EIGHT
My second month on Onyx, Adom punished me for killing a youngling dragon. I had just turned ten, and in my mind, the younglings were scary little beasts who wanted to eat me but unlike the grown dragons exhibited no signs of self-control. Every morning, I’d fling animal carcasses into their caves and leave the surly creatures to fight for the bits by themselves.
Younglings must be monitored when they are fed; if they are not, the strong will eventually starve out the weak. One of the younglings failed to thrive, and the dragons caught on to my neglect. That day, the discussion was so intense the walls of the mountain shook. Hot dragon breath poured like lava smoke from the summit top. In the central cave, cold dragon meals lay forgotten in the heat of the moment. And I kept myself
