“She sat outside the stable, hugging her knees. Her Rider's boots—forbidden by decree but worn anyway, hidden under her long baker's skirt, a small act of defiance that kept her sane—were scuffed and worn but still carried the scaly texture of Sarpentii hide, still held the shape of stirrups and flight straps, still smelled of wind and altitude and the electric ozone of Thea's breath. She ran her fingers over the scales and closed her eyes and imagined herself in the sky, Thea's massive body beneath her, the wind in her face, the world spread below like a map of possibility.”