A blur of blue shoots between us, and the wyvern is knocked away by the body of a navy dragon—Sgaeyl. Her jaws tear through the side of the wyvern in several rapid, brutal bites, flesh ripping and blood spraying in the most vicious midair meal I have ever seen. Then she flips and catches the devoured wyvern by the head with her daggertail, sending its dead body sailing several hundred feet before crashing to the ground. Sgaeyl picks up speed, banks, and flies right by us, her wing gliding under Tairn’s almost affectionately—which is in complete contrast to the menacing glare that seems
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