Page 42 of Forged Flight

Another gust tears through the trees, making the branches groan overhead, but I barely notice. Something else has caught my attention.

I reach out and grab Lucan’s forearm, squeezing hard enough that he winces.

“What?” he asks, his voice suddenly tense. “What’s wrong, Doc?”

“Look.” I nod toward the dragons. “There are more like Maple.”

Dozens of them. All juveniles or hatchlings with malformed wings. Their bodies are thin, their ribs visible beneath dull, patchy scales. They look weak and malnourished, likely unable to hunt effectively without the ability to fly.

My heart pounds painfully in my chest.

“I was wrong,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I thought Maple was an isolated mutation, but…” I stare at the dragons, my mind racing through every possibility.

Lucan’s brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know.” My fingers tighten around his arm. “But I have a very bad feeling about this.”

“Aye. Me too.” Lucan glances down at Maple, his blue eyes softening. “We can’t leave her here.”

“Definitely not.” I shake my head. “It’s not safe.”

A sharp crack echoes somewhere above us.

I flinch.

The wind is getting stronger, swallowing the distant sounds of the dragons and sending snow spiraling across the plateau.

I grab Lucan’s arm to steady myself. Maple as she presses herself against my leg, her tiny body trembling.

Lucan immediately crouches and scoops her into his arms.

“Come here, little one.”

He opens his large backpack and carefully slips her inside, leaving the top unfastened so she can breathe. Maple settles into the cozy space without protest, protected from the worst of the wind, with only her little horns poking above the opening.

Lucan gently hoists the backpack onto his shoulders. “We need to find shelter.”

I nod, my pulse racing.

Lucan grabs my hand.

Our fingers lace together, his calloused palm warm against mine. He trudges across the snowy plateau, guiding me through the blinding sheet of white as we race against the storm.

We seek shelter in a cave tucked into the mountainside. It’s dark and narrow, but it offers enough protection from the snow to keep us from freezing. Marching through that blizzard was miserable.

Ice clings to my eyelashes. My lips tremble as I rub my hands together, desperately trying to coax some warmth back into my fingers.

We need to warm up. Fast.

Lucan ventures outside long enough to gather an armful of fallen branches, then stacks them into a neat pile on the cave floor. He strikes two rocks together, trying to draw a spark from the flint.

Nothing.

He tries again.

Still nothing.

A soft chirp comes from behind me.