To hunting me, Jeid thought.

"You're right," he repeated, voice soft. "This is my fault. I'm the one who was caught. I'm the one who doomed us to banishment. I'm the reason you live in a canyon, that you roam from town to town for food and supplies, when you should be smiths in Oldforge, a true roof over your head, starting your own families." His voice choked. "I failed you. I know this, and it hurts me every day, and—"

"Grizzly!" Maev said. She leaped to her feet and embraced him. Tanin joined her a moment later, awkwardly placing an arm around them.

"But I ask you, my children." Jeid's eyes burned. "I ask you to stay. Stay with me."

Tears streamed down Maev's cheeks. She hugged him tightly . . . but then she stepped away.

"I cannot," she whispered. "I must find others. I must. If we're banished, let us build this new tribe." She leaped into the air and shifted. Her wings scattered dry leaves and bent saplings. She took flight with clattering scales, crashed through the canopy, and hovered above. "Goodbye, Father! Goodbye!"

With that, she spun and flew southward, leaving only a wake of smoke.

Tanin stood before his father, arms hanging at his sides, his cheeks flushed. He cleared his throat and clasped Jeid's shoulder.

"I'll look after her," he said, voice hoarse. "I won't torment her much. I—"

His voice choked and he seemed ready to shed tears. With a silent nod, the young man shifted too. He rose into the air, a red dragon, and flew off, calling his sister's name.

Jeid grunted and was about to shift too, to fly after them and drag them home, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let them go, my son." The voice was deep and soft, a voice like waves on sand, like water in the deep. "Let them be."

Jeid spun around, fists clenched, to see his own father.

At seventy years of age, Eranor still stood straight, his shoulders squared. His long white hair and beard flowed down to his waist. His glittering blue eyes stared from under bushy, snowy eyebrows. He still wore his old druid robes, blue wool hemmed in silver, and he bore a staff made from a twisting oak root. Upon its top, clutched within wooden fingers, shone a blue crystal the size of a heart. Eranor, once a healer and sage in their town, had been banished with the rest of his family—the first among them to find the magic, to shift into a dragon . . . and to call it a gift.

"They—" For a moment, Jeid chocked on his words. "Those scoundrels are—"

"I know." Eranor smiled sadly and patted his son's shoulder. "They spoke to me of leaving. I gave them my blessing."

"You what? Father! How could you do this?" Jeid felt his face flush. He swung his axe through the air, bellowed wordlessly, and kicked leaves and rocks. "I will kill them. Why would they not come to me first, why—"