"We don't have time for this," Petra grumbled as Moremi led them through the misty vegetation of the mountain behind the village.

"We also don't have time to sit around explaining to the entire village why there's a dragon in the middle of town square," Aidan said, helping Cassius to carry Syra up and over boulders. For an elder, Moremi sure made the hike look easy and she pushed the group to keep pace.

"Nearly there!" she bugled from a ridge some distance up the hill. "I think this spot will do just fine."

"You think?" mocked Petra, her face red from the climb.

Aidan heaved Syra over the ledge to Cassius and they all took a rest while Moremi walked through the patch of boulders left by a previous rockslide.

"Yes, this'll do!" She raised her tail, calling them over. "Bring her over here."

They laid Syra at Moremi's feet and she opened the pouch strung around her neck. Out leapt a small, brown toad that squirmed in Moremi's scaled hands. It smelled absolutely horrible.

"Oh, that's rank," Aidan said, covering his mouth and nose. "What is that thing?"

"It smells dead," said Cassius, squinting from the fumes that radiated from the squat amphibian.

"It smells like shit," Petra hissed, huffing air out her nose, trying to keep the stench from taking root.

"Well, you're not wrong," Moremi mused. "It is a Dung Toad. Or, graga, as you may know it. And if this doesn't wake her up, nothing will."

Moremi shoved the toad right up under Syra's nose, its sticky toes gripping and sliding at her nostrils.

"Oh, Lord, I hope this works," Petra prayed. "She's going to be smelling that for days."

The toad chirped and nearly hopped away, but Syra's nose gave a twitch and her face scrunched in disgust until her lids slid open.

"Good Lord, Petra, what did you eat?" Syra coughed and Moremi tucked the toad back in its pouch with a chuckle.

"You would know if you'd been awake this whole time," said Petra.

"This whole time?" Syra asked, sitting up, "Where...where are we?" Nothing around her looked familiar. The river and cave were gone, and instead of a giant goat, a feathered elk now stood over her.

"Morai," said Cassius, relief brightening his face.

"Morai? Already? How long was I out?"

"Nearly three days!" spat Petra. "We had to carry your rump most of the way."

"To be fair, Razira did most of the carrying," Aidan corrected.

"Who?"

"We'll explain later. Right now, Moremi has a question for you."

Syra looked up at the teal-and-purple Kiithran sitting beside her.

"When was the last time you molted, Syra?" she asked with warm bedside manner.

"Molted?" Syra looked surprised. The thought had never even occurred to her in years. "Nine, ten years ago?" she said, wracking her brain which was still fuzzy from sleep. "Right before you two hit your juvenile stage."

"So, you've been stuck in old hide this whole time?" Petra laughed, "No wonder you felt horrible."

"It wasn't like I could just shed it off in the middle of the city."

"Well, you're in a safe place, now," said Moremi, turning her muzzle to the grove of stones. "Why don't you take the time, now, while you can? I'm sure you'll feel worlds better."

"Um, sure I guess," Syra stood but hesitated, "The boulders should work, but..." She glanced around at her spectators with fidgeting fingers.

"Don't tell me you don't know how!" Petra snickered.

"I do!" Syra spat back, "It's just that...Mother helped me last time. And it's...just kind of embarrassing with all of you watching."

Petra stifled a laugh and Cassius bopped her lightly across the head.

"Then we'll help you, this time," he said, holding out a hand, "It's certainly not as embarrassing as us learning how to relieve ourselves."

Cassius led Syra into the boulder pit where he waiting at the edge. Light came and went, and Moremi stood bedazzled by the creature left behind. But the twins looked on in pity. Instead of shining bronze, her scales were dull, muted, and an ugly brown. Creases and cracks veined down her legs and sides from where her hide begged to shed. Beneath the outer layer, they could already see her new hide trying to burst out.

"Okay," Syra said, a might uncomfortable from the stares and feeling shrink-wrapped, "now what?"

"Start scratching," said Cassius, "I'll help with the smaller bits."

Syra raked her claws across her chest, arms, sides, and down her tail, and rubbed herself against the rough edges of the boulders. She was surprised at how easily the dry, old skin peeled off. The old scales were still hard and sturdy, but piece by piece her old hide fell away like the shell of a hard-boiled egg. She felt the pressure and tightness lift away as her new skin stretched and filled out. By the end of it, she shone like a freshly mint coin and stood taller and stronger.

"She's still tiny!" Petra hooted in laughter, pointing up at her. "I'm still twice your size."

Syra glared down at her sister and growled, blowing a gust of wind out her snout that nearly toppled her over.

"I still have another molt to go—I'll catch up soon enough."

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say, runt." Petra waved a dismissive hand and walked away back towards the village.

But before she could hop down the ledge, a long face with arching horns and shimmering headdress popped up from below. They stood there a moment, nose to snout, with confused wide eyes.

"Beg pardon," it said in a deep, rolling voice, "but, who are you and why are you on my mountain?" It then saw the giant lizard crouching over the two other humans and another Kiithran, with eyes glaring and fangs bared from Petra's insult, "And why is there a dragon?!"

In one leap, the stag shot up and over Petra and bounded off to confront the perceived threat.

"Get behind me!" he commanded, positioning himself between Moremi and Syra and lowering his head—horns at the ready with his russet-and-brown mane flared.

Syra simply sat there, surprised—and a bit amused—at the display.

"I take it Razira hasn't told you yet?" Moremi asked, holding back the chuckle in her throat.

The stag paused, "Told me what?"

"Pacha!" Razira's voice called from below the ledge before she popped up and bounded over to them, nearly out of breath.

"What is this?" the stag asked, his body stiff, "What haven't I been told?"

"I tried to tell you, but you just kept on running," Razira said through pants.

"I saw a light and had to see what it was. And what I found was this!" He huffed up at Syra.

"Yes, very good. You found our guests. Just like you would have if you had stopped to listen to me."

"Guests? What guests?"

Razira's lower ear twitched.

"Pacha, this is Syra," she said, motioning to the dragon who gave a quick, toothy grin. "She's the one Valen was talking about. You know, the one we agreed to invite to the meeting? The Kesh Raza meeting? Tomorrow?"

The stag blinked, lifted his head, and sat down, "I am so terribly sorry."

***

"I do hope you will excuse my poor manners earlier," Dürgah said when they had reached the chief's hut. "We keep strict borders and don't often have visitors. So, to see you there like rima caught snout-first in the berry basket...well, it was a bit startling."

"It's quite alright," Aidan said from his seat at the short, wide table that squatted in the hut's center room. "I'm sure we looked rather suspicious."

"I certainly wasn't expecting a dragon in any case," Dürgah chuckled, his orange eyes glinting over at Syra.

She had returned to human-form but, with the exception of radiant skin, was little different.

"I thought Valen told you we were coming," she said, her cheeks a tad warm from embarrassment.

"He said to expect visitors, but failed to say what kind."

The chief's hut was by far the largest on the island, and housed multiple families in its winding halls. As Razira had said, every wall held a painting, carving, or tapestry of the previous inhabitants. The windows were large and Syra could see the entire village from its perch atop the hillside's upper terrace. Despite the altitude, it was warm. From the window, she watched the mist of clouds roll across the hills, but the layers of large, leathery leaves on the outer walls kept them dry.

"I hope we're not imposing too badly," Syra said, looking around the table. She and the others sat on woven mats on the far side of the wooden table. Though they had been invited, she couldn't ignore the cold stares from the other Kiithran sitting on either side of Dürgah. They spoke not one word, but seemed to analyze the guests with their colorful but reserved faces.

"Not at all," said a blue-and-white dahm carrying in bowls of fruit and nuts to set on the table. "You've come a long way to see us. It wouldn't be right to just leave you to the winds."

"Viilah's right," said Dürgah, giving his mate a grin and popping a berry into her mouth. "Razira said she found you miles down the Elder River. I've trekked that stretch before, and it's not an easy hike. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

Viilah's assistant, a young kria of salt-and-pepper pattern, gave a whine of approval.

"I think it's exciting to finally meet people from Below," she said, laying her platter of grilled fruit and steamed leaf rolls in front of the party. Her big doe eyes shone and her ears quivered in restrained delight, "I hope you will share your stories with us tonight."

Dürgah chuffed a chuckle and waved her away, "There will be plenty of time for that later, Suri. For now, let them eat."

Suri dipped her head and took her place at Viilah's side.

Aidan and Syra dug right in, but Petra looked down her nose at the steaming bundles of green and purple leaves, hesitant to pick one in fear of spitting it right back out. She wanted meat. Be it red or white, baked or seared. She wanted it hot and juicy, not limp and leathery and smelling of Aidan's sweaty socks.

"Better pick something," Cassius whispered, glancing over to Karima, an elder dahm with red horns who eyed Petra over her nectar-berry wine with a disapproving scowl.

"I don't see why they couldn't eat their own food," Karima grumbled to Viilah.

"Be nice, mahna," Viilah hushed her mother, "they're our guests."

"But for how long? Winter just left and the gardens are sparse at best. We can't afford to spoil these people."

Petra looked from Karima back to the tray of smelly rolls, "I'll take the nuts." She held out a hand for the bowl to be passed. She poured some into her dish and leaned over to Cassius, "At least they don't stink."

"How long do you intend to stay?" Viilah asked out of curiosity.

The party looked to each other, then to Dürgah.

"We're not sure, actually," said Syra. She could feel her skin burn under Karima's glare. It was rude, she knew this, but Valen had not once given them an actual time frame—it was always just rush-rush, go here, now there.

"We'll know a lot more tomorrow, after the meeting," Dürgah said, relieving the tension. "Tonight is for rest and for stories." He glanced over to Suri with a sparkle in his eye, "And there is a star shower tonight. You all really must stay up to see it. The view from up here has no comparison."

"A star shower?" asked Aidan.

"It's what Morai is most known for—other than the floating islands," Razira said.

"Several times a year, stars fall from the sky," explained Dürgah, "and every time they find their way to the Lower Lands, just inside our territory. The fields and grasslands to the north are pocketed from them."

"The ancients said the lake calls to them," Suri said, unable to forego the tale, "that they are gifts from the sky—bits of sun and moon searching for their final resting place."

"That stone in your ring," Dürgah continued, "it's the same as ours." He pointed to the silver band on his horn, then to the stone set into Viilah's headdress, "Morakii. There're some deep in the Elder Mountains, but most come from our northern plains. We're lucky I suppose—we can't farm there, but it seems you humans are quite fond of them."

"So, that's why your borders are so tight," said Aidan.

Dürgah nodded, "They're a finite resource. One we depend on. Luckily, there's a demand surge right now, particularly for the smaller ones. Don't know why, but I can't complain. Spring came late again, so we're happy to have the extra food stores."

"You, too, huh?" Syra looked out the window at the terraced gardens and the red sky that sent the evening mist ashimmer. But then, movement in a street caught her attention.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing at the line of Kiithran weaving through the streets below.

"That would be Ekahlu's procession," said Viilah. "She's taking a mate tomorrow, so her family is leading her to Moremi for Vaasah."

"Vaasah?" asked Petra, confused by their terminology.

"The giving of oneself," said Karima, craning her neck to watch from her seat, "or The Clipping."

None of the siblings liked the sound of that.

But Karima watched on in tender awe, "When a kria takes a mate, she removes her flight feathers as a testament to her devotion to her new family and the Aerie."

Petra froze mid-chew, "Wait. What do you mean removes?"

Karima looked over at Petra, gaze steady on her furrowed brow, "They're clipped. Cut off."

"Meaning she can't fly." Petra's ears flushed red.

"She'll still be able to glide, and hop island to island. But, she will remain here, on Morai, where she belongs: with her family."

Syra and Cassius listened in silence, their stomachs tight from imagining having their own wings clipped. But, Petra—as usual—was not silent. And she was not having any of it.

"What kind of sick shit have you been taught?"

"Petra!" Cassius snapped at her.

"I'm so sorry," he said to Karima and the others, "please excuse her." He went to pull her away, but she snatched her arm away from him.

"Excuse my ass! Did you not hear what they're about to do?"

"Yes, we are right h—"

"They're going to cut her wings off!"

"Feathers, Petra, not the entire wing," Syra corrected. Though it did not make the idea any more palpable. "I agree, it's a bit brutal, but it's their custom, not ours."

"A bit? She's being mutilated."

"And we have no say in it. No matter how much we may disagree."

Petra seethed and shot Karima a searing glare.

"Excuse me," she hissed before storming away down the hallway to their guest room.

***

After several minutes of apologizing and feeble explanations of their sister's rude display, Syra, Cassius and Aidan found Petra sitting cross-legged and fuming in their guest room.

"Could you try to be more amicable?" Cassius growled, pulling the curtain across the doorway.

"I'm trying to avoid snapping that old graga's neck."

"The only graga I see here is you insulting our hosts."

Petra snorted in surprise, "Well, excuse me for denouncing sanctioned mutilation."

"But you have no say. This is not your clan."

"No, but you are. And you need to stop treating me like one of your hatchlings."

The air around Cassius went cold, "I will when you stop needing me to."

Petra's jaw quivered as if flames would spit out. But she clamped it shut, and turned her back to him with a huff.

Cassius gave a long sigh and sat next to Syra on their sleeping mats.

Syra stared at him in a bit of shock. He was right, but she didn't disagree with Petra either. Her stomach turned at the idea of losing a part of herself over a brutish, ancient commandment. She loathed having no choice about it even more.

But, this is their land, she debated herself, this is their way. We can't just command them to do otherwise simply because we don't like it.

But, while Syra took the more diplomatic approach, Petra still reeled.

"What's wrong with these folks?" Petra asked, her tone more hurt than angry. "Thinking it's perfectly fine to cut their limbs off just because some elders told them to. It's a bunch of bashta."

"It's also tradition," said Razira, sticking her head in through the doorway.

"No. 'Tradition' is wearing horn rings and carving memories into the wall," Petra hissed. "That is blatent harm to a family member and a sick means of control."

"Oh, I certainly agree with you," Razira sat herself by Petra, moved by her sympathies. "However, change is not that simple."

"As far as our records go—and further still, I'm sure—Kiithran have always placed high value on family. On honor, humility, and respect. The other races call us pacifists, but we have yet to have one war, while you have had many. You dragons even left your homeland to avoid those wars, correct?"

Petra blinked in surprise of her knowledge, but nodded, "Centuries ago, but yes."

"You see, it is this love of community, the placing others before yourself, that has made us progress and kept us safe."

"You sure that's not just your grandmaw talking?" Petra asked with a skeptical eye.

"Dragons value all of those things, too," Syra said, though a hair softer than her enraged sister, "but we also understand the importance of keeping an open mind. Surely they are open to reason."

"The elders are held in high regard for a reason: with age comes wisdom, wisdom to make the right choices given hard decisions."

"Knowledge comes from age, not wisdom," Aidan corrected.

Razira stared down at the thatched floor, "You're probably right. But that doesn't change anything. Just as you stand by your own convictions, so do they. They believe a physical show of devotion—like the Vaasah—will hold one more accountable and better benefit the Aerie."

"Belief in something doesn't make it right," Petra growled. "I can believe Cassius is a good singer until my ears bleed, but that doesn't mean he can actually carry a tune."

"Watch it," Cassius said, anger still churning behind his side-eye.

"What? You are a bit pitchy."

"I'm about to be a bit bitchy if you don't sto—."

Syra placed a hand on Cassius knee, quieting him, and turned a grave face to Razira, "So, if one day you do take a mate, then—"

"Then I will be clipped."

"But, what about the Dahmia?" asked Petra, "I thought you wanted to lead them."

"I do! But..." Her voice shrank and her ears fell back.

"My mate will ascend to become Gahirem, as I will become Lahirem," Razira said as if recited, her eyes sad. "And I will stay here, on these islands, caring for the sick, the old, and the newborn. Just like all the Lahirem before me."

She paused, her eyes narrowed, and she looked up at Petra with steeled determination, "And that's why I will never take a mate."

***

The falling stars came and went that night, as did the tales of their travels and Syra's long-winded explanation of the Talian cure—most of which soared over poor Suri's head. But Petra's anger burned on, shoved deep into her gut and covered by a flat face that refused to turn one inch towards Karima. Not even sleep—nor the kind offering of meat at breakfast—could quench it, and the meeting of the Kesh Raza began with her skipping salutations all together.

"So, where is the next shard and what do we have to do to get it?" she asked when Valen appeared in Dürgah's mirror.

"Well, good morning to you, too," Valen said, her bluntness shaking him from his mind fog brought on by another sleepless night. "Glad to see you're finally interested in our little campaign."

"I'm interested in going home. Now, where is it?"

"In regards to the shard," Dürgah said with some hesitation, "it's more complicated than that. It can't simply be given."

"Of course, not." Petra scoffed and leaned back away from the table with a huff.

"But before we get to that," Valen said, his hand asking for patience, "there are matters I need to discuss. Dürgah-saf, have you reached your decision?"

The chief glanced to Karima and the other Kiithran in the room, and his ears pulled back in concern, "I have, but the council is still split."

"I see." Valen took a hard look at those gathered around their leader, noting how a small majority were beginning to gray around the snout.

"You know I understand the Kiithran way of diplomacy," he continued humbly, "but I cannot stress enough our need for your support."

At this, the elders snorted, huffed, or flared their ears in annoyed protest. But Valen pushed on.

"There is talk of a small resistance building in Landelle, but if the Black Thorn continues to grow at this rate, the Altairan army will no longer have the upper hand. Air support could be exactly what we need to stop this before innocent people end up hurt. Your dahmia could easily—"

"My dahmia protect Morai," Dürgah snapped, surprising Syra with his firmness. "They always have."

"And they always will—"

"Not if I send them to die in a war we have no business being in."

"No business, you say?" said Aidan, earning him shocked looks from the Kiithran around them. "With all due respect, Dürgah-saf, just because you live miles above them, does not mean you are safe."

"Who are you to say what we are or are not?" Karima spat, the feathers at her neck bristling.

Aidan flinched at her sudden zeal, but Dürgah showed no surprise at the growing nods of agreement from her comrades.

"You come into our home, complete outsiders, eat our food, make us cook meat—with utter disregard for our beliefs—then lecture us on our own wellbeing! You have no place on Morai, and frankly, I don't know why you're still here."

Syra could feel the tension in the room split down the middle, with the elders turning dirty looks on Aidan while the remaining council members bristled at Karima's rude and tactless comments.

"You judge too quickly, Karima," Dürgah said, shutting her up just enough to leave her mouth wagging.

"First off, I invited them, and they will leave when I say. Second, that meat was bought and cooked this morning in Shrye, outside our territory. Lastly, this outsider is the eldest prince of Altaira, our largest trading partner. You would be wise to treat him with respect." He paused to let the possible consequences of her words sink in, "He also happens to be correct."

"We've remained isolated for too long," Dürgah said, when calm had returned to the table. "We turned our heads away from the ugly and the uncomfortable, happy to stay in our bubble away from the ground and its threats. We thought we could stay like that, if we just focused on maintaining ourselves and keeping to the traditions that founded us. I thought this, too. But..."

He turned a sad, but honest eye to his council members, "But we can't. Not anymore. The world is changing, with or without us."

"Our cities are growing," Aidan added, "and so are our machines. We might be grounded right now, but give us time. If you do not stand your ground now, more will come. And they will bring the war to you, here."

"Is that a threat?" asked Namir, his head lowered. He was not keen on the idea of fighting a human war, but he respected the council and would not tolerate insolence.

"A warning," Aidan looked him dead in the eyes, but Namir could see the compassion behind them. "These people we're fighting, they won't stop after capturing Altaira—I know their leader won't. So, you can either lend a hand in stopping them now, or you can lose countless lives after they've burned your crop fields and marked you as game to be hunted."

Reality hit the council like a bad landing. They muttered amongst themselves, but Karima sat there fuming.

"Good luck hunting what you can't catch, Lowlander." Her feathers puffed and her rump was pressed as tight to the floor as her mind was on defiance.

"I will not—"

"We can't lend you a hand," an old rahg said to Aidan, ignoring the fact that he had cut her off, "but, we can lend you our wings."

Karima balked and Dürgah and Razira's faces alit.

"So, you will join us?" asked Valen, his lightened mood bringing more color to his face.

"We will send those who volunteer," Dürgah clarified. He gave the council a questioning glance, but they nodded in agreement.

All but Karima, that is. She snorted loudly and sprung from her seat, nearly tipping on her shaking legs.

"You are sending them to die!"

"We all die, Karima," said the old rahg, having accepted the grave situation himself. "Death is no stranger, even up here. We are sending them to stop the unnecessary ones."

Karima would hear no more. Her pride was shattered and her nerves shot, and the front door couldn't have been any louder when it slammed shut behind her.

"And to think she's my grandmother," Razira said softly, causing Petra to snicker.

"And what of the shard?" Syra asked as the rest of the council took their leave from the hut. "Aren't you going to ask about giving it away?"

"They don't know what the shard really is," Dürgah admitted when he was certain there were no more lingering ears. "They think it some magical stone we can simply trade away."

"It isn't?" asked Petra, half-joking.

Dürgah and Valen leered at her, and Razira prodded her in the side.

"They don't know that it's the most sacred relic we have." Dürgah pointed to the crystal lodged into the headdress at his forehead, "The Kiirem, the Heart of the Sky, is the mark of Morai's Gahirem. It has been for the last 100 years."