The air was black, solid black as the dragon soared through the stars. Dawn was drawing near. The moon was as black as the night, as it was newing. The previous night it had been as thin as a scale. Hardly enough light to see by, but not a problem for a Night Fury. Most of the light came from the glow of the island below, anyway.

This particular Night Fury cocked his head to listen for the telltale crackle of people-fire. This fire was not as hot or as strong as dragon fire, but it could burn through a wing membrane in the blink of an eye if one was too careless. The Night Fury's dragon clan could not take food if these fire-sticks were raised in the air. This was his job, to destroy the fire-sticks and the stone-flingers that threatened the dragons. The Night Fury's sharp eyes could spot the small, horned people rushing about on the island so far below, waving sharp metal sticks and downing many of his brothers. The Night Fury flapped his wings a few times, gaining height, and then dropped into a controlled fall. He summoned the gas that came from inside his fire-stomach, and, with a loud screeching sound, let loose a bolt of violet fire.

The blast tore apart a stone-flinger that was already burning with ripple-fire. The dragon could tell because of the way the fire looked like water, swirling and graceful. He banked, and blasted apart another structure that could have been a stone-flinger, but was almost unrecognizable under the flames that covered it.

The dragon rumbled in the way dragons laughed. It was satisfying to quench the thirst for destruction.

He hovered, watching a troupe of blue-spiked dragons surround a flock of sheep. They nipped at the sheep's wool, frightening them into hysteria. However, one of the bigger horned-people tossed a net over the group, trapping the blue-spikes, then jumped down with a group of his companions and attacked the blue-spikes, holding their jaws shut.

The Night Fury snarled, his cry echoing over the vast sea. He'd show these horned-people who conquered who! Summoning his energy, he blasted another stone-flinger, this one dark and inactive, with the deadly fire only he could produce.

Suddenly, there was a loud whistling sound. The dragon turned his head, wondering what it could be, when-

Whap!

A tangle of tough-vines made by people and topped with stones entangled the Night Fury in their grasp. He wriggled and shrieked, but he was losing height. Fast. The tough-vines held his wings to his sides as he plummeted to the ground. The world was a blur. The dragon thrashed his tail, but only achieved a searing pain. As he fell, he thought he could hear a small shout of triumph from a young person.

A YOUNG person?

Before he could think of it any farther, the dragon hit the ground and knew no more.

Pain. The Night Fury's entire world was full of it, especially the part of the world nearest to his tail. When he twitched it, he felt a wave of agony pulse from his left tail-fin, and something wet spread from the spot where it should have been. The tough-ropes must have torn it off.

Where was he? He breathed a trickle of scents into his nose. Wood. Fresh air. Soil. He was in the forest. Surely one of the horned-people would find him. They would cut him into pieces and hang his head on the top of a people-nest. The dragon had seen it himself.

Something rustled off to his left. The scent of people flooded the air, touched with bear hide that the horned-people wore. This person smelled frightened, and his fast breathing caused tiny disturbances that the dragon's sharp hearing detected. Male. Young, by his scent. Why was he so frightened?

The Night Fury gathered the strength to raise his eyelids. He wished that he hadn't.

The young male was standing over him, brandishing a short sharp-stick with trembling hands. He smelled of horned-people, but wore nothing on his head. The dragon understood. The person was scared of him. Why should he be, though? He was tied up and lying on the ground. The Night Fury was being served to the person on an eating slab. The dragon stared him down, unwilling to be scared.

Surprisingly, the male person stared back, as though he was considering releasing him. He didn't dare think so, though. The male shifted his grip on the stick and, muttering to himself, raised it over his head. Now the dragon became frightened. He was going to be killed by a mere hatchling. He continued to gaze at the person, hoping he would dissuade him. The young male looked into the Night Fury's eyes, seeming almost remorseful. But then he broke the connection, shutting his eyes and lifting the sharp-stick higher.

It was over. The dragon let his head thump to the ground. He waited for the final pain, the final blow that would send him out of this realm. He waited for death.

Yet it didn't come. Instead, there was a shush shush shush, snap; shush shush shush, snap; shush shush shush, snap. The ropes loosened, and then he was free.

The Night Fury leaped up instantly, pinning the young male person to a large rock. He glared at him, breathing heavily. Fear-scent spilled through the air as the male realized he was at the other's mercy. The dragon's instinct roared at him to finish the person off. He wouldn't feel a thing. He opened his jaws, then, in a split second decision, screeched in the person's face, making the ground tremble slightly. The dragon leaped off of him, and flew haphazardly through the trees, his rent tail making it difficult to fly straight. He crashed, then tried again, then crashed a second time, shrieking all the while. He continued in this vein for some time, until the ground dropped from beneath him and he landed in a lush cove shrouded in mist.

The dragon shook his head, then tried to leap out. The walls of the cove came up to meet him, and he was slammed back. Trapped.