by Nova Rose
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Turyn clung tightly to the back of the dragon. He hated flying. If cats were meant to fly, they would have wings. The wind rippled through his fur ruffling it to no end. He cringed, thinking about the amount of grooming he would have to do to straighten it out.
His stomach churned as the dragon dipped low and then shot upward again. “Please, don’t do that,” he yelled over the roar of the wind.
“Shed your fear, little one,” answered the dragon, “I will not drop you. Tesnayr commands it.”
The dragon’s words did little to comfort the black cat. Turyn dug his claws in more deeply. This trip could not end soon enough. Finally! A mass of horsemen rode along the land heading north to Drynelle. Tesnayr rode in the lead.
The dragon circled above. He remained high in the sky so that prying eyes from the ground could not see him. He spread his wings out flat and soared, keeping pace with the riders below.