No strands of starlight rose from him but rather a foul, murky smoke thick with insects. Laira grimaced and stepped away. Even freed from her claws, the Widejaw could not rise. He thrashed in the grass, screaming as the smoke rose from him, as the insects bustled out of his nostrils, his ears, his mouth, fleeing into the sky . . . and vanishing.

The Widejaw lay panting, thinned, ashen.

"Shift!" Laira said. "Shift into a sphinx. Shift and I will let you fly away."

The man struggled to his feet. He stared at her blankly. He closed his eyes, clenched his fists, and twisted his face . . . then fell to his knees.

"He is cured," Auberon whispered.

Maintaining her dragon form, Laira stepped closer to the Widejaw. She stared into his eyes. "You may leave. You may live."

The man stared at her, eyes wide with fear . . . and with gratitude. He nodded. He turned to walk away.

Green scales flashed.

Maev roared, leaped on the man, and drove her fangs through his armor and into his torso. The dragon swung her head, tossed the man high into the air, and torched him with dragonfire.

"Maev!" Laira shouted. "The battle was over! His back was turned."

The green dragon clawed the air, beat her wings, and howled. The inuksuks upon the hill shook. Wreathed in smoke, Maev spun toward Laira. Her eyes blazed, rimmed with red.

"The battle is never over." The green dragon sneered. "Not for us. Not for Requiem. Don't you understand, Laira? Don't you see?" Her voice sounded torn, close to tears. "They will always hunt us. Rocs. Sphinxes. Druids. A thousand other enemies. Ours will forever be a life of war. And I will fight this war. I will slay all my enemies." She howled to the sky, claws digging up grass, then beat her wings and soared. "Requiem! I find your sky! I fight for you. I kill for you, Requiem!"

Her wings blasted air, rippling the grass, as Maev soared higher and flew off into the wind. She vanished into the clouds.

Laira turned to look at the Cured Druids. Most lay dead. The survivors stared at her, some solemn, others trembling.

"You could have fought them," Laira whispered. "You were Vir Requis once. If you had kept your magic, you could have flown as dragons. You could have defended your wives, your children. Now they're dead, more victims in this world of cruelty, of bloodshed, of hatred. They didn't have to die." She tossed back her head and roared. "They didn't have to die!" She stared at Auberon, and rage flared in her, bursting out from her nostrils as hot smoke. "We are not cursed. We are not diseased or impure. We are dragons." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "We are beings of starlight."

Auberon approached her slowly. Tears drew lines down his ashy face. The old man embraced her scaly head.