Eve was waiting for them when they got back. Her gaze was distant at first, but when it focused on them, they saw that she had some idea of what their conversation had been. "My boys," she said softly, and then smiled. It was still a beautiful smile; time and weather and stress had not been able to ruin it yet.

"We're hardly boys anymore," Cain said. "I'll be a man in a few months."

"And I'm one already," Abel said, although he said it quietly, and without his brother's pride. He knew that, for them, there was a great price to manhood.

"My young men," Eve corrected herself good-humoredly. "My sons. We must rest. There is hard walking to be done in the morning."

There was hard walking to be done every morning and every afternoon, but the boys did not object. They were tired, and needed rest.

When they awoke the next morning, it was snowing heavily. Eve, as had become her custom, had slept in dragon form, one wing arched to protect the boys, their bodies pressed against hers for warmth, and so they had not felt the snow. But when they awoke, they found it piled up on all sides, more than two feet deep and swiftly deepening. They leapt to their feet in alarm.

"Amos," Eve said grimly, looking around.

Cain and Abel exchanged glances. "We can't walk in this," Cain said. "Or I can't."

"And I can't carry you both for long," Eve said grimly. "It seems the time has come. I've put it off too long."

"You mean to confront Amos," Cain deduced. "Can you even find him?"

"If he wants to be found," said Eve, "and I think he does. I think he must be nearby, and that he's found us. This is his snow."

"Then let's go," Abel said quietly.

Eve shook her head. "You're not coming."

Abel turned on her angrily, his ragged, untrimmed hair white with snow. "You plan to leave us here? In this?"

"Once Amos is dead-"

"Bring us with you," Cain said. "We can help."

"My boy-"

"I can help," Abel said coldly and meaningfully. "You see, Eve, I'm getting hungry."

Eve waved them both off. "I'll go alone. I'll find him more quickly that way."

"Oh," said a new voice. "There's no need for that."

A gaunt figure stepped out from among the trees. It was a man, thin, wasted, and old. He wore only a loincloth, and his skin was gray-blue with cold, but he didn't seem to mind it. His hair was white, and he stood simply, unassumingly.

Even Cain and Abel immediately knew who he was. There was something about the eyes . . .

Amos.

"This is your last chance to surrender, Amos," Eve said, although it seemed ridiculous to do so. "No more ice. No more catastrophe. Return to the world and live with me. Together, the last of the dragons and our children." She motioned to Abel and Cain. "Turn back."

"It's too late to turn back, Eve," Amos replied, his voice robbed of the cloak of wind, hoarse and weary. "We both know that, so why don't you just do what you came here to do? If you can, that is. Get out this silly tantrum of yours, your naiveté, so I can finish what I set out to do and stand so close to achieving." He sounded exhausted. His face was bleak, not even filled with the hatred Eve thought sustained him. Now he was wasted away, barely a shadow of himself.

"Can't you see, Amos?" Eve asked desperately. "It's too late! You're too weak to do anything. There's nothing you can do now. Refusing to stop and running on your stubbornness will only cost you your life!"

Amos laughed faintly. "Eve, you never change. How many times have we gone over this conversation over the centuries? Did I change my answer even once? Did you see me care about my life for even a second after I lost my wife?"

He's ready to die, she thought. To join his wife on wings of stars. So what if he burned away his life force in this attempt? They would all die with him, paving the way for a new era. He was doing the work of the gods, creating a clean slate on which they could begin again with new, less imperfect creatures.

One, two seconds, a breath, and Eve replied, "I cared." Her voice rang out firmly, and the snow stopped. He stood looking at her, his eyes with all the fathomless depth of a glacier and all the fragility of glass.

"Nonsense. Lies. You can't use your mind games on me, fire dragon!"

"Why did you stop?" Eve asked, determined to make Amos realize what she already had, what gave her the courage, what gave her hope. "Why did you stop caring? Your wife is gone, but there are others-"

"What, did you expect me to adopt human pets, like you have?" Amos sneered.

"Not human," Abel said. As had been his habit since his hearing had so drastically sharpened, his voice was soft. But oh, how it cut. Amos turned disbelieving eyes on him. "Not human," Abel snarled, baring his teeth for the first time in the presence of his brother. Cain gasped and even Eve blinked in surprise, but Amos . . .

Amos laughed.

"You made vampires, Eve?" he asked. "You, perfect Eve, goodness and fire? You hypocrite!"

"I'm talking to you!" Abel shouted. When Amos deliberately, insultingly turned his back on the boy, Abel's face flushed a dark, angry red. With all his new supernatural speed, he leapt at Amos.

Unbelievably fast, Amos twisted out of the way, and Abel slashed at air. Even before Abel had had a chance to turn, Amos was growing, a tail sprouting long and sleek out of his backside, limbs elongating, nose expanding into a snout. He was half changed before Abel leapt again, and in that state he was clumsier. Abel managed to grab him. Abel reared his head back and plunged down at Amos's neck, teeth first. Amos shrieked as the fangs pierced his skin and scrabbled to push Abel off. After a moment, he succeeded, but Abel was back in an instant, biting down hard.

Too late. Teeth struck scales and Abel fell back, whimpering in pain and clutching his mouth, blood everywhere. Cain rushed forward to help him, but Abel was healing swiftly. "Get back," he hissed at his brother, almost mad with bloodlust and with the fresh infusion of dragon blood. "Get away, you fool. You aren't strong yet."

Cain stumbled away, hurt by the harshness of his brother's tone. He back into Eve, who was also changing, her white scales blending in with the fresh snow. She completed the change an instant after Amos.

Abel was trying to attack Amos again, but it was no good. For all his preternatural strength and speed, he could not pierce the dragon's scales. Amos batted him away contemptuously and rose into the air, the massive beats of his wings stirring up such a flurry of snow that the boys were buried.

Eve flew after him, determined not to let him get away. It had been a long time since she'd flown much and longer still since she'd attempted any sort of aerial combat, but it had been long for Amos as well. She pumped her wings hard until she was above him and then, with a great shriek, dove at him, claws outstretched.

Amos saw her and barrel-rolled away, but not quickly enough: she nicked one of his wings, drawing a long line of blood.

"Coward!" she cried. "Coward! You ran away from your grief and now you're running away from your fear. Fight me!"

"You won't like it if I do," Amos spat back. "You're no match for me, you fool. All those years in human form. How could you stand it? Ah, but you love humans now, don't you."

"As did you, once!"

But Amos had only been arguing as a distraction. As Eve tried to convince him, he angled himself beneath her and breathed fire at the one vulnerable point on a dragon-the place where forelegs meet body, which is particularly tender.

Eve howled. She had never felt so much pain, not even in her youth. Ordinary fire wouldn't have hurt her. She was a fire dragon, after all. But Amos's breath was icy cold, a thousand daggers of piercing, bitter winter. She was so distracted by it that she didn't see him swoop through the air and slash at her until the last moment, when fangs and claws ripped at the skin of her neck.

She pushed him away, wheeling back through the air, dipping dangerously low. But Amos was on top of her, pushing her down toward the canopy. She twisted and writhed desperately, but he threw her down from him, into the tree tops.

Ripping, terrible pain in her wing as frozen branches cut through. She tumbled down, and only the thick bank of snow saved her from death. She lay, gasping, and saw, to her horror, that Abel was running through the trees toward her-running on top of the snow. "No!" she cried, but he ignored her.

She couldn't let him get hurt. With new strength, she pushed herself to her feet. Her right wing was a complete loss; there was no way she could fly. But she could climb, and climb she did, right up to the top, spreading her weight over the ice-bound branches of several trees.

Amos was circling above, but he came lower when he saw her. "Can't fly?" he mocked. "I warned you. You'll die, but not alone. This world will die with you."

Eve did not answer. As he had come lower and lower, she had inhaled, filling herself with oxygen, stoking the fires deep within her belly. He could no more stand her heat than she could his cold; she was sure of it. When he came close enough, Eve blew fire at him. Out it gushed, out and out, red hot flames. She breathed fire until she was gasping and dizzy, until she was sure there was no more, until she was sure it would kill her. And she had the satisfaction of seeing it take hold, and hearing Amos shriek and shriek, flapping desperately to get away.

And then she let herself tumble down, the trees ripping at her again, her body breaking, to the forest floor far below.

When Abel reached her, she was already dead.