62. Chapter Sixty-Two
The two Dragons collide, releasing a crack like thunder. My eyesight isn’t nearly as good as the Dragons around us, so Fynn gives a play-by-play at first.
“Trinte’s struck first!” he says excitedly.
A hand flies to my mouth, cupping the quick, hot air trying to escape my lungs.
Despite the frigid temps, sweat beads my forehead.
The Dragons break apart, then clash together again like two boulders being slammed together by an exuberant child.
Their necks intertwine; fire flares from one of their maws.
“Father’s,” Fynn says grimly.
Trinte’s tail whips, landing into the red Dragons flank. A pained roar echoes in the mountains. They tumble in a free fall with their talons locked, like hawks in an aerial dance.
Come on, come on, come on.
Arms tighten around me as the red Dragon clamps its jaws around Trinte’s throat.
I scream into my palm, blinking away the tears to watch.
The spiked tail lands again into the red flank and this time, they’re low enough to see blood fly in the air.
Trinte’s throat’s released and I release a shaky exhale.
“Yes!” I hiss, heart screaming with terror and victory.
They fall at a dizzying pace, taking bites out of one another, wings flapping wildly. Jaws snap and claws pierce hide.
The Dragons break apart, hovering for a moment. Is it to catch their breath?