"Unh…" rudely awakened by the hoot of an owl, Samila opened her eyes groggily. It was pitch black. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she glanced around her, taking in everything and replaying what had happened in her mind's eye. She remembered being angry and the egg, and then a pain in the back of her head, receding into darkness.

"Murtagh," she breathed, and spent the next few minutes swearing under her breath and cursing his name. Her head and arm ached horribly. Slowly reaching to the back of her head, she winced as her fingers came into contact with dried blood. That… that…she couldn't think of anything terrible enough to call him.

She lay silently for a few minutes before recognition finally dawned on her. She was in Murtagh's room again, lying on his bead. He was once again asleep on the chair, and Thorn was nowhere to be found. Her mind wandered back to the previous events of the day. Eating with the king, and being introduced to the egg.

She paused to ponder the stone again. At first she had been confused, then angry at it for causing her pain. But now she was curious about it. It was, to say the least, quite an intriguing object. Not to mention quite valuable-looking. And, as most thieves, do, she found valuable objects most fascinating. In fact…

Sitting up silently, she slowly eased herself out of the bed. Luckily, it was flat and noiseless. Her moccasins gave her an advantage of stealth as she crept up behind Murtagh. Slowly, holding her breath, she reached into his pocket. He grunted, and she froze. Thankfully, he didn't awaken, and she quickly removed the key she had seen earlier. Grinning, she moved to the door.

One minute passed. Two. Still, she was taking painstaking caution with opening the door. It was another three full minutes before the door was open. Murtagh shifted in his sleep. In a flash she had darted out of the room, and was already closing the door. It took much less time than opening it, but was still just as silent.

Glancing furtively from side to side, Samila waited until she was absolutely sure that the coast was clear. She chewed on her lip, unsure of which way to go, and chose right. She padded swiftly down the hall, all senses strained to the utmost.

Kneeling, she inspected the ground around her, searching until she found a few drops of blood. Perfect. She straightened and continued, stopping every so often to make sure she was on the right track. Twice she took a wrong turn, and had to retrace her steps until she was at the fork in the halls. The corridors seemed endless. She was beginning to think that she would never find the door, until she turned the corner. There it was.

"Yes," she breathed, and slid the key into the lock, slowly twisting it until she heard a click. The door creaked open, and she entered. The egg was still sitting on its pillow.

"Too easy," Samila whispered. There were no guards waiting for her. Taking off one shoe, she tossed it. The moccasin hit the pillow, but nothing happened. She moved closer and retrieved her shoe, slipping it onto her foot again.

"…" Still wary, she reached out to touch the egg. It squeaked when her fingers came within an inch of it. Drawing in her breath sharply, Samila jerked her hand back. The egg squeaked again, and vibrated. It rolled off the pillow and landed on the stone floor with a loud crash. She swore loudly and pressed herself against the wall behind the door, waiting. Nothing happened. Still she did not move.

Ten minutes passed before she ventured to peek out from her hiding place. The egg of was still on the floor, shaking and squeaking. Suddenly, a crack appeared on it. Samila gasped involuntarily. Another crack began to form, and the two widened, until…

Crack. Samila sat down hard. Staring curiously at her was a baby dragon.

The hatchling was jade green, and no bigger than the pillow. It's wings looked far too big for the rest of it; it stretched its limbs out awkwardly, yawning.

"Dear Lord," she breathed. "A dragon." Was it real? She reached out to touch it, just to make sure.

As soon as her right hand came into contact with the small creature, a warm tingling spread across her hand, up her arm, and into the body. Her palm itched and burned like fire and ice warring against each other. She fought the urge to scream in panic as the dragon's eyes glowed.

Wrenching her hand away, Samila stared at the dragon hatchling in shock. Her palm still twinged. She looked at it, confused, and stared at the silver mark that had fixed itself upon her hand.

It took several moments for her surprise to pass. Once it did, however, she glared at the dragon furiously.

"Look what you did to my hand!" Standing up, she turned to go. She would leave this accursed palace, and everything that was in it. Suddenly she heard the dragon squeak again.

A strange sensation washed over her. She froze. The dragon squeaked again, only softer this time. It clicked. Apology. She turned to look at the hatchling with wide eyes.

It met her gaze with it's own, intelligent stare.

"You're kidding," she breathed. It clicked it tongue at her, and stretched out to touch her arm with its nose. She jerked back before it could, remembering what had happened the first time she had touched the hatchling. However, it scuttled after her, and when its nose brushed against her arm, she felt no pain. The scales were warm and smooth.

Samila began walking towards the door. The dragon came scrambling after her, squeaking and clicking as it went. She reached for the door handle, but it was thrown open by an unknown force, catching her in the face and knocking her over. She yelped in pain and twisted over, catching herself in her hands. The girl leapt upright, immediately thinking of the tiny dragon that was squeaking worriedly beside her. She stepped protectively in front of it while peering into the darkness behind the opened door. A familiar voice, now cold, called to her commandingly.

"Step away from the dragon."

"Murtagh?" He was standing a few feet away from the doorway, his eyes hard, sword in hand. Thorn was directly behind him, his head snake around his Rider to stare unblinkingly at them.

"Don't tell me you expected to get away so easily," he scoffed. "There are magical alarms placed on every inch of this place. I, and more importantly, the king, know exactly who goes in an out of here. Now step away from the dragon."

"No," Samila replied, although her voice was shaking. "No," she repeated. "I won't let you hurt him."

"Hurt him?" Murtagh laughed. "Don't be silly. He's far too valuable. We'll find him a proper Rider." He raised his right hand and pointed it, palm outstretched towards Samila. The silver mark on his palm was identical to that on Samila's, but it was glowing white hot with energy. Holding her own hand out, palm face up towards him, she shrieked,

"He already has a Rider!" Murtagh eyes widened, and in his surprise, he released the energy he had been collected. There was a blinding flash of light of light, a roar, a resounding crack, and a groan. When the dust settled, the slumped form of Samila was sprawled on the ground beside on of the stone walls. Blood was dripping onto the ground, and her face was white was a sheet. The young dragon fretted about her, squeaking in distress. Thorn snorted in surprise.

Ashenfaced, Murtagh swept in, picked up the unconscious girl, and left the room, the dragonling trailing behind his heels.