The sounds of pursuit faded behind. The hunters were still shouting, but they sounded farther away now; she could barely make out Zerra's words. She was weak with hunger and the crone's leeches, and her head would not stop spinning, but Laira forced herself to move onward, breath by breath, heartbeat by heartbeat. She crawled around an oak and along a stream, moving between the reeds, and hope sprang within her. She wasn't sure where to flee to, but right now, she just needed to find a quiet place, to nurse her wounds and think.

She heard shrieks and the batting of wings. Shadows raced above the trees, and Laira breathed out a sigh of relief.

"They're leaving," she whispered. She could just barely glimpse the swaying canopy past her cover of reeds and grass. "They're flying away."

She flipped over and lay on her back, feeling weaker than a trampled, dying worm. She gazed above between the blades of grass, seeing only shards of the sky. She only had to lie here, to wait, and they would fly away, and she would be free. Tears stung her eyes.

I will not burn like my mother.

But the wings kept beating.

The rocs were not leaving; they were circling above.

They no longer shrieked, and when the wind died, she heard it. Sniffs. Snorts. Silence and sniffs again. Fear shot through Laira.

They're smelling for me.

She had seen rocs sniff back in the camp, raising their beaks whenever meals cooked, but she hadn't known they hunted by smell. Their circles were growing smaller, closing in on her. Their sniffs rose louder, as discordant as stones crashing together.

"Down there!" rose a hoarse voice above—Zerra's voice. "Grab her!"

Laira leaped up and shifted.

She rose from the forest, a golden dragon blowing fire.

Her flames spurted upward, and the rocs scattered . . . then swooped. Arrows slammed against Laira. One drove into her shoulder and she yowled. She sucked in breath, prepared to blow flames again, when the rocs crashed into her.

Laira screamed.

Talons crashed through her scales, digging at flesh. A beak drove into her shoulder, shedding blood, and an arrow shot through her wing, tearing open a hole.

Fly! cried a voice inside her. Fight through them! Fly to—

With a howl, Zerra charged upon his roc, and his spear dug into her shoulder, and Laira couldn't even scream. Pain blasted through her. Her eyes rolled back, and all she could do was whimper.

In the agony, her magic left her.

She tumbled through the sky again, a mere human, a mere girl, afraid and alone.

Before she could hit the treetops, talons wrapped around her. Her eyelids fluttered. She thought it was Zerra's roc that carried her. She thought she heard the chieftain marks away, voice muffled, slurred, his words impossible to grasp. She thought that countless other rocs flew around her, a sea of dank wings, scraggly necks, and cruel riders. Their blackness spread. She saw nothing but oily feathers, blazing yellow eyes, and blood.