A combination of moving his tail down when it should have been up, tilting his left wing too far back behind him, and a section of rock jutting further out from the cliff that he'd failed to notice, had dire consequences for the white dragon. Catching his wing on the rock, which appeared from nowhere out of the lava driven mist, he was spun around with such speed and force that he never had a chance of controlling it. Watching from above as Tim smashed head first into the rock face, starting an ungainly slide towards the hidden depths, Peter kicked his tail out and poured everything he had into his wings, knowing that the boiling sea of molten magma was getting ever closer.
Shaking off the ringing in his ears, Tim had the presence of mind to kick off from the rock face he was currently sliding down, in an effort to get more space and free air. As he tumbled head over heels he caught sight of another dragon speeding towards him from above. Hoping it was Peter, he couldn't be entirely sure because he'd never seen the hockey playing dragon in his natural state. Belatedly he remembered to try and flap his wings. Doing so momentarily slowed down his tumble, which was both good because he could get his bearings and at least see which way was up, but bad because he'd spotted a bubbling sea of brilliant red lava looming ever closer, looking to envelop his newly created prehistoric body. Eyes bulging with fear, he let loose a terrified scream that echoed back up the chasm, assaulting Peter's ears on the way past.
Knowing it was now or never, Peter gave it all he had, the muscles in his tail and wings burning furiously from the effort he'd put in, his determination to save Tim from the hair brained scheme he'd got him caught up in fuelling his will to succeed. With the gap closing, he was almost there. But the gloopy sea of thick, bubbling lava was just too close. With only seconds to go, it looked as though they were both going for an unconventional swim. As the thought entered Peter's mind, a wonderful sight emerged directly before him. Tim had managed to get himself the right way up and currently had both wings outstretched. It was magnificent to see a completely white dragon, wings unfurled, buffeted by the wind, looking for all the world like the legend that he should be. But the momentum he'd gained on the fall down was just too much, and was about to plummet him into the lava. Instinctively, Peter knew exactly what to do. Ignoring the harmful gases scraping away at the back of his throat, he pushed on that little bit more, gaining enough ground to put himself directly beneath Tim. With the lava only yards away now, he channelled all his power into coming out of the steep dive, and sped up and away from the deadly looking sea of red. For his part, Tim had no idea what was going on. Wings spread, tail elongated, one moment he was destined for the mother of all splash downs, the next moment a weight from beneath him forced him up. It was a shock, that's for sure, but a pleasant one given the alternative. Having pulled, or pushed depending on how you looked at it, Tim out of his dive of death, Peter kicked out his tail, flapped his trembling wings, and with his head against the underside of Tim's belly, continued to push skyward. Warm air rushing over him tickled his scales, nuzzled his nostrils, making him feel... invincible. As a brand new dragon he had nothing to compare it with, but it reminded him of those 'perfect' moments you occasionally get. He'd had a few in his life... interestingly, all whilst playing hockey. Running down the wing, sunlight warming his exposed arms, the ball on the end of his stick, heading at speed towards the opposition's goal, at a mixed tournament down in Worthing, sprang to mind immediately. A diving goal line save at his home festival in Salisbridge came flooding back. Scoring the perfect goal in a cup game as time had almost run out. All were perfect moments for him, when time had seemed to stop and he'd captured and remembered the emotions and feelings of that individual instant. This, to him, felt like another one of those.
Having drawn level with the top of the cliff now, and tempting as it was to set Tim down on the rocky ground, particularly given the pain screaming from almost all his muscles, Peter sensed that his friend, for that's how he now thought of him, was just beginning to get a feel for it, and that this might be his one opportunity to get him to fly.
Rising past the top of the cliffs, Tim barely noticed as they continued over the drop and through the caustic cloud of toxic gas. Beginning to relax, feeling the air running over every contour of his prehistoric body, brushing every scale, caressing every muscle, it felt exhilarating and invigorating. It was bliss.
Unbeknown to Tim, Peter had glided silently away, currently circling below, watching to see what would happen when the brand spanking new dragon realised he was on his own. He thought it very much like a human parent teaching their son or daughter to ride a bike. It was that kind of moment.
With a flick of his tail, the white dragon pulled up his left wing, transferred all his weight right and drifted into a lazy circle, gliding high above the cliff. Out of the corner of his eye, a shape caught his attention. Peter!
'Oh my,' he thought. 'If he's over there, then that means..."
Starting to fall away, his composure shot to ribbons, Peter stopped circling below, ready to intervene. This time though, he waited to see if Tim could turn things around without any of his help.
A graceless fall sent the brand new dragon spiralling frantically out of control; his body, which only seconds before had been elegantly circling, now clumsily twisted and turned, wings flapping out of time, only making his descent more and more awkward. Hovering effortlessly nearby, willing his friend on, Peter could remember what it was like not to have the control, the balance, the natural feel of the air surrounding your body, and how to cut and carve through it. But for him it had been long ago, way back in the nursery ring, before he'd reached the age of ten. And he was one of the later developers on the flying front. Richie, of course, had been the first of them to achieve sustained flight. Not only that, but she was performing complicated aerial acrobatics long before most of her classmates had learned to even glide. At least that's how he remembered most of it. Years later, he'd heard a handful of rumours about an illicit late night laminium ball match at the nursery ring, supposedly involving a dragon from his year group. At the time they'd sounded far-fetched, but he'd often wondered whether or not Tank was involved in some way, shape or form. His friend had of course immediately denied knowing anything about it when questioned, but there was almost something left unsaid, like a cliff hanger at the end of a great book.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he made his decision to jump in and save Tim once again. But as he surged forward, the newly formed dragon managed to unsteadily come out of his roll, spread his wings and use a handily timed updraft to swoop around and up out of danger. Smiling to himself, he watched the look of elation on Tim's face, knowing instantly exactly what his friend was feeling and that he would be totally and utterly hooked. Hockey, rugby and lacrosse had nothing on the sensation of flying. There was just no comparison. Grateful for getting this far, Peter soared forward, looking to catch up with the undulating white dragon who was now drifting up towards the cavern's ceiling. On catching up, Peter let out a huge guffaw. Tim banked round, keen to learn what was so funny. Peter pointed to Tim's head, and then to his own.