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.”