I released a deafening roar, a sound of mourning and loss, of longing for what might have been. I hollered until my lungs were empty. At the very end, my rage turned to something like a song, my tone turning from grief to anger about what had been taken from me—stolen by the humans. When I finally stopped, and the valley became quiet again, I realized I was not alone. Other creatures had gathered. A dozen wolf-eagles, their heads a beautiful shade of silver, perched above on the rim of the mountain, staring down at the scene. Those birds were dangerous, even to a dragon if they attacked as a
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