Chapter Eight Hundred And Forty Four – 844
They were.
Small baby Dragons, no bigger than a songbird, made of opalescent Fiendstone and midnight black scales.
He reached out a hand, and one hopped closer, edging its way toward him atop a branch. It regarded him with bright blue eyes, like chips of ice, tilting its head curiously before, with a flutter of feathery wings, it alighted on his hand. Its black claws dug into him, and it thrashed a long, sinuous tail that ended with sharp spikes.
"Oh man," he said, "you're adorable."
“Those don’t look like any Hatchlings I’ve seen,” Alister noted. “What’s with the wings?”
“I don’t know.”
“Forget the wings, why are they here?” Atar looked up at the tree. Hundreds of creatures were there, preening their feathers, twitching their spiky tails, or simply watching with bright blue eyes. "I thought there was nothing alive in here.”
The Hatchlings startled all at once, taking to the sky with a rush of feathers. Felix clucked his tongue as the one in his hand took off too. They all watched as the Hatchlings flew through the air in complicated, shifting shapes. None touched the other, all of them in perfect, strange coordination.
A murmuration, he remembered. The flock swirled and folded on itself, like an amoeba a hundred feet wide.