Laira could still hear the birds above. It had been a full day and night since she had escaped the pyre, and the sun was rising again, yet still they hunted her, scanning the skies in pairs. Every few moments, she heard the fetid vultures fly above the canopy, and the oil they secreted fell like foul rain. Thankfully the trees were thick and autumn leaves still covered the branches, shielding her from view. Even in areas where the canopy broke, Laira—covered in mud, dung, and dry leaves—appeared like nothing but a clump of dirt.

Zerra always said I was nothing but filth, she thought, a wry smile twisting her lips.

The latest roc vanished overhead, leaving his stench—like moldy meat—to waft down upon her, mingling with her own smell, which was no more appealing. Laira crawled under a tilted oak, rummaged in a pile of fallen leaves, and finally found a stone the right size. She smashed it against another stone, chipping it into a blade. She sat upright, her head dizzy, and worked for a while, rubbing the sharp stone against her bonds. Finally the rope tore, and she brought her arms back forward and examined her wrists.

They were a bloody, muddy mess, and her hands blazed as fresh blood pumped into them. She cut the ropes around her ankles next and winced. Her feet were in even worse shape. Not only had the ropes chafed her ankles, the fire had burned her soles; ugly welts now rose there. She didn't know what was worse: her burns, bruises, cuts, or the foul paste coating her, but she thought it was the burns. She needed speed now more than anything, and with burnt feet, how could she walk or run? Even with her ropes cut, was she still bound to crawl to whatever safety she could find?

Laira sighed. Was there even safety in this world for her? Even if she did escape the Goldtusk tribe—the only home she'd ever known—would she starve in the wilderness or freeze once the snows began to fall? As a babe, she had lived in a distant land, a sunny kingdom named Eteer, but they had banished her. Eteer too hated and hunted weredragons. Even if she could find her way back, no home awaited her across the sea.

A roc's cry sounded above, and Laira flattened herself down. When it had passed, she winced and bit her lip, spat out the foul taste, and attempted to stand.

Her soles blazed as if new fires burned them. She fell into the dry leaves, moaning and dizzy.

"Maybe I'll just crawl for a while longer."