“Are you okay?” Westar asked Onyx as she walked out, the left side of her face wrapped in a bandage.
“I’m okay,” Onyx said slowly, unsure why he had to follow her in. “Why did you come in with me anyway? There’s nothing wrong with you, is there?”
“I- um, just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He said, keeping his eyes down. He followed Onyx out of the clinic as she walked out.
“Do you have a job here?” She asked.
“No.” Westar told her. “I- don’t really work anywhere. I live in a subtribe called the Volcano Subtribe.” His talons left glass talon-prints in the sand.
“Oh.” Onyx said. “I’ve never heard of that tribe I-“ She noticed the smoke raising up from his claws and jumped back, surprised. “Uh- you, your claws are- they’re smoking! Is that your fire power?”
Westar looked at his talons sadly, melted sand forming a small puddle under his talons. “Yeah, my scales burn anything animate. Wings, arms, tail. I’m basically a living fireball.”
“So if you hold this stick-“ she said, handing him a price of driftwood.
Westar took it and it burst into flames. “Fire. Yes.” He sighed. “I guess it’s more of a curse than a good thing.”
Onyx couldn’t help feeling.. bad. This sad little dragon obviously couldn’t have a job or play or be near people. It would’ve been harder in an Enfernae town, so he was lucky enough to be raised in a subtribe.