Everyone sprang up from the breakfast table and scurried to help clean, chattering all the while about what kind of beast would hatch, how wonderful it all was, and how, regardless of the bet, her brother would have to take over all Mina’s chores, including the chicken coop, once she started training. Groaning, Gaton said, “Maybe it would be better if your egg didn’t hatch soon.”

Mina laughed. She left her bowl on the rack to dry, nestled against the other bowls, and then went outside. The screen door banged behind her as Mother called, “Mina, get the kites!”

Mina waved so Mother would know she’d heard.

The farm sparkled in the morning sun. The fields stretching out before her shimmered with dewy leaves that waved in the soft breeze. As always, it was a beautiful day.

Orli, Papa’s old rain beast, was flying above the farmhouse, her wings stretched wide. She was dragon-shaped, like all storm beasts, but had the beautiful blue color that marked her as a rain beast. Her chest was covered in shimmering blue scales, and her wings were blue feathers, every kind of blue in the sky from pale morning yellow-blue to deep storm blue-gray.

Mina imagined herself flying on a rain beast, guiding the water that would soak the fields or fill the reservoirs. It must feel amazing to bring the rain!

“Gaton!” Mother called, sticking her head out the kitchen window. “Have you secured the wheat seeds? We can’t let the wind blow them away!”

Gaton called back from within the corn, close to the house but not visible behind the stalks. “Already done, Mother!”

Standing up on her tiptoes, Mina looked for her brother and saw the sunset-red glow of his beast, Arde, between the rows. A fat dragon, Arde didn’t fly often. He spent most of his days with Gaton out in the fields, soaking up the sun’s rays and then distributing them to whatever farm needed them the most. He also liked to chirp at passing birds. He had the silliest chirp for a beast his size. Not that I’d ever tell Gaton that, Mina thought. Gaton adored his beast.

“You’ll adore yours, too,” he’d told her once. “You’ll see. You can’t help it. Your beast will hatch, and it will feel like you’ve always known each other.”

She wanted that so badly that it sometimes felt like an ache. Hatch soon! She’d always thought of herself as patient—​Papa called her “steady”—​but now all her dreams were so close . . .

“Mina!” Mother again. “Stop daydreaming, and get the kites!”