“What about that one?” 

Beck pointed to the indigo drakeling darting through the pen, long wings folded on its back.

“You don’t want Uly.” The breeder spat in the mauve dust. “She won’t fly.”

“Can’t?”

“Won’t.” He shrugged. “Stubborn as a dead mule.”

“I’ll take her.”

“Look, kid, I’ve been training drakes for 30 years.” He turned to Beck. “You won’t get her to fly.”

“So what?” Beck shrugged. “I’m scared of heights anyway.”

The breeder ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Your dad’ll skin me if I let you take the lizard.”

“Don’t call her that.” Beck snapped, her 12-year-old face hard as stone. “She’s a Dragon.” Her fingers tightened on the fence. “And she’s mine.”

Uly turned her sleek head toward the them.

He threw up his hands. “You’ll never get past the first trial if you can’t fly.”

Beck’s toothy grin glinted with mischief. “Never underestimate the stubborn.” With that, she vaulted the fence.

The old breeder’s shouts faded away as she raced through the drakeling litter toward her new partner, and the glowing destiny dawning before them.