techniques. She was leaning forward, her wings kept inward. ThunderBolt did the same. Blizzard was now in the lead, pumping his wings forward, taking long strides. Thunderbolt followed. By now he was 4th place. His heart pounded. Hailstone had taken the lead, taking extremely quick strides and jumping over everyone, confusing them. Thunderbolt would never be able to do that, so he just pushed himself, knowing he was almost done. He took deep breaths, but they were shaky. His vision blurred, and his heart hurt, but he was in the lead. He stumbled due to fatigue, and Mist passed him. He collapsed just in time to hear the announcer yell “MIST WINS!” The audience screamed.
ThunderBolt was inches away. He just had to reach out and touch the finish line. Thunderbolt heard some giggling in the crowd.
“And coming in second place, our newest racer, THUNDERBOLT!”
ThunderBolt whooped and danced around. He spread out his wings and electrocuted the floor. Then he remembered how tired he was, and he plopped back down on the floor, but with a huge grin on his face.
Chapter 2
Thunderbolt made FRIENDS. RACER friends. Five, whole, friends. Sprinkle, Blizzard, DownPour, Mist, and HAILSTONE.
Sprinkle and Blizzard were fascinated by anything underground. Mist loved food, and DownPour was obsessed with rain, tongues, bubbles, and something called GoodRice.
And HAILSTONE. ThunderBolt’s favorite dragon was his FRIEND. What a coincidence!
The six of them were going back to the training room for the next round, talking about racing and techniques and inquiring DownPour on Good Rice. Mist and DownPour showed ThunderBolt their favorite exercising objects, like leg-stretchers, which ThunderBolt found fascinating, and granola bars, which he found delicious. Blizzard told ThunderBolt the right amount of water to drink before and after the races. Sprinkle advised him not to sprint towards races, but during them. HailStone showed everyone how to jump over other dragons. Coach Hurricane saw how well the racers were getting along, and joined them, talking about tips and tricks, and even a very intriguing story about why flying stopped being allowed.
In the beginning, before tribes had their own kingdoms, dragons from any tribe would participate, and as TwigWings, StoneWings, and BookWings couldn’t fly, and SnakeWings didn’t like to, it became a rule. This rule changed the race for thousands of years, and when the tribes got separated, the CloudWings wanted to be the tribe that could run, as well as fly. 
ThunderBolt liked that story, and he thought about what it would be like to have friends from other tribes. A BookWing would be interesting. Maybe a SnakeWing. There was a war going on, so most of the tribes would be off-limits, but some tribes weren’t involved.
ThunderBolt asked his friends if they had ever met a dragon from a different tribe. Sprinkle, Hailstone, and Blizzard said no, and DownPour just said he had met a green anaconda once, but Mist claimed she saw a SunWing. ThunderBolt shivered. SunWings were small, and they didn’t have horns or feet on their legs, but they were pretty fierce, cunning, and fast. 
Fast… Thunderbolt noticed, his train of thoughts taking him back to multi-tribe racing.
ThunderBolt waved goodbye to his friends, and sprinted home; he was out of energy, not happiness. He found his parents in his burrow, cooking. Whatever it was it smelled like honey, lime, salt, and chili.
“CONGRATULATIONS!”  They cheered. Rumble, Thunderbolt’s father, handed him a pie. It was Thunderbolt’s favorite pie for his first professional racer day. Lemon and honey pie. 
That night, Thunderbolt crawled into bed, having won second place in a real race, and having eaten half a lemon pie in one sitting. For such an exciting day, Thunderbolt had a weird night. He kept thinking of what he saw at the race. The CloudWing, or was it? It had yellowish scales. A GoldWing? And it was staring at the racers, at his friends. Thunderbolt had thought it was fine, that his mind was playing tricks on him, but if it was a GoldWing, the most greedy and treacherous tribe, it wasn’t just watching the game.
Thunderbolt bounced out of bed the next morning, his mind on the next race. He gulped down his breakfast and dashed from the burrow. It was only sunset. Birds were circling around all the burrows, trilling louder tweeting than usual. Thunderbolt didn’t know what he was thinking, outside for the race a dozen hours early. He only knew he wanted to be there. 
Thunderbolt found an interesting stick and started smashing it against rocks, singing about nature, and digging a hole. Thunderbolt often did this when he was outside too early to do what he was out for. He flew into the air, wings flapping wildly. He needed to train himself to fly faster; he was more of a runner. Thunderbolt decided to go to one of his friend’s burrows. He chose Mist, as he was curious about the SunWing she’d mentioned.
Thunderbolt suddenly remembered halfway to nowhere that he didn’t remember where Mist lived. Thunderbolt thought up a plan; he would go to the race (half because he missed it) and follow some footprints leading from it. When he arrived though, he realized he couldn’t tell his friend’s footprints apart from each other, let alone the other racers and even thousands of audience dragons. That hadn’t turned out to be the good idea he wanted.
Thunderbolt went back home and slumped down in his nest. He would have to wait until the race, which he was already doing. He spent the rest of his time impatiently bouncing and yelling at the sun to go down quicker.
When the sun finally listened, Thunderbolt schweeshed as fast as he could possibly schweesh to the race. Since he didn’t have to sign up or deal with unhelpful dragons this time, he had time to practice. He came across Blizzard and Downpour debating about gorillas, and asked them if they’d seen Mist. 
“Yesa.” Said Downpour (he said his yeses like that) she’s getting a badge from yesterday’s game. She’ll be out soon. Do you by any chance think gorillas could eat a dragon? Blizzard doesn’t think so, which is extremely untrue.”
“They’re five times smaller than you, Downpour.” Said Blizzard.
Downpour shuddered. “Yesa, but their teeth are horn-shivering.”
Thunderbolt laughed. “Gorillas are cute. Not ‘horn-shivering’” And he went off to practice, leaving Blizzard with a triumphant face.
Thunderbolt ate some granola bars. He would recommend those to an exceptionally picky koala with allergies. No one could dislike them. He found Mist looking delightedly at her new badge, which said, in bold letters, “5th race won!”
Thunderbolt opened his mouth to say something excitedly but realized he didn’t know how impressive five wins actually were. A beginner’s achievement? Or a world record? He decided to go with “world record” excitement. He bounced around the practice room, yelling about how one of his friends beat a world record. He stopped when everyone stared baffled at him.
“Um… which record?” Asked a ThunderCloud.
“I don’t know,” Thunderbolt admitted.
“Thunderbolt,” Mist said. “This badge doesn’t mean that. It’s only an accomplishment.”
Oh. Thunderbolt knew that. The race was about to begin. Thunderbolt did a happy racer dance before zooming to the track. He saw Overcast in the ticket booth and waved. He smiled, and called out, “Have a good race!”
Thunderbolt would. He knew in his wings. He would run and race and maybe win and then eat another of those granola bars. The announcer stepped into the stands and listed all the racers, followed by screaming fans, and then the countdown started. “5, 4, 3,”
Thunderbolt took a deep breath, concentrating. He had never really gotten the chance to actually think about just how lucky he was. “2, 1, GOOOOOO!” 
Thunderbolt started off by tripping on another racer. “Whoof. Sorry.” The racer shrugged and proceeded to run. Thunderbolt concentrated all his energy on his legs. Instead of thinking of the three-second delay, he thought of an asteroid, of being in danger, of his life depending on sprinting. He let out a yelp of fear. He was shivering all over with exhaustion and, Thunderbolt had to admit, fear of an imaginary meteorite.
He only realized his eyes were closed when he heard the unexpected. “Derecho… WINS!”
Thunderbolt didn’t know who Derecho was. A really weary-looking RainCloud plopped onto the ground, smiling weakly at his fans. Thunderbolt took one look at the tired Derecho and fell. He didn’t think ahead, he just collapsed because it felt good. He saw Hailstone and Sprinkle make second and third place before falling into a deep sleep featuring a dream about Thunderbolt winning. Thunderbolt, the center of attention, the winner. When he awoke, the race was over, it was morning, and someone had put a granola bar next to his face. Thunderbolt licked his lips. He brought the granola bar back home—he didn’t want to worry his family any more than he probably had.
“Where were you?” His parents said at virtually the exact same time. Thunderbolt sheepishly showed them a granola bar.
“What is that?” Tornado asked. “Is it a badge? Is it a potato cake? Are you trying to distract us from fruitlessly worrying about you?”
“I fell asleep on the racetrack.” Their faces both relaxed. “And this is a granola bar. It’s a delicious… delicious…bar? They’re given to the racers. You can have it. I’m not hungry.”
Thunderbolt wondered why. He should have been famished. He tossed it to his parents, and they began acting like wolf pups. This was a family tradition with throwable food. It was fun.
“Did you win?” Asked Rumble, disappointedly looking at the granola bar that Tornado had snatched.
“No, a new dragon won.” Unlike me in my first game, said an unwanted voice in his head. That voice had appeared a lot lately, like it thought Thunderbolt was too happy about everything. But Thunderbolt liked being happy about everything. It made him happy.
Thunderbolt thought about clams. Fun. Ghosts, thrilling. Rain, underestimated. The only thing Thunderbolt didn’t like was the thought of not liking something.
He suddenly got a huge longing. A longing for something important. He needed to play in the snow. He told his parents he would head to Hailstone’s burrow to see how hail worked.
He noticed again that he didn’t know where his friends lived. Thunderbolt chuckled.
Chapter 3
The next day was break day, which Thunderbolt disliked against his own will. For one, he missed the race already. On the other talon, he needed a break. His mind and muscles were all spent out on races the past two days. On the third talon, he wanted to see his friends again, if only to ask them where they lived. He would have to wait until tomorrow’s sunset, which was millions of years away (Thunderbolt, like anyone, isn’t good at math when he’s impatient.) and he had already forgotten what he used to do with his life.
Practice for the professional league, I guess, Thunderbolt thought, amused and sad at the same time.
“Thunderbolt!” Called Rumble. “Who wants to make a stick tower?”
“Me!” Thunderbolt yelled, elated. “And probably everyone else on the continent!” Stick towers were amazing, and Thunderbolt’s favorite thing to do that he wasn’t particularly good at. He enjoyed seeing what his parents could create, so making a decent tower himself, was just bonus fun.
Thunderbolt hurried over to the back of his burrow. The smell of sunflowers and grass pleased his nose as he walked over to the stick stands. Thunderbolt found a black ladybug with orange stripes and put it on a flower. He rushed over to his parents, crumbling some chunks of dirt under his feet.
“Today we’re going to be using twigs from an abandoned robin’s nest.” Explained Tornado.
Thunderbolt loved robins. He liked the sounds they made, the eggs they laid, and the bright orange chests they had. He liked that they flew around in CloudWing territory. Birds were very cool.
Thunderbolt chose the twigs he wanted and started attaching them by branches, leaves, and bumps in the bark, balancing them on each other, accidentally knocking them over, and trying again. He looked at Rumble’s tower. He had made a fox-shaped tower, with leaves for eyes. It was the size of Thunderbolt’s forearm, but detailed. Tornado had carefully placed her sticks together to make a vertical tower the height of a dragon.
Thunderbolt loved seeing the towers grow. He wanted to be as good a tower artist as his parents one day. Thunderbolt ate a piece of celery from their garden.
“Thunderbolt,” Tornado said. “Queen Powder has announced that racers can now fly during the race. I thought you would want to know.”
Thunderbolt nearly choked on his celery. What? What? Thunderbolt had certainly misheard. “What?”
“Racers are allowed to fly. The tribes that can’t fly are either at war with us or have agreed not to race.”
Thunderbolt wasn’t sure what to think of that. His racing life had been flipped upside down. He had been training not to fly, to use his energy on running. And now racers could fly? He felt like a hippo that had been given wings but was too heavy to use them.
“Does it give us fewer points? Are there some races that don’t include them? What if a dragon has a broken wing? What if the war ends?”
“I only know that it has been reintroduced to the race.” Said Tornado.
Thunderbolt had to know more. He leaped up, swallowed his celery, and dove towards the race. He decided to go by air, to test it out, and saw a bright red burrow with fancy emeralds. Thunderbolt guessed that it had to be the burrow of either royalty or a great racer.
He decided he would visit that burrow after flying to Coach Hurricane. When he arrived, unsurprisingly, no one was there. The coach’s seat was empty, the ticket stand was unattended, and the audience was gone. But one thing caught Thunderbolt’s eye as he flew back towards the expensive-looking burrow. A gold glint, flashing for a second into a bush, and then stillness.
A robin? A badge? Or the suspicious dragon he saw two days back? a chill ran through Thunderbolt’s wings. He wasn’t alone, not exactly. He was alone… with a GoldWing. and that GoldWing was sneaking up on him. 
The yellow spy was hidden, completely in the shadows, giving a creepy aura.
“H-hello?” Thunderbolt laughed nervously. “Wanna race? Try a granola bar? What’s your name?”
He backed away. “There isn't a race today, you know.”
The figure turned and left, and Thunderbolt heard it mutter, “Not the right one.”
In a normal situation, Thunderbolt would have run, told someone, anything but what he did, but Thunderbolt followed the dragon. “Who are you looking for?” he asked. “No one’s here but me.”
“None of your business, CloudWing.” Now it definitely wasn’t one of Thunderbolt’s kind.
“So…” Thunderbolt prompted. “You’re a GoldWing, right? Not from around here? We’re kind of at a war with you right now.” 
“Go away.”
“But you’re very interesting. You said you were looking for someone. The queen? A racer? The coach? What do you want with them? Racer techniques? Gold? Something else? Can I help you? Where are you going?”
“Stop pestering me, dragonet.”
“OK, bye!” Thunderbolt twirled into the air. Could he be too happy? He went to the shiny burrow, and a thought struck him like the lightning in his wings. A burrow so fancy, so shiny and gold.
Is this the GoldWing spy’s den?
He knocked on the door and was happy to find a CloudWing opening it.
“Who are you?” Thunderbolt asked. “I mean—you seem special. Your burrow is gold.”
“I’m no one special.” The dragon said. He had gray scales, which sounded familiar. “But my son is. He’s the world’s fastest racer. You look like a friend he described.”
Thunderbolt suddenly felt very proud. He was a racer. And friends with the most famous and fastest of dragons.
“Come in, come in.” Said the CloudWing. “My name is Flurry. Although that is not necessary information.”
Thunderbolt politely thanked him and crawled into the shimmery den. He found Hailstone and explained joyfully about how he finally found his burrow, and then slightly less happily said that Hailstone was the only friend he could find until tomorrow. Hailstone showed Thunderbolt his room. It was large, with about six trophies, and lifelike paintings of fish. Those were interesting fish. Some of them were gray-blue, with purple and yellow speckles, and fins as tall as their bodies were long. Some were a lifeless gray with bulging eyes inside their transparent heads. Thunderbolt wondered if these were based on real creatures.
Thunderbolt stayed at Hailstone’s burrow for the rest of that day, until finally he and Hailstone had to sleep. Thunderbolt was quietly running home through the bushes of the neighborhood, when he remembered he should have asked Hailstone where his other friends lived. He would always have time tomorrow, he supposed. Thunderbolt got into his nest and dozed off, anticipating the next game. The next morning, when the sun had not even returned to Pandion, Thunderbolt was up and diving in loops all over the kingdom. Nothing could ruin his day. The race was back, (not to mention the fact alone that he participated in it), he knew where Hailstone lived, his wings and legs had never been so well-rested. He twirled and skipped (he couldn't decide between ground and sky) to Hailstone’s house. He was going to tell him all about what he wanted to do today. When he arrived, however, Hailstone’s parents told him he was missing.
Ryan: Yllss! My first cliffhanger!
Chapter 4.
Missing. MISSING.
The word tumbled around in Thunderbolt’s head, like a book with a hundred identical sentences that he was supposed to finish.
Where was Hailstone? Was he early at the race? Was he visiting a friend? Was something wrong? Thunderbolt had no idea what to do. He didn’t know what happened to Hailstone, he couldn’t ask his friends because he didn’t know where they lived and the race wouldn’t start for hours, he couldn’t ask Hailstone where they were, and his parents wouldn’t know anything. Coach Hurricane wouldn’t be in the training room.
It was like he lost his brain and his heart was trying to tell him.
It was the next century, as far as Thunderbolt was concerned, when darkness finally settled in the sky. He had practically fallen asleep with impatience, and was waiting at the race for the entire day, watching the sun painfully slowly inch up and down the sky, pretending to have a broken leg or something. 
Coach Hurricane caught him watching the moon crawl up, and told him he was right on time. Thunderbolt got a granola bar.
He felt like cranberries were going through his veins. The race…was back.
He could see his friends, he could eat a granola bar, he could feel the exhilarating wind on his scales as he tried his third race.
Racers poured into the practice room. Thunderbolt saw Blizzard and Sprinkle doing a practice round with each other. He saw a few other familiar faces, like Derecho, but Mist, Hailstone, and Downpour were running late. Thunderbolt decided to join Sprinkle and Blizzard in the training.
“Have you seen our friends?” Asked Blizzard at the same time as Thunderbolt.
Blizzard laughed nervously. “I guess no then?”
Thunderbolt shook his head. “They must be late!”
Thunderbolt had seen Hailstone the previous day…wait…Hailstone was missing. Not at home, late to the race…what happened? He told the others what had happened. He explained he had last seen Mist and Downpour two days back, before the break. He felt a pit of fear in his stomach. Were all three of them missing? What had happened?
The race was starting, and Thunderbolt did his best to look proud as he was presented to the crowd. He ran, his emotions powering him on, thoughts of missing friends fueling his every nerve with worry.
He won first place that day, but he didn’t even care. He turned away from the cheering crowd and went straight back home to find his friends. He asked his parents, all his neighbors, the queen, and the queen’s guards. No one had seen them. His friends were gone. They had become missing racers.
It was past midnight, and Thunderbolt crept out of his bed. He flew silently below the moons, until he found Hailstone’s burrow. He knocked timidly on the door. A tired Flurry answered him, marks of despair on his half-closed eyes. 
“No,” he said, knowing what Thunderbolt would ask. “He’s still missing. We looked everywhere.”
Thunderbolt had expected this answer, but it made his heart sink into his feet. 
He had to sleep, no matter what his brain told him. He went back home and crawled into bed, where he lay, thinking about anything but sleep, all night, and when the sun rose, he lay in bed all day, with nothing to do. He couldn’t walk, because he couldn’t build up the energy. He couldn’t do that, because he couldn’t find his friends. He couldn’t find them, because he couldn’t walk.
His parents checked on him every once in a while, and gave him meals, most of which he couldn’t finish. He decided he would skip the race that day; he didn’t want to get up. Halfway into the evening, however, he heard a rustling outside. A head popped into his window. It was Sprinkle. 
“I followed you home,” she said. “At the start of the race, I saw a sneaky looking dragon. It wasn’t a CloudWing. I only saw the silhouette, but it appeared to be dragging a big wiggling sack. Do you think it had Hailstone, Mist, and Downpour in it?”
“Um…” Thunderbolt was still processing that Sprinkle was suddenly in his burrow. How long had she been there, waiting? How did she get in, and hide all day?
A wiggling sack? He eventually thought. That’s creepy. Thunderbolt didn’t like that thought, either. “Maybe?” He said. “I don’t think anyone would do that, though.”
“I think it was,” said Sprinkle. “It would all make sense.”
“Who?” He wondered. “Where are they being taken? Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. It was them. I’m sure of it. They’re going in the direction of the Jungle of Snakes.”
The Jungle of Snakes was the only kingdom surrounding the Cloud Kingdom, apart from water, so that could be going anywhere. They were taken, his friends were stolen. No more wondering, just worrying. Thunderbolt had to do something. He had to search the world for his friends. He had to turn over every rock in the galaxy, ask every ant in the continent, and call down every corridor for them. 
He was going to have to make a decision the next day, but he would find it hard to pass the time until morning. Impatience boiled within him. He changed his mind. He wanted to do the race today. It might be his last time.
He and Sprinkle walked to the race together, talking about the bag. He told her about the GoldWing, and Sprinkle asked what it looked like. 
“It was skinny, and pale gold. That’s all I saw.”
“That was it! You were talking to the kidnapper! What did they say?”
“‘Stop pestering me, dragonet.’ That kind of stuff.” 
“Suspicious.”
“Where did they go?” Thunderbolt asked, although he knew the answer. The only kingdom bordering the Kingdom of Clouds was the Jungle of Snakes. Thunderbolt had never seen a SnakeWing, but CloudWings were their allies in the war, so he’d heard a lot. They were usually red-orange with red ring patterns on their scales. And they had no legs.
“North, to the Jungle,” Sprinkle answered. “But that could lead anywhere.
Thunderbolt hated this. He hated his friends being missing, he hated that there were bad dragons out there, and that he had to believe that in order to save them. He hated the creepy aura of the GoldWing kidnapper. He had never felt so unoptimistic.
The two of them talked for a while, trying to figure out the impossible, then arrived at the race.
the announcer didn’t look his usual proud and contented self. He looked confused. “Welcome!” He said over the speaker. “This race, three racers are missing! We want all talons on board looking out for them, but a race is a race, and currently we must go on without them.”
Thunderbolt felt sick at the fact that this was being announced. It felt… final.
“With that out of the way, let's get the race STARTED!”
Very few dragons were cheering at this. Thunderbolt kept his mind on his friends, running faster and faster like he’d never done before, each twinge of worry powering him further, each thought of Downpour, Hailstone, and Mist fueling his legs. He would win. He would cross the finish line for his friends. And he wouldn’t stop there. He would sprint away, checking under every rock, at the tops of every tree, in between the logs of every cabin, until he found them.
“Thunderbolt speeds ahead of Derecho, dives past Blizzard, ooh, someone looks determined.” The announcer kept saying. until “THUNDERBOLT WINS!”
Thunderbolt bowed politely and ran back home. He tried not to think about his galloping heart, banging against his lungs and punching his ribs.
He wanted to find his friends, wanted to relieve his worried soul, but he needed to sleep. 
His parents congratulated him on the win and sent him to bed. But he would not sleep. That was the last he’d do. He needed to find them. Thunderbolt waited until he heard the snores of both Rumble and Tornado, then crept out of bed, flying silently away from the home he knew. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know where, but he was going to find his fellow racers.
He was going to the Jungle of Snakes.
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)
Category:Fanfictions (Fanon)