"I am strong," she said into the wind, and her laughter clanked her scales. "I am fast and high and I am free."

Tears flowed down her scaly cheeks. Zerra would nevermore slap her, shove her into the mud, or spit upon her. He would nevermore shear her hair, clothe her in rags, and give her only scraps to eat. For ten years, he had mistreated her, turning her into a short, scrawny girl covered in mud and tatters, a creature he made, a pet to torment.

And he will nevermore bed me, she thought. Scales clattered as she shivered. That night returned to her—the night she had stepped into his tent, selling her body for a chance to hunt. She remembered the burnt half of him pressing against her, his tongue licking her cheek, his manhood thrusting into her.

"Nevermore," she swore. "You will nevermore use me, hurt me, torture me. You kept me hungry for years, and perhaps I will never grow taller, and I will always be the size of a child. But I can be a dragon too. That you cannot take away."

Her eyes stung, her wings felt stiff, and she bared her fangs. As she flew in the night, she made another vow.

"I will have revenge." Fire filled her mouth. "You killed my mother. You hurt me. Someday we will meet again, Zerra . . . and you will feel my fire. I will finish what my mother began."

Dawn rose in the east like dragonfire, a painting all in orange, yellow, and red. The autumn forest below blazed with the same fiery majesty, rolling into the horizon. Laira looked around, seeking pursuit. Up here in the air, she would be visible for many marks. She saw only a distant flock of birds, but she felt it safest to descend.

A silver stream cut through the forest, and she dived down toward it, the wind whistling around her. She landed on the bank, dunked her head into the icy water, then pulled back with a mouthful of salmon. She gulped down the fish for breakfast, then drank deeply. Back in the Goldtusk tribe, as the lowest ranking member, she would always eat last, and always only scraps. She could not recall the last time she had eaten a whole fish. Since her mother had died, fish had meant nibbling on bones and chewing rubbery skin. She dipped her head underwater again, caught another salmon, and swallowed it down, relishing the oily goodness.

She could not walk through the forest in dragon form, not without toppling trees, and she was not ready to become a human yet. She yawned, releasing a puff of smoke, and shook her body to hear her golden scales rattle. She squeezed between a few oaks, curled up on a bed of dry leaves, and laid her head upon her paws.