Death's wings folded like a curtain drawn across the sunand the sand stilled. The elves held their breath, one hand never leaving a rein, eyes wide with the strange mix of wonder and contempt only ancient races can wear.
The dragon's huge skull dipped, then, with a sound like silk tearing, the scales slid and folded, shrinking in on themselves. Bone and muscle collapsed inward until the terror of the sky was replaced by a woman stepping out of shadow-smoke.
She did not look like the thing Stephan had fought and fractured. Violet hair fell in a glossy waterfall across her shoulders again. Her skin was pale as the underbelly of a cloud. The faint shimmer of shadow mist clung to her. She moved with the easy grace of someone who'd never learned to hurry.
Vaenya's breath was a small sound of pure delight; Elunor's smile had gone thin and watchful.
