C1

It was the smell of smoke and blood that woke her. She had lain on top of her father, his great wings spread out beneath them both to protect him from the suns' rays as they slept in their lair near the western edge of the mountains. His scales were warm under her paws; he was heavy but still sleeping soundly against her belly. He'd been so exhausted after fighting off an attack by a pack of wyverns two days before that she could not rouse him when it came time for them to go back into the cave, even though she knew how much he wanted to sleep. The day's hunt had given little enough meat or eggs, but there would be plenty more where those few morsels came from—the clan had a full storeroom thanks to a dragoness who kept bringing them gifts of food all summer long. But if this place ever fell upon hard times again, no doubt others might find themselves raiding what was left here instead. Even Clan Red Wing must make provisions for future hardship now and then.

So she curled up beside her father with only the warmth of the suns' light reaching down through the branches above them to keep her company while her mother did whatever mothers do at such times. They never talked about the past. It hurt too badly sometimes, like being stung repeatedly in the same spot over and over until your body ached with pain. So they made sure to spend some good moments together each day, just the three of them, remembering better times and laughing about things that happened years ago. This way it felt less real, easier to accept, knowing they would always have another chance to talk tomorrow. Or next week…or whenever the need arose. Her mother seemed especially fond of telling stories from her childhood. Perhaps because it reminded them both that they were not alone in having gone through rough patches in life. Dragons are survivors, after all: strong and determined creatures willing to stand fast and fight till death should come calling, yet also able to forgive and forget any wrongs done against us, however grievous.

She heard voices outside, but couldn't understand anything except a woman crying loudly. There was nothing else. Just her father snoring softly and the wind rustling among the trees. And yet something tugged insistently at her memory, a voice that said, "Your mother…" She shook her head sharply. That wasn't true! No, it didn't matter anymore. Not since last night, when her sister finally decided to stop making excuses and show herself again.

But now this strange female cry sounded again, louder than before, followed by footsteps pounding along the tunnel leading up to the entrance of the lair. Had someone fallen ill? Was it sickness? If so, perhaps she could help. Maybe there was medicine or herbs somewhere, ones which had been passed down by their ancestors to help dragons in dire straits. Her mother knew everything about healing plants and animals, including many rare kinds that lived far from the rest of the world. Their kind needed to know these things to survive. But her mother wouldn't be able to answer questions unless she got out of bed and moved around first. And then there was the question of where she put everything they owned inside this cave, whether pots and pans and bowls and blankets, clothes, jewelry, books and scrolls of knowledge...

Her heart began to race as she lay there listening closely once more. Then the door flew open without warning and in barged a red dragoness—one of their own kinfolk. She carried a sword in one paw, its blade shining brightly even through the shadows cast by the torches set on either side of the doorway.

"What?" shouted the newcomer, looking right at Tansy. "Have you seen my son Fane? We're going hunting tonight, and I can't leave home without him!"

Tansy blinked. What kind of madness was this? Where had Fane gotten off to? Why would he be wandering around anywhere at a time like this, anyway? He hated getting dirty, and she doubted very much he enjoyed the taste of raw meat and fish. How had he gotten himself into trouble already today? Well, she supposed there was only one way he could get himself into such a pickle. He hadn't listened to a word she'd told him yesterday morning.

As soon as the red-haired female started moving closer toward her father's wing, Tansy sprang to her feet and ran away from the nest, racing up the tunnel toward the exit point she used most often during spring and autumn seasons. Now that it was winter, they rarely ventured out of the lair except on special occasions. The cold air nipped at her nose and tongue. But she could hardly bear to stay behind any longer. Something was terribly wrong, and she couldn't let them go off into the forest without her.

There was no sign of anyone following her. Of course, if she looked back, she would see several dragons watching her intently, wondering why she suddenly fled the scene, but none of them pursued her, which meant they probably assumed she had just run off with her tail tucked between her legs. In fact, she suspected some of the males had already started grumbling about how useless females were at bestowing useful skills on youngsters. At worst, they figured she had abandoned them altogether, leaving them vulnerable to attack by other clans.

She reached the mouth of the cave and turned left. Ahead of her she glimpsed a cluster of figures coming straight for her, a male leading the way, the others flanking him. She darted forward, hiding behind a boulder just in time for them to pass underneath.

When the last dragon vanished beyond the bend of the path, she took a deep breath, then peered around the stone to look at them all standing motionless, staring back at her. A couple of them were shaking their heads as if trying to clear them of cobwebs. She had never met any of these dragons before, but she recognized the tall, lean male wearing the black mantle from the Nightclan colors. This was one of the elders, likely the leader of the group, if not the entire clan.

"We haven't seen your son, miss," he remarked politely, giving her a respectful bow of the neck. "May we ask where you saw him last?"

A chill raced down her spine, making her tremble despite the cold. "He's a clever lad, but sometimes he forgets important details."

The elder raised an eyebrow, obviously confused. "How old is he, do you think, young lady? Do you know his age?"

His tone suggested she was supposed to know the exact answer, although she couldn't recall exactly how long he'd been alive. It felt like forever, though.

Tansy hesitated, torn between lying outright and saying she didn't know. The latter option seemed cowardly, but if she lied, then what would become of her if her secret came out later? She couldn't hide forever. Besides, she was pretty sure the man knew the truth; he simply wanted to hear her say something so they could continue searching for him. But what if she was wrong about that?

In the end, however, her fear won out. If they found out she hadn't known, or that Fane wasn't quite eleven winters yet, then they would start asking questions she wouldn't be able to answer. Questions she didn't want anyone else to know the answers to.

And besides, she was almost certain the elders had already discovered the truth: Fane was not part of their clan. They were aware that the boy's father was not a clan member, even though she refused to reveal the reason for his exile. So, in a sense, she was actually doing them a favor by keeping silent. She could tell them what they wanted to know…but only after they stopped asking questions that made her feel trapped within her own skin.

Then again, what if she spoke the words aloud and nobody believed her, either because of her own lies or the terrible rumors surrounding Fane's family? After all, she had been warned not to trust any outsiders who might try to infiltrate Clan Night. The elders were convinced this stranger was a spy sent by Clan Night to destroy them, and they were right. She should have realized sooner that no one but her would believe in the truth of this tale, that she shouldn't expect everyone to share her sympathy and understanding.

Well, what did it matter now? Either way, they'd find out eventually…and then what? Did they kill her then and there or turn her over to the other clan to be executed?

Or maybe she deserved worse than death. Who else might be suffering like this if they failed to catch this traitor who sought to undermine a powerful clan? Were they planning to execute the whole clan when all was said and done, including her younger sisters? Perhaps that was the only solution now…if there even was such a thing as forgiveness.

The thought gave her an eerie feeling. Yes, she understood how desperate matters must seem now that their enemies had attacked their camp for the second time. But how long before someone else might decide to attack again, if they weren't careful?