Finally there’s a dot in the distance.

Cass unslings her sword, and finds footing on Cinder’s back, gripping a scale.  Cinder in flight isn’t Cinder loping across the hills – she’s strong and sure, her wings cleaving the air like oars.

“How long?” she shouts over the wind.

“A few more minutes.”  Whatever she says next is snatched in a gust.  Cass leans towards the dragon’s ear.  “What?”

The dot splits.

“There are more of them than I thought,” roars the dragon.

“If you let me go,” comes Jo’s voice, from his berth in Cinder’s claws, “I can even the odds.”


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