She trembled. She wanted to cry out but dared not. Past the branches, she caught only glimpses of the violence. She saw Mother blowing fire, a blaze greater than any pyre, tinged blue and white with horrible heat. She saw Zerra ignite, scream, and burn upon his roc. And then only smoke, talons cutting into scales, and pattering blood on fallen leaves.

A human again—ten years old, scrawny as a twig, and clad only in her buffalo pelt—Laira ran.

She ran through the forest, across the meadow, and into their camp. She ran until Shedah—wizened, cackling, covered in moles—grabbed her. She screamed in the crone's grasp as the hunters returned with their catch. Mother was now in human form, beaten and bloodied, tied with ropes. She was trying to shift into a dragon again; scales appeared and disappeared upon her body, but whenever she began to grow, the ropes dug into her flesh, shoving her back into human form. Men tossed Mother onto the ground, kicking, striking with sticks, and Laira wanted to run to her, she wanted to shift into a dragon and save her, but she only raced into her tent, and she only trembled.

For five days she cowered as Shedah guarded the tent, sealing Laira in the shadows.

And now she stood here, staring, all her tears spent, watching her mother upon the pyre, watching Zerra lift a torch and bring it toward the pile of wood and kindling.

"Please," Laira whispered, and finally her eyes dampened. "Please, Zerra, please don't kill her. Please."

The chieftain slowly turned toward her. He stared, the ruined half of his face dripping pus and blood. Slowly a smile spread across his face, displaying crooked teeth.

"One day, little worm . . ." he said, voice like wooden chips rubbing together. "One day I will find the curse in you too, and you will scream like this."

With that, Zerra spun back toward the pyre and tossed his torch into the kindling.

Oil soaked the straw, twigs, and dried leaves. They burst into flame with the speed and ferocity of dragonfire.

Mother screamed.

The fire spread across her, blazing skyward, licking skin off muscle, flesh off bones. And still Mother screamed, writhing in her bonds, begging, wailing.

And Laira screamed too.

She tried to close her eyes, but Shedah grabbed her eyelids with rough fingers and held them open. She tried to break free, to run to her mother, to flee into the forest, but the crone held her fast.

"Mother!" she cried. "Mother, please!"

Please, she prayed silently. Please die. Please stop screaming.

Yet she would not. The screaming and writhing continued within the inferno, the fire eating Mother's flesh as if slowly savoring a meal. The smell of cooking meat filled the camp, as savory as spiced game. The flames tore through the ropes, and Mother fell from the stake to land in the blazing kindling. She managed to roll off the pyre, to run several steps through the camp, a living torch. She soon collapsed, rolling and whimpering. Zerra stood above the charred mockery of life and laughed.