“Wait.” First time I’ve tried to initiate mindspeak with a Were. In the assassins’ guild it happened often… but with Shifters. Apparently it works better than expected, as the whole pride of Were come to a screeching stop.

I continue forward as the rest wait behind me, stepping out from the edge of a small forest into a plateau set about a fourth of the way up the mountain. Over the edge is a steep drop into nothing but rocks and a raging river. I hardly notice any of this, due to a large black dragon set dead in the center of the clearing.

The ground at her feet is torn as if by a giant tiller because of claws as broad and long as I am tall. Her head is three times my size; her sleek body is lithe, with pure muscle bunching beneath the onyx scales that gleam almost blue in the fading sunlight. Two horns curl elegantly from her forehead. She's half the size of the Werecat village, weighing as much as two berserk... easily.

I walk two more paces before she calls a warning. It’s low pitched and more of a moan than I would have imagined. Despite this, there is something in her demeanor. It's in the way her claws knead at the earth, how her wings droop to her sides, and her warm brown eyes glimmer with sadness. Her eyes remind me of an equine's. They are large and round, whereas I was expecting them to be slit like a snake or Were. The dragons of my childhood had slit eyes.

She calls another warning before sucking a deep breath that blows air inward towards her large lungs like a giant sized bellow. I feel a sucking sensation as my fur is slicked towards her. But that's not the part to be worried about.

It's the part coming after that somewhat concerns me. I hear a slight keening sound from the cats at my back... then the heat of her breath hits before the flames lick at her nostrils. She opens her mouth, spewing flickering yellow and blue flame.

Flames lick at the trees at my back as she breathes in a wide swath above my head. The heat beats down upon me and my skin prickles even beneath my fur. The fire crackles and pops against the green trees and underbrush.

Still, I advance. She abruptly closes her jaw and cocks her head, as if questioning why I am still here and not running for the hills.

The hot embers of her breath coats me in heat and sulphuric ashes as she puffs a surprised breath my direction.

She wraps her tail around a boulder and launches it. Much too far from me to cause any true fear, even though I do flinch at the grating sound of rock against rock. It tumbles over the cliff to splash into the river far below. She turns and whips her tail into the ground; the spikes break through the rock face and cause me to duck as rocks and dirt rain down.

I come within three strides of her face when she bends her snakelike head down to hiss in my face, her eyes narrowing as she billows a breath that smells of coal fire. Gazing into her brown eyes... there is something in her gaze I relate to. Something deep and dark; animalistic, yet loyal. Broken yet fighting.

A flash of red and gold flutters at the corner of my eye, but when I glance over… it’s gone.

The dragon’s eyes were also drawn to the strange colors and a strange expression overcomes her. I would almost say the ridges above her brows rise and scales that remind me of feathers pop up on the top of her head. She reminds me of a bird my father once bought from a tropical island.

A bird he called a cakatoo. It would raise white feathers when we howled, then twist its head around to watch us gambol about as pups. The bird eventually howled back, delighting Alec. The other things it learned from my brother... well, let's just say Mother banned it from the nursery.

The dragon bends her head back down, going still, her warm breath washing over me. Her eyes regard me with curiosity and with other emotions on her odd reptilian face I can’t name.

The Beast rumbles in contentment, catching me by surprise.

Ignoring the purring beast within, I touch my nose to hers. Memories assault me: emotions leak through of desperation, pain, and hurt so deep it strikes into my own heart. She shares with me the overwhelming joy of gliding over the trees and dancing with puffy clouds.

It's the other images that make my soul tremble in anger. A black male dragon. He attacks her without cause, a brokenness inside him she has no way to predict nor control. The same male eating innocent creatures she fought to protect. He attacks their offspring on a regular basis, even as she bears the brunt of the physical pain for her younglings. He makes her cower in fear, drives her to desperation, and breaks a portion of her spirit each time he harms what she loves.

And yet... a part of her longs for his love, despite knowing he is not capable of such. But his few generous gestures: flying through the skies together, bringing her a deer carcass, the few times he would drape her in wings of affection—it encouraged her hope. Her entire body quakes in what one might call a shiver as one large drop of water drips down her face. I didn’t know dragons cried.

I lick her nose and lean against her, lending what support and compassion I’m able. Her pain becomes my own as she reaches past my walls, breeching the places I hide from everyone else. It soaks into her mind.

She keens—a soft, broken sound filled with heartache—yet also with a hidden emotion in the musical depths that fills my soul: hope.