As the wyvern’s body was winched up and secured on the trailer bed, Liska spotted a second beast behind it. This one was not even a quarter the size of the first. It had big, vulnerable eyes and stubby horns. Poxpunks stood on its back, binding its wings tightly and poking it with wooden rods. The poor thing looked terrified and helpless.

Liska told the others what she could see and soon they were all staring out from behind the boulder.

‘That little one is just a baby!’ Elowen whispered. ‘Are they going to harm it?’

‘Painted humies kill wyverns,’ said Fishbone. ‘They drag them back to their cities on their land boats and carve them up. Make clothes from skin, build things from bones, eat the meat and use oil to make their stinking machines run. Baby wyvern will get chopped in a minute.’

Liska was horrified. Even though she had heard terrifying tales about wyverns, the one in front of them now looked innocent and harmless. She couldn’t bear to see it butchered in front of her, no matter how dangerous the Poxpunks might be.

‘No.’ She found herself standing up before she fully realised what she was doing. ‘I’m not going to let them.’

Fishbone gawked at her for a second before grabbing her hand with his paws. ‘Stupid humie! What is you doing? The painted ones will turn us all into bottom warmers!’

‘They can try,’ said Liska, sounding a lot braver than she felt. Clenching her jaw, she marched out from the rock, striding towards the baby wyvern.

‘Wait for me!’ Elowen trotted after her, and she could hear Lug’s frantic protests as Fishbone prodded him to his feet with the help of a pawful of needle-claws.

The reptilian stink grew stronger as she marched. It was sour and acidic, mixed with a lizardy muskiness. The clanking sound of the Poxpunks’ winch drowned out their approach so the trappers didn’t notice them until they were just a few metres away.

Liska planted her feet and raised a fist. The other hand reached for the hood of her cloak, ready to flip it over if she needed to shapewalk quickly.

‘Stop hurting that dragon!’ she shouted in as commanding a voice as she could.

‘Actually, it’s a wyvern,’ Elowen whispered in her ear. ‘Dragons have four legs. These only have two.’

‘Stop hurting that wyvern!’ Liska corrected herself. The Poxpunk nearest to her looked up from where he was guiding the dead wyvern’s head up the ramp to the trailer. He held a tattooed arm up in the air and the winching crew paused, leaving the wyvern’s head dangling from the trailer edge. The Poxpunks standing on the baby wyvern stopped prodding it for a moment, leaving the poor thing whining and panting, it’s football-sized eyes rolling in fear.