Take the leap and risk the fall. 167

From ash and bone, new life will rise,

Shadow dragons roam the skies!’

‘But what does it mean?’ he cried anxiously. They had risked it all, hadn’t they? He’d taken the leap when he went over the cliff. What else did they need?

‘We’ve done what we can. We’ve brought the silverblue. Maybe it takes a while. Let’s wait till morning and see what happens?’ Winter suggested.

They sat down in the dim fuggy cave, trying to stay awake. The warmth made Joe’s head swim and his vision blur. He had to stay awake, he had to! What if he missed the hatching? But his eyelids grew heavy. He’d had so little rest the last two nights. I’ll just rest my head for a moment, he thought, just a moment. He lay back and put his head on his aching arms.

He woke, hours later, and immediately knew something was wrong. The candle had burned to a stub, but it still cast a soft yellow light round the cave.

‘Winter! Winter! Wake up.’ He scrambled to his feet and peered at the eggs.

‘What is it?’ Winter gasped, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ‘Are they dead?’

Joe grabbed for the purple egg: there was no spark today and its glow was dimmer, almost gone. Its ridged surface seemed parched and there was a crack on one side, not a crack as if it was hatching, but a dried-out brokenness.

Winter was right: the eggs were dying.

He held it up, close to his face. ‘Please don’t die.’ His 168heart felt like a bruise in his chest, sore and tender. ‘What did we do wrong?’ This was his dragon. His only dragon, his only chance. He’d known it from the first moment he’d seen this egg. Despair threatened to swamp him.

He hardly dared turn to Winter. He’d failed her. Winter, who’d lost so much. What would happen if she lost this as well? It was too much to bear. She seemed so different from that restless brittle girl he’d first met. And now this: it wasn’t fair.

She was holding her egg, rocking it, tears pouring down her face. ‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded. ‘Don’t leave me.’

Joe closed his eyes, wishing there was something he could do, wishing they knew more. He fought not to sink below the crashing waves of grief and fear.

All at once, he recalled his nightmare from the other day: water rising, rising, rising. Maybe it wasn’t a warning. Maybe it was an instruction.

He swayed where he stood, stronger than last night. He rolled his shoulders experimentally – yes, they were better. He checked his hands: the scratches were healing. The eggs must still be alive if their strange healing power still worked.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said, hope growing inside him now. He wedged his egg in the crook of his left arm. And we have nothing to lose, if they really are dying, he thought, but didn’t say, wanting to protect Winter from that as long as possible. He gathered up the pieces of silverblue. ‘Winter? Let’s go to the stream in our cavern.’