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... had moved except the three of them. Embers glowed low. Morning light crept through cracks in the stone ceiling and brushed tiny motes of ash into soft gold.

Zephyr sat cross-legged on the warm bricks, cradling the newborn dragonling. Fenna sat close, her cloak drawn tight around her knees. For a full minute they said nothing, afraid that words might break the small miracle curled between them.

The dragonling was black as midnight, speckled like a clear sky, it slept against Zeph ...

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