Liska growled under her breath and swung about, swooping down to brush the tops of the highest trees with her paws. They were over the second circle now, the home of the stormsingers. She could see the outlines of their houses through the leaves, the glimmer of lanterns and candles shining up at her.

As she passed one especially tall tree, she noticed a pod had been built in its topmost branches. A round bulb of wood, it was just big enough for a child’s bedroom and there, sure enough, was a little face peering out across the treetops.

The mages in the city below looked down on the shapewalkers, Liska knew. Even though they protected them from all the outside threats. Even though they risked their lives fighting off wyverns and everything else. They weren’t treated as part of Arborven. They were lower than mossherders. Creatures less than human. Beasts from scary tales told to children at bedtime.

Well, let’s see if I can change that, shall we? Liska hardly ever came down to the city, so she was determined to make this visit count.

She swung closer to the bedroom window, making sure she was spotted, and was rewarded by a gasp of surprise. Keen to show off her flying skills, and to prove that shapewalkers weren’t all scary monsters, she flipped her wings around in what she hoped would be an impressive barrel roll.

Except her rear paw caught on a stray branch and she wobbled badly, crashing into the foliage for a moment before struggling free in an explosion of leaves and twigs. Instead of gasps from the child’s bed-pod, she heard howls of laughter, making her blush hard under her fur.

‘For Tree’s sake, Liska, can’t you concentrate for even a moment?’ Her mother. Again.

Maybe it was the animal side of Liska, maybe it was just because she didn’t like being told what to do, but something snapped inside her then. She felt a bubble of rebellion surge up and take her over. With a fierce snarl on her lips, she decided to show her mother that she knew perfectly well how to fly properly no matter how much trouble it would land her in.

Beating hard to build up speed, she climbed almost vertically until her mother was a gliding shadow sixty metres below.

Then she pointed her nose downwards, folded her wings into her body and went into a dive, picking up speed as she plummeted like an arrow, like a furry javelin thrown by an angry giant.

The air screamed past her face, whipping her fox ears back and washing her with the thick scent of bark, moss and leaves from the forest.

The trees zoomed up towards her, threatening to swallow her up. She zipped past her mother, made her yelp in surprise, and then jabbed out her wings just in time to stop herself colliding with the forest.