Lyra Stormwing's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The dragon's eyes held on Lyra. She stood on the ledge with the pouch glowing at her chest. Then the storm hit. Wind slammed into her from the side and shoved her toward the drop. Her boots slid on ice. She dropped to one knee and grabbed the rock. Below her, the ground fell away into black. One more gust like that would throw her off the cliff before the dragon ever chose. She could not stand. She could not run. If she reached for the nest, the wind would take her. If she froze, the dragon would read her as prey, like the men whose bones she had studied. She had to give it the offering now, from here, or die on the stone. Lyra pressed flat to the ledge and worked the pouch open with numb fingers. The moth crawled out onto her palm. Its wings held blue, gold, and pink light, bright against the dark. She lifted her hand as far as she dared. The wind fought her arm. She held it there, open, an offering the wind could not spill. The moth beat its wings once and lifted off her palm. The gust caught it. Lyra thought it was lost. But the small light did not fall. It rode the wind toward the nest, glowing like a star pulled loose. The dragon moved. Its huge head shot out of the dark and snapped the moth from the air. She heard the soft click of its jaws. Then it went still, tasting. Its eyes came back to her. Lyra waited for it to strike. Another gust ripped across the ledge and tore at her back. She dug her fingers into a crack and held. She had nothing left to give now. The pouch hung empty at her chest. The dragon lowered its head. It did not lunge. It stretched its neck out over the ledge and turned its body, slow, until its great flank stood between Lyra and the wind. The gust broke against its scales instead of her. The air behind it went calm. She stared up at the wall of warm scale. The dragon had shielded her. It had eaten from her hand, or near enough, and it had not killed her. No rider before her had gotten this far and lived. Lyra pushed up off the ice and stood in the still air behind the dragon's body. Her legs shook. She did not touch it. She only stood, close enough to feel its heat, and let it look at her. The dragon watched her with one dark eye. It had accepted the food. It had not accepted her. But it had chosen, for now, not to let the storm take her. That was a door, cracked open. She meant to walk through it.