She spread her great silver wings, caught the cold updraft off the ridge, and lifted into the open sky.
As the village shrank beneath her, a small warmth bloomed in her chest. 'He was wrong,' she thought, picture of the dark dragon left behind on his mountain fresh in her mind. 'They will listen. I need only reach the southern camps, and this torn world can be mended.'
It did not occur to her to fly back to the high peak first. She adjusted her course toward the south, her mind fixed upon the fire tribe, leaving the cold northern hills behind.
In the high pass between the twin peaks of the lair, the air remained quiet. Ancient magic woven into the stone kept the wind low and the snow at bay.
Pyronox stood upon the dark basalt shelf, his broad chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
