Chapter Text
Asha ducked just in time to feel the heat skim the top of her head, instinctively throwing a wing up to protect her face. There came a shout of pain before something forced its way past her, clawsteps thudding down the entrance tunnel.
She lowered her wing to see Kestrel doubled over in agony, clutching at her face. Stormclaw was nowhere to be seen.
“After him!” the SkyWing hissed, thrusting a talon towards the tunnel, her other claw hiding her features. “Forget me! I’ll be right behind you!”
Without chancing a second thought, Asha whirled around and thundered down the tunnel, her lack of caution causing the tips of her wings to scrape painfully against the stone walls. She didn’t understand why Stormclaw attacked them, or why he lied about the bloodstain, but he would answer for it. He would answer for all of it. She just had to catch him first.
Her flying was not her strongest quality. A dragon leaner than her would have little trouble getting away once they were in the air. She had seconds to reach him before he made it outside.
The NightWing had a headstart, but her claws were more than familiar with this passage. She knew where to step, where to not, and all the right footholds to propel her forwards. And she could hear his frustrations as he stumbled in the dark, locking on to his frantic, uncoordinated scrabbling and muttered curses.
Just as light began to flood the tunnel from up ahead, Asha watched Stormclaw’s dark form lurch forward and thud against the ground, impeded by either a stray rock or divot. Recognizing her chance, she sprung towards him with all the speed she could muster in their cramped confines. Once she was on him, she had no intention of letting him go.
But he was faster. Before she could close the distance, he whipped his head in her direction to let loose another blast of fire. Asha let her reflexes take over, throwing herself against the side of the tunnel, the shock of her hide slamming into solid rock far preferable to having her face melted. The flames brushed past her once more, but it was enough of a distraction to allow Stormclaw to scramble to his feet and make for the exit.
Quick as she was to recover, she could only watch as the NightWing crossed the threshold, as another lead was about to slip through her grasp.
Stormclaw spread his wings to take flight. A heartbeat later, and he’d be a speck in the distance. But before he had a chance to take off, a yellow blur hurtled into him from above, bringing him to the ground in a whirlwind of claws and snarls.
Qibli had prepared an ambush. Of course he did. A dark rage bellowed within her. Enough dragonets had been put at risk because of her.
Asha wasted no time. Roaring to alert Qibli, she cleared the tunnel at a dead sprint. She charged Stormclaw with her head low, barrelling towards him with the fury of a wild stampede. Qibli managed to leap out of the way at the last moment as she drove her horns into the NightWing’s side, knocking the air from his chest, and sending him clear across the width of the gorge. He smashed into the far wall with a sickening thud, crumpling to the ground in a heap.
“Bloody moons,” Qibli cursed with awe.
Asha didn’t acknowledge him, instead stalking towards Stormclaw’s prone and battered form. She wondered briefly if he died with that single blow, until a soft and agonized moan escaped his lips.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved.
“Good,” a voice said behind her. “You got him.”
Asha turned to see Kestrel striding out of the tunnel, her stomach turning at the sight of the fresh burn wounds streaking across one side of the SkyWing’s face. Stormclaw’s fire had missed her eyes, thank the moons, but the scorched flesh around them would create problems if left untreated.
“I’m fine,” Kestrel growled when Asha failed to hide her concern. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“It looks serious,” she said.
“I’ll deal with it later,” Kestrel dismissed her. “First, I really want to see what we can pull out of this worm.”
Stormclaw let out another pained groan as his eyes fluttered open. “I can’t…feel…my legs,” he whimpered. He made no effort to move, or perhaps he was incapable.
“You’re going to tell us everything,” Kestrel said as she and Asha hovered over him. “The dragonets, the NightWings, all of it. Start with what you did to Dune.”
“Morrowseer will kill me if I talk,” he hissed, gazing up at them in anguished defiance.
“Not quickly, I imagine,” Kestrel leaned down, curling her lips to show off rows of gleaming teeth. “But if you’re curious about how cruel I can be, then by all means keep your silence.”
“I..I really can’t move. I can’t…What did you do?!” His voice was stricken with panic as he lay there, the frantic darting of his eyes the only motion he seemed able to afford.
“He’s got something sticking out of his back there,” Qibli pointed at a nauseating lump at the base of Stormclaw’s neck, pushing against his scales as if something was protruding from within. It wasn’t hard to guess what.
“How unfortunate,” Kestrel barely glanced at the injury. “Now answer me. What happened to the SandWing that stayed here?”
“Heartless snake!” he spat at her. “I need a doctor! Please!”
Asha took in the pain on Stormclaw’s face and felt…nothing. Not for potentially crippling him, for Kestrel’s callousness, or even for what may come after. Amidst circumstances becoming ever stranger and more treacherous, she found herself in a place she had hoped never to return.
“Do you know where the dragonets are?! Does Morrowseer?!” Kestrel contended with his helpless braying.
“If I tell you…” His voice shook. “If I tell you, you’ll take me to a doctor, or whatever passes for one out here?”
“I promise nothing but to let you rot otherwise,” Kestrel sneered. “We came for answers. If you want even a chance of seeing tomorrow, start providing them.”
“Doubt there’s anything a healer could do for him at this point,” Qibli said under his breath. Asha agreed.
“We had orders,” he strained to say. “Alright? We did what we were told, what we had to do. You understand that, don’t you?”
“What orders?” Kestrel ignored his question.
“Morrowseer killed your SandWing,” Stormclaw swallowed. “And he ordered us to kill the other guardians if we encountered you. He and the Talons cut you loose.”
“How long ago?” Kestrel pressed. “After the Scorpion Den?”
“No, before,” he said without looking her in the eye. “I was leading you into an ambush, either here or one of our other camps. Didn’t like my chances taking you both alone.”
“And the dragonets?”
“What do you care?” he snapped. “Morrowseer’s far too busy chasing them to worry about you two. I could…I could help you hide! I could tell them you died in the cave-in! No one would know!”
“Wrong answer.” With a motion like lightning, Kestrel seized his neck in one claw, lifting his head from the ground. With his body immobilized, Stormclaw could only hang limply in her grasp, deprived of any means to resist.
“If empty promises are all you have left to offer,” The claw holding the NightWing flexed, and his eyes widened as the vice around his throat began to tighten. “Then you’re of no use to anyone.”
“No…Please…” he choked. His gaze met Asha’s, begging for her intervention. “Don’t…don’t let her-”
“Eyes on me, filth!” Kestrel barked.
She’s serious about killing him, Asha thought to herself as she watched the scene unfold. Her feet remained firmly rooted to the stone beneath her.
“Your guts, or your secrets?!” the SkyWing roared. “Which would you rather be spilled today?!”
“M..mercy…” The word was barely audible through the gagging.
“Mercy?!” Kestrel echoed with a laugh of sinister mirth. “This is mercy, wretch. Your body is broken. You’re a failure to your tribe. You should be thanking me.”
“I…”
“What’s that? I can’t quite hear you over the consequences of your treachery.”
“I’ll…talk…let me..”
“Where are they?!”
“The…p-palace…”
Kestrel released him, stepping back as he collapsed to the ground coughing and gasping for air.
“The…the SkyWing palace,” Stormclaw sputtered between greedy breaths. “That’s where they were last seen. Morrowseer…went after them.”
“And why does he want us dead?” Kestrel snarled. “We were allies. What changed?”
“You think I know?” he managed a dry laugh despite his laboured breathing. “Not our place…to question. But I can tell you…the order went to all of us on the mainland. Every NightWing out there is looking for you.”
Asha let her eyes linger on his helpless form. Since embarking on their quest to find the dragonets, a perpetual whirlwind of worry and doubt had been hammering her mind from within. Now, all was calm. There was no anxiety over the future or her purpose. There was only this moment, and the staggering gravitas that came with it.
She knew what had to come next.
“Retribution has found us,” Kestrel said, suddenly looking very tired, the rage draining from her voice and posture.
Asha closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, opening them again to meet with Kestrel’s own. Something silent and knowing passed between them, and suddenly Asha was thrust back into the war.
In Kestrel’s gaze, a burning, unflinching respect Asha had long thought lost. At their feet, the enemy, making for a pitiable sight, but the threat was no less real. Weighing heavy on her shoulders, the mantle of duty, demanding their course be righteous and true. Thrust upon them, an impossible choice. Asha nodded imperceptibly, and the call was made.
“Now…if you could just…I think there was a doctor in Possibility,” Stormclaw wheezed. “A MudWing, regrettably, but I’ll take whatever help I can get. Just…just get me there, and I’ll forget all of this. I won’t tell anyone that I saw you.”
Kestrel took measured steps towards him, tapping her claws against the rock in anticipation.
“I promise I’m…not that heavy,” was his attempt at humor. “We don’t…eat as good as you might think.”
“Come on,” Asha turned and gestured at Qibli, flexing her wings in preparation for flight.
“You’re not seriously thinking of helping him?” the dragonet gawked at her. “He might be paralyzed but he could still-”
“Qibli,” Asha cut him off. She didn’t shout, but her tone was hardened to ensure he understood there was no debate to be had.
He regarded her with that expression she’d quickly come to associate with him, that calculating gaze like he was dissecting her in his head. He glanced at the NightWing, and understanding seemed to come over him.
“Right,” he relented, mimicking her motions.
“Wait, what are you-” was all she managed to catch before they took off, leaving Kestrel and the doomed NightWing behind. His feeble pleas followed them into the air, but in an instant, like the song of hope that once swayed her tainted soul, they too, were silenced.
“If I had fire,” Tsunami spat as she scraped the cobwebs from her face. “I’d raze this moons-forsaken forest to its roots!”
Clay felt compelled to respond, to tell her that it wasn’t that bad, that Glory wouldn’t appreciate her home being burned down, but the words failed to manifest in his throat. He merely trudged past her, eyes scanning the greenery around them, though he was barely focused on the task they had been assigned. He made a noise only to acknowledge that he had heard her.
Glory had sent him and Tsunami beyond the village to assist in the search for missing RainWings, stating their need to “earn their keep.” Clay had readily agreed, eager to be of use. He had to have something to do, anything to keep him occupied. Keeping busy meant not thinking about their present situation, or so he had assumed,
It didn’t take long for him to figure out that simply having a chore wasn’t enough to drive away the black grief ailing his heart. Where he was meant to be looking for signs of a struggle, or tracks in the mud, he saw only Starflight’s mutilated face, Sunny’s tranquil form, his own claws free of blood, of power, of the will to protect what he cherished.
“And I could almost stand the bugs, the heat, and the mud that gets EVERYWHERE,” Tsunami grumbled on. “IF IT WEREN’T FOR THE FREAK MONKEYS SCREECHING LIKE DEMONS!”
Clay again only replied with a grunt, but he couldn’t help but concur. They had been brutally awakened this morning by screams, the sort one would imagine emanating from a tortured beast. Glory assured them it was only monkeys, though she seemed subtly disturbed herself.
Their insidious howling continued well into the afternoon. In the beginning, Tsunami attempted to compete via her own roaring in a bid to scare them into silence, but the monkeys held fast, unable to be swayed by the ferocity of an apex predator. Clay could almost admire their fearlessness. If only he could be like them, unflinching in the face of death. If he was, maybe his friends wouldn’t be-
“It doesn’t bother you?”
The accusation ripped him from his spiraling thoughts. He turned to face her irritated glare. Tail lashing, tensing claws ripping into the undergrowth, she was raring for a fight, a release for her frustrations.
“The mud and insects?” Clay raised an eyebrow at her.
“Don’t be dense,” she snorted.
“I don’t see a point in complaining,” he shrugged. “We have somewhere to sleep, and no one knows we’re here. That’s all I can ask for right now.”
“I just need to suck it up, is that it?” she challenged through narrowed eyes.
“I didn’t say that,” he frowned.
“What then?”
“You asked me a question,” he said. “I gave you an answer. Can we just focus on our mission?”
“Right, because we’re the experienced detectives that’ll crack this case,” Tsunami rolled her eyes. “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”
“Not really,” Clay gazed hopelessly at the forest around them. “I’m…not even sure how to get back to the village.”
“Fantastic,” she said, resuming her disgruntled march. “Add ‘deliberately confusing’ to the list of reasons to burn this-Gah!”
Clay watched her stumble, barely catching herself in time before crashing to the ground. She merely stood there, her face scrunching up in pain.
“Stubbed my talon,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Blasted roots…blasted forest…” Her mutterings trailed into inaudible curses.
“Are you-”
“I’m fine!” she yelled back.
Clay approached her cautiously, lightly setting a talon on her shoulder.
“You’re shaking,” he said.
“I-” Her voice hitched, and the tips of her wings trembled. Clay nearly panicked, thinking she had severely injured herself, but then the anger drained from her features. Her posture sagged, and the creases of her face fell deep. Suddenly, she looked just as lost as he felt.
“Is this it, Clay?” she said, her gaze darkening. “Do we just hide here forever?” She lifted her eyes to meet him. “Will they find us?”
“They shouldn’t,” he replied, not feeling the need to ask who she meant by ‘they.’ It could be anyone willing their demise, the queens, the Talons, the NightWings, the list wasn’t short. “And we won’t be here forever. When Starflight and Sunny wake-”
“Don’t say it,” Tsunami cut him off. “Dont. You know it won’t happen.”
“Neither of us know anything,” he said, feeling his tone turning severe. “They’re alive, Tsunami. As long as they breathe, I have to hope…I have to believe…” That everything would be okay? That things would get better? He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
If Glory had assured them of anything, it was that the consequences of the Sky Kingdom’s destruction would be as long lived as they were far reaching. It couldn’t mean anything good for their reputation, at the least. So even if they healed, what sort of life awaited them outside the rainforest? Could they even stop the war at this point? Would it end on its own? Would it get worse?
“Do you?” Tsunami asked him. “Do you really have hope for us?” It was less of an accusation than it was a plea for comfort.
He let a long sigh escape him. The monkeys wailed and shrieked away in the depths of the forest, a voice for his inner torment while his lips failed him. After an eternal pause, he answered.
“What else can we do?”
Winter tightened his grip on the rocky cliff face as vengeful winds pummeled his senses, trying its best to unfurl his folded wings and cast him into the valley below. His limbs yet ached from their earlier climb, the altitude claimed a tax on his every breath, and the sun was high in the sky, afflicting scales more suited for an arctic climate.
To make no mention of the threat of SkyWing patrols that surely lurked all around. They had advanced into the heart of the dreaded Queen Scarlet’s territory now. Any second he expected to find himself hauled away in the talons of her soldiers, a lemming seized in the death grip of a great, winged predator.
The visual rang a familiar toll of remorse within him. Lessons that demanded his life and station seemingly unlearned in the span of a day. The yawning chasm below was negligible when set beside the one vying to rupture in his heart as a result of returning to this land. But he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Dwelling in the past was for the dead, his mother would say.
That wisdom was applied very literally to his present situation. Failing to concentrate, Winter misjudged where next he placed his talons, causing him to slip. He slid for a mere few inches, but it was enough to wrench his soul from his body. The wind intensified, as if invigorated by his weakness, forcing him to flatten himself against the mountainside and hold on for dear life.
Rumination was a luxury for later. As soon as the wind lost even a touch of its savagery, he resumed the climb. He focused only on putting one claw in front of the other, feeling for footholds in the stone, slowly scaling the side of the mountain towards the ridgeline above. Over the top lay his quarry: an intimate and unobstructed view of the Sky Kingdom palace.
“Double time, Meat!” Wolverine called to him from above, close to the top of the ridgeline. “Patrols will be over us soon, and we’re not here to entertain!”
As if the stresses of the environment weren’t palpable enough, Winter had been paired with their tribe’s most decorated jester while Lynx and the Commander circled around to survey the palace from the opposite direction.
If the objective was to find his breaking point, Winter considered victory to be assured.
Upon finally reaching the ridge, Wolverine hauled him up and into their designated hiding place. The two of them hunkered in the shadows beneath a jagged outcropping, well out of sight of airborne enemies. Wolverine kept his eyes turned outside while Winter flopped onto the stone floor, fervently panting for breath.
“Slow breaths, Meat,” Wolverine said. “Can’t have you passing out on my watch.”
“I’m fine…sir,” Winter wheezed.
“I’m not your ‘sir,’” Wolverine scoffed, turning towards him. “Just…sit still for a second.”
Winter took no issue with the order, doing his best to even his breathing while his elder scanned the skies.
“I think we’re good,” Wolverine said, shifting further into the small alcove.
“We’re right under the flight path for the guard change,” he explained to Winter, keeping his voice low. “Morning shift should be coming in, and once their relief heads back out, we’ll start peeking. Best way to ensure no one bothers us.”
For a moment, Winter was taken aback by his serious tone, almost as if he was catching a glimpse of the true Wolverine he witnessed in the ballroom. That is, until he cracked a lopsided smile.
“So, up for a little card game?”
“You…what?!” Winter gawked. “No! Absolutely-”
“Kidding! Unfitting for the elite, right?” Wolverine snickered. “But we need some way to pass the time. Any gossip to share?
“Why would I-?” Winter frowned. “I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Great seas, Meat,” Wolverine rolled his eyes. “I’m not interrogating you or anything. I’m just curious. I’m bored.”
Winter struggled to bury the instinct to scoff and shake his head. In spite of his jaunty foolishness, Wolverine was still Second Circle. Any derision against a superior would surely make its way back to his mother. Above all else, no one would believe his testimony against Wolverine’s decorum. If anything, the elder officer was surely goading him on purpose. Should Winter offer the desired reaction, his and his family’s station would be set back several ranks. Libel was tantamount to insurrection, and it would amount to brilliant political tact on Wolverine’s part to elicit as much from Winter, despite his claims to the contrary.
“Songbird says you never leave the palace. You must hear things?” Wolverine went on.
“I don’t,” Winter asserted. “I train, I study, I hunt. That’s all there is time for.”
“For royalty, you mean?”
“Yes.”
He braced himself for the taunting bound to come his way, but Wolverine remained oddly silent, only tilting his head, humming to himself.
“You’re a spitting image, you know that?” he said.
That had been far from what he’d been expecting, and Winter couldn’t stop the dumb stupor from overtaking his expression.
“Shepherd wanted to take the tough approach,” Wolverine sighed. “But I don’t reckon that’ll work. You’re already conditioned to that sort of thing. Your mother did a hell of a number on you, on all of you.”
“What are-” Winter stammered, throttled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What do you know about my mother? About my family?” He didn’t care about the challenging undercurrent rising in his tone at this point. Boundaries had been crossed, and that demanded answering.
“Remember the story Tern told you? The lad we strapped to a tree?” he asked. Winter nodded cautiously, prompting Wolverine to continue. “That was your brother, mate. That was Hailstorm.”
“Y-you knew him?” Winter asked, feeling his heart drop out of his chest.
“We did, yeah.” he nodded. “He was about your age for his first mission.”
“I didn’t know,” Winter whispered. “He never talked about you.”
“He was following the rules,” Wolverine said. “‘What happens beyond the Cliff, stays there.’ You might not recall that part. Too busy being strangled.”
Winter felt himself deflate as he processed the revelation. The bewilderment, the frustration, it all drained away. Hailstorm. Perfect, model Hailstorm had been a part of this company, the same company that gambled with cards, and spat on the notion of rightful hierarchy. His brother had been tied to a tree by these miscreants. And yet knowing that Hailstorm had once been in the same position he found himself in now…
“What was he like?” he heard himself say. “On his first mission, I mean.”
“Exactly like you,” Wolverine smiled genuinely at him. “Pompous, uptight, insufferable. Like Tern said, he kept whining about protocol, so we shut him up. Consider that a warning.”
“Har har,” Winter said sardonically. He didn’t even think about it, the quip just escaped him. A pang of guilt shot through him as soon as he realized, but Wolverine barely reacted.
“But," Wolverine continued. “Once he got quiet, he was able to observe. Hard to understand the ‘why’ of it all when you’re too busy regurgitating. That’s when he started to come around.”
“You mean to tell me you’re all just misunderstood?” Winter deadpanned. “That your absurdity can be excused by strength of character?”
“By our results, Meat,” Wolverine countered. “Nobody does what we do better than us. Our ‘absurdity,’ our camaraderie is what ensures our success and our survival. Tell me, what are the rules compared to that?”
“They exist for a reason,” Winter answered with certainty.
“Name one.”
“It’s better to ask what we would be without them,” Winter tasted the repetition on his lips. “The other tribes have spent the last millennium in strife and conflict, while the Ice Kingdom prospers.”
“Howler said the exact same thing,” Wolverine chuckled. “Must be the Silver Snake’s teachings, am I right?”
“Howler?”
“Sorry, Hailstorm. We called him Howler, because of the thing with the tree,” Wolverine explained.
“Alright, I’ll bite,” Winter straightened. “What’s with the nicknames?”
“The rules are simple,” he grinned, as if he’d hoped the question would come up. “One: you don’t choose your name, your squadmates do. Two: you probably won’t like it. Three: if you complain about one and two, you’ll get a new one you’ll like even less!”
“So I’m stuck with Meat then,” Winter grimaced.
“No, no,” Wolverine waved a claw. “Forget what Blizzard told you, he was being a jerk. Everyone is ‘Meat’ on their first mission. Songbird was Meat before you, and Hailstorm before her. Even I was ‘Meat’ once. It’s just tradition.”
“Tradition,” Winter echoed. “That’s what I don’t get. You talk about your own rules and codes as if they’re above those that have been in place for hundreds of years. Nothing comes before the authority of the rankings. It’s been our way for generations, and has seen us through struggle after struggle throughout history.”
“And you never consider that it might not be enough?” Wolverine asked. “That maybe the future will ask more of us than dogma and social stratums?”
“That’s not for me to decide,” Winter set his jaw. “That’s for our betters. For the queen.”
Wolverine eyed him curiously. There was something new in his gaze, as if perhaps his regard for Winter had improved. He had stood up for himself, after all, and for the dignity of their tribe. If this had been a test of his devotion, Winter liked his chances. Although he had felt this way before, in similar circumstances, and had been promptly disappointed.
The elder IceWing opened his mouth as if to say more, but quickly closed it, instead angling his head towards the opening, his ears swiveling every which way.
“Hear that?” he asked.
“Hear what?”
“Exactly. Stay here.”
Before Winter could protest, Wolverine slinked out from under the outcropping, climbing over the top and out of view. After a few breathless moments, his head appeared upside-down from the top of the opening.
“Get up here, Meat,” Wolverine said. “I need to know I’m not seeing things.”
Winter reluctantly complied, easing himself out of the alcove and scrambling to the top of the ridgeline. He kept a cautious eye on the skies, though Wolverine seemed unconcerned about staying hidden, standing straight, fixated only on what was in front of him.
“Get a good look,” Wolverine said. “And tell me what I’m seeing is real.”
Winter understood as soon as he peeked over the ridge. The landscape before them had been utterly ravaged. A crack like a bolt of lightning split the mountain from the peak and down the upper third of its elevation. Vertical patches of brownish-red dirt streaked its side where whole sections of rocks and boulders had sheared away. A mass of upturned trees and debris lay at the base, along with what appeared to be the shattered remains of structures.
“What…” Winter breathed. “What happened here?”
“Mother Nature doing the work for us, that’s what,” Wolverine barked a dry laugh. “Mystery solved then. Looks like the war might have an end after all.”
But Winter found himself unable to share in celebration. His thoughts turned to the scene he sought to escape earlier, of the one he failed being dragged into hostile skies and out of his life.
Whatever hope he carried that Hailstorm yet lived had been slain by the throat.
Asha nearly lost her balance when Kestrel pulled to a sudden stop, flaring her wings to avoid a midair collision. Instinct surged through her veins, believing in the appearance of imminent danger, guiding her eyes in every direction to spot it. Her heart calmed when no threats emerged, readiness turning to puzzlement.
“Kestrel?” Asha called to her companion. “What’s wrong?”
“Look,” was all the SkyWing said.
Asha turned to where her gaze was set, and felt her voice stolen away. The SkyWing palace had disappeared from where it once stood, a wake of carnage left in its place.
“What’s the-Holy moons,” Qibli gasped as he hovered beside them.
“It’s not possible,” Kestrel whispered in horror, a rare, but warranted display of emotion from her. “It’s just not possible.”
Yet there it was for their eyes to drink in. The gaping crater in Asha’s heart now threatened to consume her. Here they were at last. The dragonets’ last known location: a dust-shrouded ruin. How anyone could have survived such devastation, she had no answer.
But she refused to let the darkness take her. Her hope, once a blazing pyre, now smoldering coals, but she summoned the strength to give it breath. Just one pass of air to keep the light alive, dim as it was. The dragonets were alive. Destiny demanded it be so. She demanded it.
What else could she do, but fall to despair?