I lighted down by the six dragons, Hinte not among them. The prefect nodded at me. Digrif dashed over and hugged me. Adwyn was stately walking behind him. “You did good work today, Kinri. Mlaen and I shall deliberate some compensation for the three of you.” I saw Digrif smile a little, and I only frowned. “Where is Hinte?” “I couldn’t find her. The mission is over. I glimpse she saw no reason to remain.” I tilted. “Won’t we have to debrief again?” “Yes. But… I must understand if you need some time to reel from the events of today. Death is…" He didn’t finish. Instead, he looked between us, and said, “And you two look as though this is your first.” Digrif nodded slowly. “The first I’ve seen,” I said. The adviser turned and waved a wing. The three other dragons started walking, and like that, we were walking toward town. “So, Kinri. I don’t imagine you’ll join me back in town hall, will you? There are mattered I’d like to discuss,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ his voice dropped⁠ ⁠—⁠ “the treasurer, the Specters, the thieves. Turning us to the same page.” I looked up. “Well… no. I should find Hinte. See what’s up with her.” Adwyn walked quiet for a breath cycle. “I see. Here,”⁠ ⁠—⁠ he winged a gasmask from a bag⁠ ⁠—⁠ “take this.” “You’re giving it back?” “I wouldn’t want to be in your debt, is all.” He nodded, and slowed his pace till he was beside Rhyfel, and began a chat. Left with the warm-gray drake, I turned to him. “Hi. So, uh, are you coming with me?” “I, well, don’t think I should. A dragon with three wings doesn’t fly, and it⁠ ⁠—⁠ I guess it feels like you’re closer to Hinte than me.” He tilted his wings starlessly. I looked up. “I suppose I am, yeah.” As my wings and the thermals took me high above the cliffs, my thoughts orbiting those words. I thought about why, remembering. It was my very first day inside the walls of Gwymr/Frina. Everyone stared, everyone peered. Whispers and mutters stalked me. And there were some, cloaked dragons, who stared, glared more than others. I had known there weren’t many sky-dwellers on the surface, but I never expected this. Days stretched by, and it dug into my nerves. I was out to buy food, and the digging struck something. I’d turned down an alleyway⁠ ⁠—⁠ I just wanted to escape the stares. The alley was a dead end. And when I glanced behind me, I wasn’t alone. Three figures all trailed behind me. I might have said they sneered if they weren’t wearing deep green cloaks that hid their faces⁠ ⁠—⁠ and under those fringed cowls, masks. I couldn’t see a scale of their bodies, and their brilles didn’t count. I’d worn my Specter cloak that day⁠ ⁠—⁠ of course I did⁠ ⁠—⁠ and there wasn’t a pair of eyes in that alleyway on anything else. “Specter,” one of them said. It wasn’t the one in front, but that was all I could tell. They stepped closer, closer, closer. What were they going to do? What could I have done? If I turned and leapt away, they could catch me. If I climbed the walls, they could catch me. If I walked past them… I wouldn’t walk past them. I trusted the stars, but I didn’t trust my body. And if there were three dragons walking up to me with that kind of curdling confidence, I wouldn’t’ve tried my body against their if my inheritance was on the stakes. “Help?” I called out. It was so low I don’t know what use it was. I trusted the stars, and maybe they were the only one who needed to hear me. Just then, a fourth cloaked, hooded figured walked by the alleyway. Unlike these three, this cloak was black, woven in with sparse threads of pink and blue. They turned and strode forward and just⁠ ⁠—⁠ passed between a break in the formation of the first three cloaked. It seemed like they were on another plane of being. The oppressive approach of the three cloaks had been a physical wall. And they just walked through the wall. A jagged voice came from under the hood. “Kinri,” it said. “Who are you?” I breathed. I’d clawed for my composure, and found it too late to matter. “My name is Hinte, granddaughter of Gronte.” Their frills folded under their cowl. “Ushra has invited you to dinner. I’m sure these dregs will not even try to bother you.” She turned so that her gaze fell over each cloaked figure. Two of them flinched, but one only made a sneering sound. “You would dare⁠ ⁠—” “Come on, Kinri.” Hinte stepped forward, but turned to watch me step past the cloaks. If the stresses she’d put on the names hadn’t been obvious, the reactions gave it away. Ushra was someone who mattered, even if I’d never heard the name. And somehow, they, along with this Hinte, were on my side already. Did they know Ashaine? I looked at Hinte and gave her my first smile since stepping into Gwymr/Frina. I stepped after her and the cloaked dragons couldn’t touch me. It turned out neither Ushra nor Gronte had been home, and I just ate lunch out on a tall butte with her. It was a good memory. And, more than that, it was a debt and a justification⁠ ⁠—⁠ why I had stuck with Hinte for so long. She had been there for me, in a way no one else had. And, cringingly, I remembered what had happened next, as we walked and then flew away. I had wanted to convince her that saving me wasn’t a mistake, that I was worth it. I had tried, tried, tried to start a conversation, to relate. “Hi!” “How are you?” “So why do you have those pink and blue threads in your cloak?” “What brought you to the cliffs?” “Do forest-dwellers really eat other dragons?” “Um, nice weather we’re having?” “Can you speak at all?” “You have pretty eyes.” “Am I doing something wrong?” “Yes.” “What?” She hadn’t responded. And now, all these cycles later, I agnized: that was the answer. I was doing silence wrong. Forest-dwellers were so obsessed with silence. Their poetry sung of it, as frilly as the sounds, and their stories dwelt on it. I didn’t get it. Or hadn’t. I’d tried asking Hinte about it, but she just ignored the question, and I couldn’t tell if that was significant or just Hinte being Hinte. And now, gliding down from high above the town, aiming for that same butte where it all began, I saw a familiar lantern, and a cloaked figure with her hood down. Strides away, on either side, there were two tiny trees, aflame. They burnt dwindlingly in the dusking light. I lighted by her atop that butte, and just stared at the horizon. Oleuni tested out the horizon, and, discovering that the sky there was fine, led Enyswm down to shine above the rest of the word. Puffy clouds and distant sky cities trawled the far reaches of the sky, the light of first dusk revealing hidden natures of their forms. Most of the butte was hers before I arrived; besides the lantern, and burning trees, two scrolls spread out around her weighed down by stones. Even then, the wind meddled with the page. (Better than still, dead air.) A lunch lay half-eaten beside the dark-green wiver, but she had covered it when I climbed up and hadn’t touched it since, for me. Hinte rolled up a scroll and set it down by the other two. I sat where it had been, and hung my legs from the edge of the butte with her. Her eyes cast her gaze off to the horizon, joining mine at the sunset. We sat like that, in silence. Hinte’s breath came in half-heard draughts out of step with mine. Her grape scent lingered and overshadowed the mellow contentment dewing on her fangs. The sky darkened asudden with the last ray of Enyswm finding its mark. I licked my eyes, letting my gaze fall from the horizon. It fell on Hinte at the same time she glanced at me, in the full dusk light. Our eyes met and stayed like that awhile. I smiled. She returned it. My gaze fell to the ground at last, as if for so long resisting gravity. I bought my forefeet together and drew my wings over me. Maybe this is what she wanted. To just sit and enjoy silence with a friend. So like that we sat, and watched the light slink away under the horizon. Above, the endless stars revealed themselves, as if rousing from some great sleep. * * *