Arrows whistled. Several slammed into her, shattering against her scales. One arrow—tipped with flint—found its way under a scale and drove into her flesh like a splinter under a fingernail. She yowled but kept flying.

She streamed over the grassy plains. The mammoths trumpeted and ran below. She shot over them, ruffling their fur, and turned her neck back toward the chasing rocs. A hundred flew there, riders howling atop them—the men she had grown up with, the only men she knew, the men who would burn her now.

So I burn you.

She blew a curtain of fire. The inferno blazed across the sky, a storm of heat and smoke and crackling wrath, shielding her from the pursuit. She turned back toward the forest and kept flying. Behind her, she heard the rocs screech as they passed through the wall of fire.

Hoping the smoke and flame still hid her, she dived and crashed through a canopy of birches and oaks, scattering dry leaves. She slammed down onto the forest floor, her claws driving into the soil and shredding a twisting root. The rocs screamed above, and their wings bent the trees.

Laira released her magic. Her wings pulled into her body. Her scales melted into her skin. Her body shrank, leaving her a woman again.

She ran.

Behind her, she heard trees shatter and rocs shriek. She glanced over her shoulder to see the beasts barreling through the forest, slamming into boles, tearing up roots. The riders dismounted and fired arrows. The projectiles slammed into the trees around Laira, and one grazed her arm, drawing blood.

"Grab her!" Zerra shouted, his face red with rage.

I have to hide. I have to vanish between the trees.

She ran, arms pumping, breath ragged. She leaped over a fallen log, tripped, and rolled down a slope. Rocks jabbed her, cutting her skin, but she swallowed her cry. She slammed into a jutting root, leaped up, and ran again. The trees were thick here, and grass and reeds rose shoulder-high. Panting, Laira leaped into the brush. Brambles cut her. A thorn drove into her neck, and she winced and almost cried out. She crawled, feeling like a flea upon a shaggy dog's back. The hunters' cries rose behind her, and she kept moving, foot by foot, breath by breath.

They can't hear you. They can't see you. Just keep moving.

If she lived, she did not know what she would do. She could never return to her tribe; she knew that. She would have to survive alone in the wilderness, to find a new home before winter, to—

"Find the weredragon!" Zerra shouted behind.

He was close now. Laira bit her lip, banishing her thoughts. For now she had to focus only on fleeing, only on surviving every new breath. The grass, brambles, and reeds were thick and spread out for many marks. If she just kept crawling, the hunters would never find her.

Just keep moving, Laira, she told herself, bleeding and dizzy but crawling on. Her heart thrashed and her fingers trembled. Just keep breathing.