Vaeronyx rose into the paling darkness with a desperate power that shook the air itself, his immense form cutting through the night as if the heavens would part for him alone. His wings beat in great aching sweeps, sending cold wind spiraling over the mountains.
Lorraine lay against Leroy's chest, her breath so faint that even the wind seemed to swallow it whole, and Leroy held her as though he could anchor her to life by sheer force of will. The baby rested in the dragon's claws, curled and impossibly calm, as though the ancient blood in him recognized where he was being taken.
The mountains rose, sharp and jagged and solemn, as though carved from grief itself. Vaeronyx moved through them as dawn slowly brushed gold along their edges, and he breathed in with a shudder that rattled through his whole body.
