I remember, as a hatchling, Breeze and Blitz. They were actually brothers. Their mother was bronze and their dad blue. Because of the mix-up in colors, they were hatched at the same time – before me – both different colors. It was so strange; their mother was an Outcast. Breeze told me many awful things about their mother, whom Blitz and I like very much. I saw no difference between Gifted and Outcast. Later I learned that Outcasts could not live among the dragons; ostracized. Breeze hated the fact that their dad was blue. Breeze stood out, Bronze. Blitz loved his family, and was a good friend to me. I fell for them both, but my proud parents – Silvers – would never allow me to mate with Customaries, so I fell harder for Breeze, carrying the discrimination of my parents. As he grew, I didn’t want him as much, and became conflicted. My parents were disappointed beyond measure . . . They still are.


A tattoo on a dragon symbolizes that they have a gift . . . If they do not, they are Outcasts . . .


I woke up early this morning shaking with excitement. Breeze would be so happy to see my tattoo!

Blitz, last night, noticed it, and I went to the iced-over slab of rock that acted as a mirror. Neither of us knew what the tattoo meant; it had not been seen before. It was the most beautiful blue diamond design against my silver scales. Even Blitz’s white lightning design on his blue flanks wasn’t as striking.

Now, today I had to tell Breeze. I hoped he would know what it meant. I found him by the lake; just a smudge of bronze among the rock. I flew down to him.

“Breeze! I have a tattoo, I’m not an Outcast; I have a gift,” I cried out to him.

“What? Where? I don’t see it.” His voice was unusually monotone and uncaring.

I looked at him quizzically and said, “What? Of course I have one. It’s between my eyes, a blue diamond design. How do you miss that?”

“Silvia, you don’t have one. It must have been your-”

“No!” I cut him off, “Don’t. Don’t you say ‘your imagination’. Blitz and I both saw-”

“Blitz? That blue-lightning-spitting-forked-tongue freak? He’s not even a-”

Again I interrupted him. I knew our fighting was pointless, but I wouldn’t take another dragon bashing Blitz; it didn’t matter that I like the both of them. “How the hell would you know what Blitz is like without you? How do you know what I saw or didn’t see? How do you know your fire design is worth anything? Do you know how many dragons have that gift?”

He waited for me to finish ranting before he asked, his whisper sounding evil, “Then tell me, Silvia of the Metallic Silvers, what your supposed gift is?”

“It’s . . . I-I . . . I don’t . . . know . . .” I stammered, defeated by his question.

“So, basically, you don’t have a gift, proven by your lack of tattoos, and inability to tell me what it is?”

He dove into Star Lake before I could respond. He was angry with me and me with him. I turned to take off across the valley when a sickly sweet scent reached my nose, making me want to gag.

It’s blood . . . Dragon Blood. The thought echoed in my head a thousand times. There was a film of black coating the water; it had cascading colors of the rainbow where the sun hit it. A few lone bronze scales floated near the surface.

A surprising surge of satisfaction coursed through me. The anger was still there, and I didn’t know why. I stared at the water until it went away; it never did.

Only when another dragon landed behind me did sadness take over. Tears fell down my face, landing at my forepaws. The liquid looked like molten silver.

“This is your fault. It’s your fault he’s dead.” It was Cordelia of the Customary Reds. She had a tattoo of a green vine and white flowers underneath her right eye, which was also as red as her body. She had the gift of True Sight; the ability to see good intentions.

“No,” I said overcome with emotion.” I would never – I didn’t see – what can I-”

“What can you do? You can leave. You should have been the one to die, not him. You have brought us shame, Outcast. Leave, you don’t deserve to live among us.” Cordelia’s voice was just as cold as the lake water when it froze in winter.

The words stabbed into my heart, as sharp as the spines on my back. My best friend hated me, I would never see Blitz again, Breeze died in front of me . . .


The tears that fell down my face coated my claws in silver. So different from the white they were meant to be. I beat my tail against the ground, looking out at the night sky’s beautiful full moon. I stood, walking to the back of the cave, to the iced over slab of rock.

My reflection showed the tears still clinging to my face. In between my eyes was a blue diamond design. I watched it fade slowly back to silver.

It was just a dream . . .