THe Lowering Suns slipped between layers of cloud, splashing rose highlights across the Cloudlands and enflaming the underside of the cloud cover overhead. Hualiama and Ja’al stood at the edge of the chasm. Lava seethed below. Hundreds of dragonets played in the dense bushes nearby, darting about with squeals of excitement as they chased their buzzing, crawling or fluttering dinner. Flicker’s hearts tripped along. How he wished to join his brothers and sisters! But his task was clear, and his purpose exalted. The trivial complaints of an empty stomach could wait.
The monk laughed apprehensively as he laid one hand on Lia’s vine rope swing. “So, this is your secret, Hualiama? This is how you stole into our monastery?”
She shook her head, golden glints of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Ja’al, you’ve all the patience of a rajal kitten mewling for milk.”
“Do you know what my lovely brother Hua’gon thinks of this venture?”
“Spare me.”
Flicker purred contentedly. His Lia still liked to show her teeth to the monk, and the monk still regarded her as though he wished to bathe in her fires. What did those silly vows serve, but to keep a female from a suitable mate?
Swinging across the chasm, Lia landed lithely on the far side. She swung the vine back for Ja’al, calling, “Come on, slow-slug.”
“This is the bit where the Dragons kill me, right?”
Remember the Great Dragon’s words, straw-head,, said Flicker.
With a crazed grin playing about his lips, the monk launched himself into space. In seconds, he gripped Hualiama’s left wrist and allowed her to assist his landing. After tying off the vine, they set out to climb the cliff.
Flicker had helped Lia shift linger-vines into helpful positions and affix them, making the climb far easier than before. Still, it was a sheer vertical ascent, so it took the slow Humans an hour to traverse the cliff to the tunnel, skirting the avalanche site to the southern side. The shaking of the dragonet’s head as he examined the Dragon’s grave made his spine spikes quiver. The place was ill-omened, a monstrous jumble of rock and bushes dropped into a ravine which must cut deep into the Island, perhaps an ancient watercourse. It made his scales itch. Could it be that the Dragon was trapped further within, as Lia thought?
Egg-head followed straw-head into the tunnels. Flicker gave a toothy grin of amusement. Ja’al’s very fires were about to be snuffed out in shock.
The monk paused, his voice rising to a squeak, “There’s something down here, Lia. What is it?”
“Come on, Ja’al,” she urged. He senses what we know, Flicker.
Bah, you think he’s that clever?
Traversing the wondrous geodes and tunnels lined with sparkling crystal, they came at length to the place where the Ancient One brooded in darkness. Amaryllion had lain silent all this time, but he perceived their approach. Flicker knew that the Ancient Dragons had the power to send their senses out into the Island-World, observing and gathering information, tasting magic upon the breezes and reading the hearts and minds of the Lesser Dragons and Humans. Ah, which reminded him, he should see if the Dragon library held any information that could help his girl. Lia would be delighted.
Fiery, monstrous, the Ancient One’s orb opened to light upon the threesome–the little ones, who quaked before his majesty.
“Ja’al the Just,” he said. “Welcome.”
To his credit, Ja’al did not fall down as Hualiama had done that first time, but neither could he speak.
“I am Amaryllion Fireborn, the last Ancient Dragon of this Island-World,” he rumbled, his voice filling the tunnels and caves with thick draconic resonance. “We live in a great crater, thousands of leagues in diameter, forged by the explosion of a comet as it collided with this world, which flung up the shielding rim-wall mountains, twenty-five leagues tall and more, and carved the depths now filled by the Cloudlands. Little ones, the world beyond the mountains is greater still, a world of blue oceans and white sands, of mountains and deeps, within which myriad creatures roam, great and small, good and evil–and wherein dwell many more of thy kind.”
“What’s an ocean?” inquired Lia, in a small voice.
“Imagine the terrace lakes of thy native Island, little mouse,” growled Amaryllion. “Now imagine those waters as endlessly wide as the Cloudlands, sparkling blue beneath the twin suns. Therein creatures as great as Dragons do sport, indeed, creatures called Whales which rival even my size. And they speak a tongue akin to that of Dragons.”
* * * *
Hualiama quivered with wonder. Even Flicker seemed stunned. Imagine whole oceans churned into a fury by mighty talking fishes, and a world greater than their own? Who had ever seen the rim mountains? Perhaps from the frozen Isles north of Immadia, or perhaps south of the Rift in Herimor, such sky-scraping peaks might be visible–but no traveller’s account she had ever read, had described what must surely be an unforgettable sight.
“I would instruct thee, Ja’al,” said Amaryllion, “but mostly, I would know thee. I am not Fra’anior, who blessed thee this day, but I am his kin. Hualiama and Flicker I call friends, though they are small and I am mighty.”
The yellow fires in his eye surged as the Dragon’s mind fixed upon Lia. “The way of Ancient Dragons is to deal first with business. Therefore, I charge thee to find and succour the Tourmaline Dragon, little mouse. The Dragon is alive, but unwell, and sorely wounded. Find him beneath the avalanche, buried deep within the mountain.”
Pensively, she nodded, stealing a glance at Ja’al. Poor man! Dragon fear and awe gripped him in equal measure.
“There is an ancient prophecy I had thought lost,” said Amaryllion. “The creature Ra’aba uses it to forge his destiny. It speaks of a time of change and turmoil, when a giant comet shall streak across our skies and the balance of the Island-World shall be thrown into disarray. Old powers will fail, and a new race–the third great race of the Island-World–will rise from the shadows, a race born of magic. That is what Ra’aba fears.”
As if his mind were a claw, the Ancient Dragon’s deliberations pierced her. “A Maroon Dragoness lives, though I know not where. Her name is Ianthine. I have not sensed her presence in many a year. Since the Dragons drove her out, they must know where she lives. Ianthine is a wicked creature and never to be trusted, for she practices a vile form of magic called ruzal in the ancient Dragon tongue. The word means ‘twisting’ or ‘binding’. It is a magic of subterfuge and concealment, a magic capable of binding minds, even the minds of Dragons. And I suspect its touch upon thy life.”
Lia shook off a chill. Either the Ancient One had read her thoughts, or he had spoken with the Nameless Man. All these different powers circling her life, no better than windrocs stalking a likely victim!
“Long have I wondered about thee, Hualiama, pondering the enigma of thy existence. Surely, Gi’ishior Island was not thy birthplace.” A note of vexation crept into Amaryllion’s voice, a roaring of the vast furnaces of his faraway belly. “A redolence of the East, I guess.”
Her response slipped out, unthinking, “A guess, Amaryllion?”
“AYE A GUESS, EVEN I!” he thundered.
The power of his fury knocked the trio down the slope they had ascended to reach his eye; not far away, rock cracked and roared away in an unseen avalanche.
“S-sorry great D-Dragon,” stammered Lia, picking herself up. She dusted her knees. “I doubt thee not. This mystery pains my soul.”
What? Just listen to what spouted from her mouth! Somehow, ancient speech-patterns seemed to come to the fore whenever she spoke with Amaryllion, even if she spoke Island Standard. Why was that?
“I meant no harm, little one,” said the Dragon. “Speak thy heart.”
“I discovered I have magic, Amaryllion. Art thou surprised?”
“Vastly,” he snorted, a suitably titanic snort of amusement. Heat rolled over her; Lia realised that the Dragon must have breathed fire from his mouth, somewhere unseen beyond the wall of rock away to her left hand.
She chuckled, “And doth mine feminine mystery suffice to flummox a Dragon most ancient?”
HAARRRAA-HA-HA! Amaryllion boomed.
Precious Ja’al. He had saucers for eyes. He probably thought her utterly mad for jesting with an Ancient Dragon–never mind that the force of his laughter made them both stagger drunkenly back up the slope as they approached his eye.
“Come, Ja’al,” he said. “I would teach thee the Dragonish art of reading pictures and memories from the mind. Thou might thus aid Hualiama in her learning, by taking of what thy Master Khoyal remembers, and making it known to her.”
At last, the monk found his voice. “Of course, o Ancient One. Am I to understand that Dragons can read minds?”
“Of course, little mouse,” Amaryllion echoed. “It is a magical art, a gift claimed only by the most powerful Dragon magicians. The best subject is a willing mind, one open to examination. Beware, for a mind-reader can snatch thoughts from the unwary, and the most powerful–like Ianthine–can squeeze a mind dry, even as you Humans squeeze berries for wine. Tell Master Khoyal that he must instruct thee in the arts of Juyhallith, the way of the mind.”
* * * *
Departing the Ancient One’s cave, the two Humans and the dragonet spent the remainder of the night searching for the Tourmaline Dragon, but found no clues as to his existence. Footsore and wing-weary, they returned to the monastery at dawn, just in time for a full day’s training.
“I must find him. I must.” Lia repeated her mantra.
To Flicker’s disgust, Inniora’s consternation and Master Khoyal’s fury, Hualiama spent the following three nights doing exactly the same, traversing the slopes and walking the inner tunnels of Ha’athior Island, searching.
“When last did you sleep?” stormed the Master.
“Er … I don’t remember,” Lia replied, thinking it best if she did not.
“I cannot teach an apprentice who falls asleep on their feet–literally! Go to bed!”
“But I have to find the Dragon.”
How could she explain what drove her now, the imperative felt as a migraine squeezing her temples, throbbing, the restless tingling in her bones? She scowled at the sight of Flicker spying on her in the darkness. Islands’ sakes!
She tiptoed out at the hour of midnight.
Hallon and Rallon guarded the stairway beneath the prekki-fruit tree. Having flirted her way past the giant twins once, Lia knew she should not drop them into hot lava a second time. A sigh escaped her lips; she stared at the Jade moon, half-crescent as it sailed over the Island massif above, bathing the scene in a deathly green glow. Defeated. The Dragon’s chances of survival diminished by the day.
Back in their cavern, Inniora greeted her with the clink of a manacle meant for her ankle. “Master Khoyal said you were not to be trusted.”
“You’re not putting that on me!” Lia declared.
“Aren’t I?”
One ill-tempered and undignified wrestling match later, the Princess of Fra’anior found herself chained to their gymnastic bars, with a wrenched elbow and a fresh bruise on her cheek.
Inniora dusted her hands cheerfully, but Lia noticed she moved with a limp. Served her right. “May your dreams be filled with Dragons,” Inniora smiled. When Lia only growled at her, she added, “Wrestle me any time. I’m only being your friend.” She stalked off.
“Bully,” Lia sniffed, but her heart was far from in it. “The peasants have revolted.”
Hualiama dreamed about being trampled by the Dragon who had attacked her on the ledge where she lived with Flicker. That was followed by a dream of fleeing endlessly through the caverns beneath Ha’athior, being chased and burned by more angry Dragons. Their thundering turned into Dragons fighting over a yowling infant. Was that a Maroon Dragoness fighting another Dragon? They clashed in the darkness, roaring challenges at each other. Lia moaned in her sleep, knowing a deep-seated fear which always lurked in the dark recesses of her mind. Dragons were evil, never to be trusted. Dragons had shaped her fate. What would she become?
She stirred to find Ja’al squatting patiently nearby. His blue eyes twinkled at her. “Keep the little rajals chained up, say I.”
“Save me, o handsome monk.”
His grin widened. “I think I’d rather keep you like this, Princess.”
Well, that would not do. Failing miserably to keep a flirtatious tone out of her voice, Lia said, “If you had any idea how inappropriate that sounds, Ja’al, you’d free me immediately.”
He flushed pink. Crimson. Purple. The veins on his tattooed head almost popped. Finally, he managed to splutter, “Master Khoyal is ill today and has sent me to teach you the basic forms, Lia.”
“Thank you.” She gentled her heart. “Inniora has the key, so unless you wish to wake her …”
“I’d rather wake a windroc. Open your mind.”
Reaching out, Ja’al placed his hand upon her forehead, and a velveteen-wrapped sledgehammer walloped her between the eyes.
Lia gasped. Inexplicably, she smelled mint–a strong, fresh scent of mint.
“Sorry,” Ja’al grunted. “More gently; more control. I’ll offer up his memory … thus.”
A boy stood in the cavern, watching a small, supple man dancing, spinning, weaving forms in the air with dazzling speed and grace. Swords flashed in his hands, cutting the air so rapidly that the blades moaned a song of beguiling fatality. Faster. Higher. Lia saw a dance wreathed in the beginnings of that white-golden fire she recognised as magic, coalescing around his leaping form as though drawn there by a mysterious compulsion. Every hair on her nape stood to attention.
Suddenly, stillness enveloped the cave. The man crossed his swords, bowed to the boy, and lowered his defence. His bare torso was covered in a sheen of sweat, yet he showed no other outward sign of the ferocity of his exercise.
“I will teach you the forms, Khoyal,” said the man.
“With my crippled hips, father,” said the boy, without rancour, “how can I ever learn the art of Nuyallith?”
“It is not for your benefit, but for another.”
The monk looked directly at Hualiama, and his deeply furrowed cheeks creased into a smile. The memory spiralled into blackness.
Next she knew, Ja’al was slapping her cheek gently. “Lia? Lia, come on … did it work? Did you see something?”
“Aye, it worked. Don’t kiss me.”
“Some girl I met told me I’m incorruptible,” he announced, but a pensive expression tightened his jaw. “Though, I’m not sure I’ll ever be where you’re concerned, Lia.”
“Are you trying to make me cry, Ja’al?”
He gulped. “It’s a grief, isn’t it? A process of letting go; of mourning even as one looks to the future.”
A profound silence gripped them. Lia searched for words to express the sorrow she felt, to express her certainty without causing further hurt.
She said, “You hoped that taking your vows would cure what you perceive as weakness, Ja’al. But I say that the heart is an untameable beast, a Dragon of passions that can sweep over us as a Cloudlands storm lashes the Islands, or ripple as gently as a dawn breeze upon a still terrace lake. If my time with the Masters at this monastery has taught me anything, it is that passion both refines and nourishes discipline. Discipline can be as dry and scorching as a wind born in Fra’anior’s caldera, or burst with rich, life-affirming power. Faith without passion is a dead thing.”
“You think you’re a terrible monk-apprentice,” he countered, reaching out to clasp her hand in his. Hualiama had never seen his expression so intent. “Yet I say you are an inspiration. The power to love is your greatest weapon, Lia. That is your untameable beast. Know it and embrace it, fear it and devote yourself to it, for love will shape your destiny.”
Again, the strength of their connection robbed her of words. She did not understand. Why had the Great Dragon allowed Ja’al to take his vows? Was he too good for her? Did Fra’anior’s desire for service trump any budding Human love?
If only love did not make her so vulnerable. Love alone had driven her to save Flicker from the warren-mother’s torture. Dare she speak of friendship-love, to use the dragonet word, which had compelled Flicker to eschew his warren and the dragonet-kind, to be her friend? Now, these same passions compelled her to rescue the Tourmaline Dragon, with all the peril that implied. Fear the Dragon, aye. Devote herself to him?
A thrill, a terror, an abiding hope …
But she must first deal with Ja’al. Lia said, “Would you allow me to call you ‘brother’? It would help me.”
Clearly, the monk was not fooled. He bowed. “I’d be honoured. Although, ‘brother Ja’al’ sounds awfully staid, doesn’t it?”
“Oh please, deliver this maiden from her peril, brother Ja’al.”
“Ah,” he leered, scrambling to his feet, “I shall–drat, how does the line go again? ‘Bait the rajal’?”
“Bait the rajal?” Inniora glared at Ja’al from just within the small side-chamber where the girls’ sleeping pallets lay. He winced. “You’d better explain yourself, brother–fast!”
* * * *
For three hours that morning, Lia swiped Master Khoyal’s reeds about in the air as she laboured to reproduce the movements Ja’al had etched magically into her memory. Right. Whoever had imagined pinching someone else’s memories to turn them into martial arts forms was easy, had equally as much a clue of the world beneath the Cloudlands.
When she paused for a breather and a sip of water, Flicker appeared. Without warning, he announced, “I am a genius.”
Inniora, Ja’al and Hualiama stared at him.
“Just admit it.” He blew multiple smoke-rings between his fangs. “I am undeniably the most awesome, intelligent and devastatingly handsome male of a species north of the Rift. Actually–” he inclined a wing airily “–you may include all of Herimor for the sake of accuracy.”
“Spit it out, genius,” said Lia.
“I didn’t quite hear you,” suggested the dragonet.
Inniora’s grin widened as Hualiama swept into a ludicrous parody of a Fra’aniorian courtly bow. “O, thou mighty bewinged paragon of muscular Dragonhood!” she cried. Flicker expectorated a fireball of pleasure. “Pray edify these humble serfs as to the luminously brilliant workings of thy incomparable intellect.”
A few adjectives and the dragonet was so puffed up with pride, he could not even produce a squeak.
“Firstly,” he managed to decree at last, “you, Inniora, shall blindfold the Princess. She will learn that the Human brain works more efficiently to process memories without distraction or interference from her inadequate eyes. Secondly, I wish to announce that I have rounded up two hundred dragonets to help me search for your Tourmaline Dragon. By this evening, I shall inform you where he is, or may my wings fall off and scale-mites infest my–”
Lia interrupted quickly, “Oh, Flicker, that’s splendid! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because I’m the genius, and you are a straw-head,” he said, flying upside-down out of the cave.
“A ruddy irritating but remarkably effective little genius,” Hualiama muttered, accepting a length of cloth from Inniora, while she passed . “Ja’al, how’s it possible that Khoyal’s father saw me in that memory?”
Ja’al scratched his beard. “Unless someone else was standing there at that precise moment in time … yet there was such a powerful sense of connection–I felt it, too. I cannot fathom it, Lia. In theory, magic can work over time as well as through space, but it’s never been proven. It’s said the Ancient Dragons could move independently of time. Adraconistic scholars suggest we only believe that because Dragons are so long-lived. Great are the mysteries of the Dragonkind.”
“May the Great Dragon speed Flicker’s search,” said his sister.
Lia felt the touch of Ja’al’s fingers. “Lia, will you be careful with that Dragon? I’ve a bad feeling …”
“What kind of bad feeling?”
“Only, that events might not proceed as we’d expect. Being trapped underground probably does strange things to a Dragon’s mind.”
Silly, overprotective monk. He was sweet, but it rankled when he treated her as a child. “I’ll be very careful,” she promised. “No offering to polish his fangs.”
Ja’al’s sour expression suggested Lia should take his warning more seriously.
Inniora asked, “So, there are twenty forms of Nuyallith, of which Ja’al has so far taught you two?”
“Twenty basic forms, aye, and several hundred advanced forms beyond those,” said Lia, binding her eyes. “Each form is a prescribed set of movements, much as a dance is choreographed. Master Khoyal says that when I have performed each form ten thousand times, perfectly, I’ll have written the movements into my muscle memory and should be able to reproduce them instinctively, without need for thought.”
“The path to mastery lies through pain,” said Ja’al, imitating his uncle Jo’el.
“What does Nuyallith mean, anyway?” asked Lia.
“The way of dancing on air,” said Inniora.
Ja’al quipped, “Sounds deadly.”
Glowering in the direction of Inniora’s voice, Hualiama held out her hands. “Give me those reeds, brother Ja’al. I’m going to slice you both into ribbons.”
* * * *
Lia dressed rapidly for her foray that evening, more excited than she had been in a long while. Ja’al was excited too. “Sapphurion is making an official visit tomorrow!” he yelled, dashing out of the cave for a meeting of the monks.
Sapphurion? So, the rumours of war between the Dragons might be true. For certain there was open war between the Dragonkind and the Humans of the Eastern Isles–that had been simmering and occasionally flaring up for years. Now, if she could rescue the Tourmaline Dragon in time for Sapphurion’s visit …
Yualiana had delivered the promised clothes, and Lia had to admit, this outfit was a vast improvement on baggy monk trousers and shirts five sizes too large for her. “Undergarments that actually fit,” she muttered drolly. “Novel.” Beneath a dark emerald-green skirt, split all the way up to her thighs to allow ease of movement, Lia wore dark fitted leggings and light slippers, the toughened and slightly tacky footwear the monks wore for infiltration and espionage training. A matching green tunic top, covering her shoulders but leaving the upper arms bare, had been tailored for a feminine physique. “Very tasteful,” she approved. Armoured wristlets covered her hands and arms from knuckles to elbow. The right sported a half-dozen throwing blades cunningly concealed against her inner arm. “Sweet.”
Hualiama braided and coiled her platinum hair, and concealed it beneath a dark scarf. Beneath a two- or three-moons night sky, it would shine like a beacon, otherwise.
She was ready.
“Islands’ greetings, Lady Blade,” Inniora whistled softly as Lia stepped through into their main cavern.
“This is wonderful, Inniora. Thank you!”
“Did you find the lock picks?”
“No …”
“Left wristlet. Oh, and Ja’al suggested a flexible saw, several files, and skeleton keys. Here are your forked daggers–a proper matched pair now, thanks to a raid on the armoury.”
Lia smiled at Inniora’s enthusiasm. “What do you expect me to be doing?”
“Hmm … burgling a palace to depose a traitor? And, I designed a few extra pockets for concealment. Places no man would dare to look.” She winked at Lia. “Inner thigh, tucked inside the bodice–it’s the new fashion, girl-monk attire. Take a peek down your top.”
“Ooh, are those weapons?”
“Well, Princess. My brother certainly thinks so.”
“Blast it, you wretch,” Hualiama groaned. “I walked smack into that one.”
Waving her hands excitedly, Inniora explained, “You’ll find pockets in the bodice seams for pepper sacks, gemstones, vials of poison, money or anything else you wish to conceal, and plenty of room in the middle as you enjoy–” she chuckled at her friend’s affronted expression “–certain natural advantages. That’s a bundle of poisoned darts you see there. What do you think?”
“I’m glad we’re on the same side, you Cloudlands pirate.”
Lia received a hearty whack on the shoulder for that comment. “Go stir us up a Dragon!”
Emerging from a trapdoor hidden amidst the rocks behind the monastery building, Lia ghosted along behind the ancient prekki trees, keeping to the deepening shadows. Flicker’s rowdy band of dragonets had delivered in spectacular style in the late afternoon. Even now, they celebrated over the lake in a welter of enthusiasm, swirling and diving and chirping up such a storm that the evening’s habitual avian chorus was entirely drowned out.
Smiling, she ducked down the stairway. Flicker met her at the bottom, the fire in his eyes churning more vigorously than ever.
You’re the greatest dragonet genius ever to fly the skies of the Island-World! she greeted him.
Modestly, he agreed, I know. You took your time, straw-head. That is a most striking outfit. Almost as fine as Dragon scales.
So typically Flicker! Lia said, Thank you, my friend.
A short swing and a quarter-hour scramble later, Flicker introduced her to a hole that Hualiama would never have guessed led beneath the Island. My friends widened the tunnel to accommodate you, he said.
She said, This is near the avalanche site, isn’t it?
Beneath it on the southern aspect.
And the Tourmaline Dragon’s alive?
Lia … he doesn’t sound friendly. He might be feral.
You didn’t go in, did you? Lia hissed. Fine, I’ll go talk to him. Look, the poor thing’s probably starving. Would you hunt and bring the Dragon a kill or two?
Flicker seemed all too eager to leave the dangerous work to her. Fine. Lia grumbled a little as she slithered beneath a large, flat boulder and dropped gingerly into the space beyond. A whiff of cool, stale air greeted her questing nostrils. Pausing to allow her eyes to adjust to the dimness, Lia took in a narrow tunnel–more a crack or shear between two rock faces–which at some point had been half-filled with a jumble of rocks and dirt fallen from above. The footing was treacherous. All too easy to snap an ankle, she thought, feeling her way forward with care.
A little light filtered down ahead, and beyond that, she saw another brighter patch. Encouraging. Slowly, sliding along on her haunches or creeping crablike over the rocks, listening intently, Lia moved deeper beneath Ha’athior Island.
The crack narrowed, eventually forcing her to turn her shoulders sideways to squeeze through the narrowest parts. She heard water dripping somewhere nearby. The roof lowered. Odd. The tunnel seemed to end a short ways ahead. Lia paused again, peering about at the oblong boulder she stood upon. If she was not mistaken, she stood above a yawning space, and the cleft ended just ten feet or so ahead in a pit of impenetrable darkness. Picking up a pebble, she tossed it ahead.
Clink. Clink. Nothing.
Whatever she stood above, it was deep. Only the boulder lay between her feet and an unknowable drop. Lia hoped it was wedged tight.
Force the lungs to draw in a breath. “Dragon?”
Silence. A silence in which menace lurked, listening.
“Dragon, are you there?”
Claws, scraping upon rock. A leathery rustle came to her ears, perhaps wings dragging across stone. Hualiama wondered briefly if this had been a mistake, if Amaryllion could somehow have been wrong about the Tourmaline Dragon. A low, throbbing sound echoed up from the depths now, accompanied by a thump-thump that shook dirt onto her head and shoulders. The creature was on the move. Lia’s heart made a bid to leap out of her throat as she realised the Dragon was rushing closer, up beneath where she stood.
GRRAAAAAGGGHHH!
Dragon-thunder paralysed the Human girl. With a rushing, whooshing sound, as though a storm had unexpectedly entered the tunnel and gusted toward her, a bright orange light raged upward.
Dragon fire!