She watched from the bushes, eyes wide, staring at the figure in front of her. The looming shadows of the coming night quickly closed the five foot gap separating her from the mysterious character. He—whoever he was—was crouched on the mountain's edge, only an inch from the long drop to the rocky shore. His head was downcast, so she assumed he was gazing at the churning waters below, since his back was to her. She dared herself not to breathe, or to make any noise that would alert him.

Who is he, anyway? She thought nervously. The sound of the water was all she could hear, the saltwater piecing both her smell and taste. She was slowly realizing how uncomfortable grass could be after kneeling in the same position for long enough.

But then, she froze, a gasp stuck in her throat. Only now did she take notice of what he wore.

Covered from head to toe in the same black material—no. Not material, she realized with sickening horror.

Scales. Scales as dark, mysterious, and black as night. There was only one dragon species known to have scales like that, and. . .

No, She stopped the dark images entering her mind. The figure finally got up, and so did she. Eyes much too wide, she took a silent step back, still doing her best to stay hidden. But he must have heard because he spun around, hand on a weapon sheath. He moved too quickly, seeming to change positions as fast as a lightning bolt may strike the earth. His mask covered all but his eyes, which it was too dark to see them clearly.

Lightning. . .

NO. Stay focused, Astrid. She told herself, but then faltered as she caught sight of the weapon the masked foe was so close to removing from its sheath.

So that too. . .

She shook her head to clear it, but all the same felt dread rising. He was gazing into the darkness, seeking for whoever—whatever disturbed the peaceful quiet.

Suddenly, she turned and ran as fast as she could, trying to keep the tears away. Bile was rising to her throat and she finally got to Stormfly. Without glancing in the direction of the stranger, she leapt onto her dragon, and flew away as fast as she could.

Stormfly cooed, concerned that her friend was acting so. . . sad. But she never answered as she made her way back to Odrill. She couldn't get that character out of her head though. How could she? The scales, the weapon, It made her feel sick.

She knew that whoever he was, he must have killed. . .

She couldn't even allow herself to complete the thought. Instead, she burrowed her head in her hands and allowed Stormfly to take over the flying. She knew that she would have to tell the people.

She knew she would have to, but that didn't mean she would want to.