He swung himself up and over onto Elsie, after Hollin had climbed up, and silently strapped himself in, heavy with self-reproach. He gave no attention to their surroundings, or the journey, and let the cold wind in their faces make him dull. Devastatio flung himself ahead far of Elsie; further self-puffery, which he was able to manage as she was burdened by two instead of one. It was all that saved them: because of the distance, the Petit Chevalier could not come at them together, and so he bore down on Devastatio alone in the lead.

The little Winchester squalled and tumbled straight down, blood streaming from his wing and side where he had been savagely clawed. He managed to right himself with great hissing gulps of breath, puffing out his sides until his fall slowed enough for him to gain purchase, but he was not flying properly, only able to limp half-skewed to the ground. Satisfied that he had been grounded, and might be retrieved at leisure, the Petit Chevalier wheeled about, and turned his attention to Elsie.

The name of the French breed was appropriate only by comparison to the Grand Chevalier; the heavyweight heading towards them was some eighteen tons, his claws already stained with Devastatio's blood, and he roared threateningly as he drew closer. Elsie gave a small desperate gasp and dived out of his way. She twisted nearly upside down to evade the attack, sending Laurence and Hollin to dangle from their straps, and then shot forward with all her might past the great dragon's belly as rifle-shot from the bell-men whistled like wasps past their heads.

But she was too weighted down to reach her full speed. The Petit Chevalier doubled back on himself and set in steady pursuit: over distance his strength would tell, and he would have them if she could not escape before then. He was fast enough to keep her in his sights for an hour, Laurence judged, looking down over Elsie's side to watch the dragon's shadow flashing by over the ground.

It came chasing after Elsie's smaller shadow like a racing cloud, pouring up and down the curves of the hills, darkening slopes and sending deer bounding away through the trees. The outline of the dragon remained steady as the ground rolled away beneath them with blazing speed, at least twenty knots with the wind howling and tearing at their clothing no matter how low they crouched against Elsie's neck.

The Petit Chevalier roared behind them. Laurence could not lift his head up into the wind to look back, but they were over a broad stretch of farmland, fields laid out in neat snow-powdered squares bordered by roads, so the dragon shapes made perfect silhouettes upon white, and as Elsie's first desperate sprinting failed, the distance between the two shadows began slowly and inexorably to narrow.