Basilgarrad flew swiftly, shearing the tops of high, bulbous clouds with his wings. Spread wide, those wings glistened, each of their thousands of green scales covered with mist from the clouds, each of their powerful muscles rimmed with rivers of vapor. With every rhythmic beat, sheets of droplets poured off the wings’ rear edges, forming trailing veils that shimmered with rainbows. But the dragon wasn’t enjoying this flight back to Woodroot. Not at all. Not even the feeling of Merlin atop his head, leaning into the wind with an arm around his great friend’s ear, gave Basilgarrad any comfort. Ever since they had left the scene of the blight and returned Rhia, Lleu, and Nuic to their home at the Society’s compound, he’d felt an ominous weight swelling inside of him. It dragged on his wings, just as it weighed heavily on every thought, crushing his hopes like a blight of the mind. That shadow beast! he raged silently.
