Chapter 7
Wyja had never been more thrilled when someone woke her by pounding on her door in the middle of the night. By the time she staggered through the dead-fire chill in her tiny, private hut, Relas stood there nearly dancing with excitement, her brown hair standing up in peaks and valleys.
“It’s Gufir! Her babies are coming!”
Wyja dragged on boots and warm clothes, determined to keep up with Relas’s young legs on the way down the mountain. Dalto’s deep voice outside her hut was the best thing she’d ever heard.
“We must hurry, Wyja. The time is near.”
He had them all down to Gufir’s nest before Wyja stopped yawning.
The year had flown by nearly as fast after the journey to Branch Meade and the farmlands. All the dragons had grumbled at the restriction to their preferred diet, as
