Lyra
The dragon climbed until the city walls fell away and the forest below became a single dark sweep. The air grew so cold my teeth hurt, and the wind tore the breath from my mouth.
I do not remember thinking about anything except clinging.
When we began to descend, I felt the angle of the dragon's body change. Below us, a black mountain rose out of the gold afternoon light, one slope hollowed into a wide stone mouth.
The dragon flew into the mouth.
The wind stopped. The light dimmed. The wings folded with a leathery sound that filled the whole space, and we landed on something that crackled under us.
I looked down. It was gold.
There were piles of it. Drifts of it, sloped against the cave walls. Coins, plates, twisted necklaces, a sword sheath with the leather
