“Alex, you must learn to control your anger. Ferox was lucky today. Imagine how things would be now, if he had
not been lucky? Anger can help us sometimes. It makes us brave. Makes us strong. Gives us focus. But it will eat us up if we let it. Grow, and grow—grow like a fire, until all we know is hatred. Until even the reasons for that hatred have been burned up and forgotten.”
“But it helped me win today. I
want to be able to fight. I
want to be able to do something when Drak Midna comes!”
Oliphos studied her a long moment, and Alex gazed back sullenly, knowing she’d said the wrong thing, and not wanting to hear the lecture that would surely follow.
“Alex, do you think you’re just a weapon?” he said, in a low whisper. “Is that all being a dragon is to you?”
Alex swallowed, and stared at the ground. “No.”
“Because believe me, I am not in the business of turning children into weapons.” Alex could hear the sudden edge of fury in his voice, and it frightened her. “I am not Drak Midna, and you are not your mother. The Skarren-Har use our wisdom to defend others, our understanding, and every other tool we have besides our fire. We only fight when there is no other choice. Now, come.”
Copyright © 2026 by Struan Murray. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
