“Eh, ‘Scuse me, but is this the right way to Wittley Cove?”

A young lad’s voice rings down from above my lofty head. I blink my eyes upwards, finding a figure atop what looked to be a branch. He waves down at me and asked again.

“It is,” I reply, hearing my own voice as a rumble of thunder in comparison. “But it is some flight along the coastal path. The ocean winds pull young dragons from the sky. Can you brace your craft against the winds?”

The boy chuckles; human laughter is such an odd thing, to dragon ears. Good, but still odd. “No problem, I’ve passed my Windcraft exams. How far do I still have to go, do you think?”

I sniff his craft from a polite distance. As far as I could tell it was made of simple wood. “Depends. How fast does your craft go?”

He leans forward smugly, patting the object. “It can outpace a peregrine. Enchanted it myself. Fastest broom this side of the river.”

For something made by humans, that was a mighty claim indeed. Curiosity got the better of me and I asked, “Then may I accompany you and see this… broom in action?”

Another laugh, an inelegant, youthful chortle. “Sure! If you can keep up.”

And he’s gone like a shot, before I could even spread my wings.