My forelegs tremble with excitement and strain as the wound in my shoulder throbs. The citizens toss their flowers, and the blooms start to pile up at my paws. Their excitement melts any momentary disappointment away. I keep my face proud and relaxed, but inside, I’m beaming.

This time tomorrow, the king will actually address me, but as a fully fledged warrior. After four years of brutal training, my very bones ache to take the oath and fulfill the dream I’ve been working toward since I was thirteen. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be so eager. Even though the human soldiers have not attempted an attack in months, once I am a warrior, I can be called at any moment to fight.

It is an honor, but am I ready?

As we exit the arena, I bat my wings idly, sending the flowers and loose petals into a flurry. The crowd responds with claps and cheers. A curtain sweeps closed behind us as the names of the next combatants are announced.

“Show-off,” my opponent mutters good-naturedly.

Ahead of me, she takes her human form. The magic forged into her armor and clothes transforms with her, melting as easily as winter frost against the sun. The armor re-forms to her human head and arms as if it had never been anything but. As she lifts her helm, a healer comes over to her with a cloth soaked in something to halt the bleeding above her eye.

I summon my own magic. It only takes a thought, bright and brilliant as the sun. The rush of warmth flares at my chest, flowing outward like a cascade of warm winds, until I’m standing on two feet in my human form, my dark wavy hair flowing to my mid-back. Immediately, the throbbing of my shoulder intensifies. Even though I don’t have wings in this form, the soreness will persist. A healer comes over and directs me to a chair.

“Be sure to stretch after bathing tonight,” the healer says. She pushes the loose strands of sweaty hair off my forehead, then wipes my face with a damp cloth. “Your shoulder will be fine, but I’ll put a salve on it to keep it from scarring.”

“Thanks, Prena,” I reply. After years of spars and mock battles, one gets to know the healers well. Prena is around my mother’s age and just as sharp, making her one of my favorites.

“Your new uniform won’t cover the cut,” she says, her tone kind. “I guess you won’t mind that, will you?”

“Not as long as that uniform is blue.”

“You warriors-elect,” she replies. “I swear on the skies it was just yesterday you were coming to me for something to ease your cycle pains. And now here you are, about to become a warrior at last.”

“Prena!”

“They must be speeding up the bells so time goes faster, is all I’m saying.”