“Well that went well,” Lauri whispered harshly, stomping out of the meeting room.

            Vali followed soundless, her forked tongue flicking out in agitation. “He’s going to waste the men’s life with that foolish plan of his.”

            “Yeah!” Lauri about screamed, startling a few crows from their perches on the fountain. “I cannot believe how… how boneheaded that guy is! Grr!” she kicked at a forgotten bottle sourly, sending it flying into the bushes with a light crash. “He never listens to what I have to say! Does he really think he’s that smart? I have a feeling he’s up to something.”

            Vali sighed. He is not the smartest human. But hypnotizing him would be futile. Every time I’ve done it it only works for a couple hours, until he remembers his errikim ideas.

            Lauri found her eyes wandering back to the skyline, which was now starting to spread into a glorious sunset. “When Ezra comes back, then we will finally get the respect we deserve… and hopefully our victory.”

            “If they don’t come soon, our country will fall,” Vali said grimly, “the Vulnairians have emptied their towns. Their forces are twice as large as our own. Thistle came by just before the meeting to report. They’ve reached the entrance to the Great Woods”

            “-Which means they’ll be here by tomorrow afternoon!” Lauri swore loudly.

            “I’m guessing they’re planning a siege. They’ll try to starve us out of these walls,” Vali shook her head dismally. “Likely, we’ll fight them until we are no more. And the general’s obstinacy is not helping.”

            Lauri sighed. “Vali, we need to have another little festival. To show you and the other dragons off- give the soldiers a little hope. I can tell from their faces- they know they won’t make it through this. Perhaps a little drink and to gaze into the fierce faces of the mighty dragons might cheer their spirits. I know it will mine,” she teased.

            But as they fell into silence, they were both thinking the same thing. They had just three dragons, two of them under twenty years old. And the enemy had one too, but this one was over a hundred years old, and a fire dragon at that. He would likely burn both the forest and ice dragon to ashes. The people knew of this too, the tale of the great fire dragon had spread like a disease. Lauri cursed herself inwardly. How could she let this happen? She had one of the firstborn in her hands, the wind firstborn, the incarnation of the sky itself, and she had let him slip right out of her hands! He could have insured the safety of their people, could have been the salvation of the country. And now he was dead, or worse, captured.

            I have led the country into a war that we cannot hope to win, Lauri thought as she mounted her dragon and they slid into the lake. I have taunted the Vulnairians with a weapon that I have lost. I am truly a fool. She leaned forward so that her head rested on Vali’s shoulder blades, running her hands through Vali’s tassels. Oh Vali, how I wish I could just turn back time.

            There is no turning back, there is only now, dear Rider. We have to make the most of what we have. I.. I have a plan. Vali swished her tail and plunged deeper, startling a group of silvery flat fish. They darted away as she continued, Thistle and I have been talking and I think we may have a chance of… delaying them.

            “Woo hoo!” Thistle laughed as a small explosion sounded from below. “Good aim, Ryan!”

            Ryan laughed as he hefted a small spherical balloon-like gadget. It was dark and lightweight, the top was fitted with a slim silver band. Several different variants of the thing hung on his saddle, carefully positioned so that they wouldn’t band of his legs or explode against Thistle’s side. “Did you see the look on those guy’s faces? Haha! I think one of them went flying into a tree! Say, what do you think the black one will do?”

            Thistle smiled mischeviously. “Wouldn’t you like to know. I promise, I put some very interesting substances together for that one! Hmm, that group over there looks kind of bored. How about we give them a little excitement?”

            “Sounds good to me!” Ryan lowered his Rider goggles onto his eyes as Thistle folded his wings into his body and they plummeted, spinning so fast that the forest and sky became a blur. Finally Thistle’s wings snapped open and he zoomed over the earth at just above eye level. This was Ryan’s cue. With fumbling fingers he popped the silver band off and hurled it as far as he could to the right of Thistle’s head. Thistle spat something dark and sticky onto it’s metal surface before powering upwards, just in time to avoid crashing into a war chariot.

            The group of soldiers froze, unsure of what they had just seen. It had all happened just too fast.

            Suddenly something small and black, like a ball, bounced to tap lightly against the commander’s boot. “What the-” he bent down to inspect it. The metal was bubbling and frothing as if it were boiling oil. Suddenly it ruptured. BOOM!

            Thistle looped back to investigate his work. “Woah. That was a little more than I bargained for.”

            “Holy smokes!!” Ryan hopped up in his saddle. “What did you put in there Thistle?”

            “Uhh… I forgot. But that may have been the one I put charcoal and…uh… pee in.”

            Ryan burst out laughing. “Seriously? Holy crap, Thistle! That’s amazing! You blew them sky-high! What kind of pee did you put in that thing?”

            Thistle grunted.

            “Come on!” Ryan slapped Thistle’s conifer green side amiably, “What pee did you put in it?”

            “Ok, ok, mine!” Thistle yelled.

            Ryan doubled up laughing, “You’ve got some… explosive urine there buddy! Hahaha, we need to make more of that, pronto!”

            Thistle wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or proud. “Heheh… I guess,” he said, “How many bombs do we have left?”

            Ryan counted. “Hmmm… one, two, three, hmm, ten. We’ve got ten left. How about over there? There’s a big group of Vulnairian scoundrels. I’ll try out the green one. We put that weird ash thing in it, right?”

            “Yeah,” Thistle bobbed his head. “Remember, this one you have to slam into the ground really hard.”

            “Gotcha. Go for it!” Ryan said, bending low in the saddle as his stomach flopped from the sudden dive. This time as Thistle extended his wings and coasted, Ryan slammed the bomb straight to the ground. They swooped away.

            Poof. Green gas floated out of the ruptured top. The soldiers stepped away, looking bewildered.

            “Darn it!” Thistle yelled. “That was the fart bomb! Ryan, why did you pack that?”

            “Uh… Thistle. We’ve got worse things going on right now.”

            “What?”

            “Four griffins at six o’ clock!”

            Thistle huffed, “Now’s not the time to joke about-” he gasped as something shot past him, almost raking his wings. “Holy cow! Griffins? Where did they come from?” he thrusted upwards quickly. “Ryan, report!”

            Ryan twisted in his saddle, his goggles making him look like a wide-eyed frog. “Two of them are climbing… they’re above us now. I think they’re trying to force us to land!”

            Thistle gave a crocodilian smile. “Well then, I guess this means we’ll have to give them a show, huh?”

            Ryan smiled. “I’ve got just the plan.”

            REEECH! The griffins pulled their wings in and dived at them, their talons aimed. One was the size of a cart horse, the other was as big as a hefty war horse. Both lion and eagle halves were armed with talons and it had a menacing beak that could rival that of the Julnor’s. Thistle responded with pulling his own wings in, causing them to drop faster than the griffins could. One, two, three! He counted in his head before unfurling their wide expanse and shooting back up in the sky. The griffins weren’t quite as quick on the wing and they shot their wings open just seconds before one of them crashed into the arms of the tree, screeching. The other was able to get enough lift to clumsily climb into the air, where Thistle was flicking his tail in a rude gesture as he swung lazily around to confront the other two.

            Thistle let them get close enough so that their wings were almost touching. The big, black griffin struck like a viper to clamp its beak on Thistle’s wing muscles. Ryan threw a small purple bomb into it’s open mouth just in time. It gagged before its eyes turned a pitch black and it fell, smoke wreathing from its mouth. Thistle spat a dark glob at the other griffin, which just barely avoided it before falling back.

            “Good throw,” Thistle grunted.

            “Wait- look!” Ryan about yelled. He sent Thistle a mental picture of the griffin falling. “It looks weird. You have better eyes than me, look at it!”

            Thistle cast his gaze downward, where the griffin had almost made it to the trees. Except it didn’t look like a griffin any more. It looked like a giant, black panther for a split second before its whole body exploded and the remains splatted on the trees.

            Ryan cursed loudly and Thistle’s frill shot up. “They’re not griffins! They’re the Felinus!”

            “Don’t look now but I think we’ve made the other ones mad! How much bombs do we have left?”

            “Erm, six! What? I think we lost one!”

            “Make them count!” Thistle roared as he started climbing. Rule number one of aerial combat was that the dragon with the most altitude had the advantage. But even as he powered upwards he could see the other two cats regrouping and changing midair. Their wings grew longer and longer, the feathers glinting a glorious bronze. Their lion hind legs disappeared and a fanned hawk tail took its place. Now two times Thistle’s size, the roc’s screeched as they too soared up to meet him.

            “Oh crap,” Ryan said.

            “Give up!” the biggest one screeched.

            “Never!” Ryan screamed back, “Take a load of this, overgrown chickens!” He chucked the gold painted bomb.

            Thistle held his breath. The rocs advanced. The bomb fell… into the trees. BOOM! Sticks and leaves were thrown sky high… unfortunately none of them hitting the giant hawks.

            “Great. There goes the big one,” Thistle muttered.

            “What are you doing you overgrown lizard? Run!!”

            Thistle rolled his eyes. “Come on, it’s about time we used our training. You got your bombs, I got my talons. Let’s do this! Yeah!” he roared as he flew down to meet them. Ryan pressed himself close to the saddle as the roc’s talons raked down Thistle’s back. Thistle had his teeth clamped into the other one’s scaly leg. It screamed and its other leg thrashed about, but Thistle hung on like a bull dog, his thick jaw set. As the other one wheeled about for another go, the cat finally found the dragon’s face with his talons and kicked hard.  Thistle felt the curved talon rake across his eye and roared, releasing the cat to flap away, bleeding heavily.

            On his back Ryan screamed and clutched his eyes. “Ah! Thistle, you okay?”

            “I’ll make it,” Thistle said bravely, “Just  a scratch. But you’re going to have to be my eyes for my right side, okay?” his voice sounded hoarse, and Ryan could tell the eight-year-old dragon was scared.

            “We’ll be okay, buddy- holy cow watch it!” Thinking fast, Ryan uncapped a bomb and threw it smack in its feathery face. The bomb fizzled and slid off its beak. But it was just enough to throw him off course and it blew by just inches over Ryan’s head.

            The first one, with a white splotch on its head, came from behind. Ryan sent a quick mental picture and Thistle’s heavy, spiked tail came out of nowhere to crash into its jaw. With a rousing yell it fell back.

            “That’s it. We need to get out of here. You got enough acid?”

            “You bet.”

            “Well then, let’s return the favor. Aim for the eyes, buddy.”

            The next few minutes were some of the most intense minutes of Ryan and Thistle’s whole life. The bird cats acted as a team, synchronizing their attacks like a murder of crows so that Thistle and Ryan never had much time to retaliate. They weren’t aiming for Thistle, but the small Rider on his back. Thistle was doing his best to shield his Rider from their groping talons, to try and catch them while they were swooping, but they were just too fast. He felt like a fat cow being preyed upon by a wolf pack.

            “This is the kill zone!” Ryan cried. “Get out of – AAGGH!”

            “RYAN!” Thistle roared as he felt the straps break and his Rider’s weight leave his back. He turned his head to find the big bird with his Rider in his talons, ready to crush him!

            By now they were speeding almost thirty feet away, but Thistle was crazy mad. He gathered the biggest spitball of acid he had ever dared to chuck… and spit.

            This was something that Ryan would never shut up about. The spit ball flew, arcing gracefully from ticked-off Thistle’s mouth, smack dab on the bird cat’s leg. Quickly it ate away the flesh, revealing bone and muscle. The bird screamed and Ryan  managed to wiggle out of its clutches. He jumped into free fall as he had done so many times flying with Thistle. It  had always made Thistle nervous, but now he was glad they had practiced the fall of faith.

            Thistle dove. He was streamlined, efficient, deadly beautiful in the sky. And he was pretty darn good at falling. Ryan spread his arms and legs out like a starfish, a smile already forming on his  face. “THAT WAS SOME AWESOME SPIT!”

            Thistle laughed as he matched Ryan’s pace so that they were falling horizontally together, like friends who liked to chat while falling to the earth at over a hundred miles an hour. “That’s got to be the record!” Then he made a sudden movement so that he was falling right below his Rider. Ryan grabbed the horn of his saddle, lowering himself into it before giving the word. Whoosh! Thistle swooped back up in the sky, swiveling his head to catch sight of the last bird cat. Ryan, report!

            The latch broke so we’re going to have to be more careful. Two bombs left. And… the ugly butt bird is nowhere in sight. Gain altitude so we can see over these trees.

            Aye aye, sir, Thistle snapped.

            Suddenly the bird flew out of nowhere and Ryan screamed as it thrust its talons forward like a scoop, latching around Thistle’s midsection. Ryan was pinned to the saddle under a scaly finger, the scales biting into the skin of his back and the horn of his saddle pressing under his collar bone so that it was almost impossible to breath. Thistle thrashed his whole body, hammering the creature with his mighty wings. The cat silenced him with a slight pressure on Ryan.

            And suddenly… a fireball.

            The cat screamed in fury as its feathers turned a brilliant red hue. The flames licked its feathers, eating them up in a frenzy of ash.

            It was losing altitude.

            In a furious effort to stay airborne it dropped Thistle and careened to the ground, leaving a fiery tail. Thistle hardly had time to recover himself before he saw the biggest fire dragon he had ever seen rocket beside him, almost blowing him back. Thistle fought to keep his balance, his wide hazel eyes never leaving the grisly scene unfolding below.

            The fire dragon had smashed the cat to the ground and was now tearing it to pieces with its huge jaws. Feathers and flesh flew everywhere. And, as if that weren’t enough, an unearthly white fire lept from its throat and consumed the cat before it could struggle.

            Thistle had seen enough. I’m getting out of here! He thought, dashing low to the cover of the forest. Lithe and quick on the wing, Thistle was made to fly through some of the tightest parts of the forest. His sparrow-like conifer green wings would flash out to catch an air current, and just as quickly fold in so that he could dive between branches and maneuver around trees. His dark scales would hide him from a predator from above, his lighter underbelly from the creatures below. All Ryan could do was lean forward in the saddle, his arms tight to his sides. He found his mouth was dry and his heart beating like a scared rabbit’s in his chest. What he had just witnessed… he doubted he would ever get it out of his head. Was that Cahal? He thought to Thistle.

            Probably. Shirrtaugh, that was close! Did you see how he… Thistle’s thought trailed off as he flitted under an overhanging bow.

            Ugh, we are going to need a lot bigger bombs for that one. Do you need to take a tinkle?

            FWOOSH.  They could hear the heavy wing beats behind them as the fire dragon powered from the ground. A blood curdling roar thundered across the whole forest, scaring a whole flock of birds from their hiding place and forcing several creatures to retreat into their dens and holes. Thistle landed quickly as the wingbeats sounded closer, quickly half-shielding his body under a bush. At a quick bidding, Ryan slid off the saddle and Thistle pulled him to his heaving chest, covering his Rider with a soft wing.

            Ryan bit his lip to keep from screaming. His breath caught in his throat as he felt Thistle’s massive heart beat quicken. The dragon’s fingers shook as he held his Rider protectively. Ryan had never seen Thistle so terrified. Thistle, they are another dragon and Rider. They wouldn’t hurt us, right?

            You don’t understand. Lauri told us to stay away from them at all costs. They… hate forest dragons like me. Now hush. Ryan could tell Thistle was listening with all his might. The labored wing beats were closer now. Ryan’s mouth went dry when he heard  the branches overhead sway from the breeze.

            Thistle shut his eyes, as still as a stork. Nothing moved, neither dragon nor Rider even breathed.

            The sound of heavy breathing, then the nasally sound of the air being tasted, tested. A chuckle, like that a several ton fox may make when it finally caught its prey drifted through the forest, making a shiver run down Ryan’s spine and Thistle to hold him tighter. Oh God, please… don’t let us die today! Ryan sent up his desperate plea.

            The sound of crashing, like something heavy was cracking every branch of the forest. Then it landed on the forest floor not ten feet away with a light thud. The flutters of branches following the thing to the ground was overshadowed by the steady beating of the giant’s wings as it gained altitude, the horrible sound muffled by the trees.

            Ryan let out a huge breath when he thought it was long gone, but Thistle remained as stiff as a log. After a moment, Ryan poked his dragon’s finger. Thistle, he’s gone.

            Thistle’s breath escaped his mouth in a long gust. I thought we were goners.

            “Us, goners?” Ryan said out loud, trying to laugh but it sounded more like he was crying. “Nah, we’ve made it through a lot worse. Like that time when we accidentally threw your little creation into the chamber pot and almost exploded our room, remember?”

            Thistle didn’t laugh. He hesitantly opened one hazel eye to rake over the surroundings, searching for any potential danger. Whatever had fell was directly behind a scraggly bush that quivered as if a live thing were moving behind it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been that big. Even so, Thistle flashed out his frill, uncurling his fingers around his Rider. Stay back, I’ll check it out, Thistle commanded, crouching low to the ground. Every spike on his body was raised, his wing muscles tense and the end of his spiked tail ready to bash a skull if need be. He stalked like a cat before patting the protruding bush down with a paw.

            “Ahh!” he shot backwards in a tumble of green. His frill turned from a light shade of pink to a violent red as he stiffened, a hiss oozing out of his mouth.

            Ryan laughed nervously at him. “What is it?” When Thistle didn’t respond he crept forward on his tiptoes. Then his breath caught in his throat.

            It was a cat.

            Or a cat’s head. Severed from its body it looked no less lethal. Its mouth was still open, the white fangs jutting from black gums just longer than Ryan’s forearm. The corners of its mouth were pulled upwards in a hair-raising snarl. Black blood sizzled onto the forest floor below. But that’s not what freaked Ryan out the most. It was those black, black eyes, deep as hell itself. It held so much hatred, so much sinister intent that Ryan felt like it wanted nothing more than to tear him apart. But it can’t. It’s dead. He reminded himself, although his mental voice seemed less than sure. For a full moment he just stood there and stared.

            Finally, “Ryan, let’s get out of here,” came Thistle’s voice.

            “Yeah, buddy. We’ve got a whole lot to tell Lauri.” Ryan walked over to his dragon and patted him affectionately on the nose before hopping on the saddle. He fingered the broken straps. “We’ve got to get this fixed. Take it easy on the turns on the way home. And next time we go out… you’re wearing your battle armor.”

            “Not arguing about that one,” Thistle huffed before taking a running start and soaring through an opening in the trees.

            Even as they left, Ryan could feel cold sweat prick his skin, like the cat was still watching him. He shook himself free of the thought with a vigorous shake of his whole body. But he couldn’t shake the fear.

(Daemon's POV)

            “Like it?” Fraylon’s sweet voice came, seeming like it came from the lips of an angel. Daemon had gotten used to it over the years but now as he heard his dragon talk he was newly amazed at the pleasant sound of it. Fraylon stepped through the door, his every move causing a ripple of metal.

            Fraylon’s whole body was covered in a masterpiece of shifting armor. The plates of lightweight yet sturdy metal slid up and down depending on his movement. Jagged metal coated his talons, jutted out from his slender tail. Only the patch around his gorgeous, jack frost- encrusted wings and the hole around his eyes and nose were uncovered. Those beautiful amethyst blue eyes focused on him, asking him if he liked what he saw. “I look like a killing machine, don’t I?” the tone of his melodious voice was unreadable.

            Daemon bit his lip and his heart fell. The sight of Fraylon in that horrible armor made him feel sick to his stomach. Fraylon was not a killing machine. He didn’t belong on the battle field any more than a songbird. Daemon pulled his dragon’s head to his chest. “I hate it, Fray.”

            Fraylon’s eyes lowered. “I hate it too. But we must both be strong for Arianna. We will kill them for what they have done to her.”

            “Yes,” Daemon said softly, “We will.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that this may be one of the last times he’d see his dragon again.