July 13th, 744
After everything that has happened these past three years, picking up my quill again has taken a concerted effort. Some months after my last entry, Alyss became with child again, even though she and Brian were being so careful not to. In her frail condition, she did not survive the birth.

The blow to our family was deep and wrenching. I was angry, so very angry that Raphael had ignored my prayers and let his brother visit us. I nearly spat on Azrael’s altar in our chapel’s cemetery. Fortunately, enough sense still permeated my haze of grief to keep me from committing such a grievous sacrilege.

Trying to explain to Jonathan and Ailis that their mother was gone was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And little Keely was too young to even grasp what had happened. Brian and I spent many an evening crying on each other’s shoulders, and for months I worried about his own health. He scarcely ate, barely slept, and only the need to care for his children and the newborn baby kept him from sinking into complete apathy.

Brian named his new daughter Evelina, and he dotes on her like she’s a princess. He’s grown much closer with his other children as well, giving them as much of his attention as he can spare. But when he’s busy with farm work, Brenna, the baker’s daughter, looks after them. She was Evelina’s wet nurse, and she and Brian have become very close since Alyss passed. Her own son, Jess, was born only a month before Evelina. As she was a mother out of wedlock, she was turned into a social outcast, especially since she refused to divulge who the father was (I can’t help but notice Jess has an uncanny resemblance to a wandering merchant who comes by Glienn Biethe several times a year, but I respect Brenna’s privacy too much to say anything about it).

Brian didn’t care one whit about such trivialities; she was soon like a mother to his children, and he became like a father to Jess. Though they have made no announcements, I daresay there will be a wedding knot to tie in the not-too-distant future.

Brian hasn’t forgotten about Alyss, of course. He visits her grave every day and talks to her like she’s still here. He tells her all about how the children are growing and how life is getting on. I know Alyss would be happy he has found someone to love again.

Sleet and Arra have been growing more independent, for which I am thankful. It has allowed me to spend more time with my family when they need me most. They still think I’ve gone odd, but they have come to respect my antisocial ways and don’t press me for company when I don’t ask for it.

The subject of the dragon-scratches Brian found on my blanket chest has never been brought up, so I can only assume he doesn’t suspect anything. Or at the very least, his priorities have obviously been elsewhere. He does sometimes ask me probing questions I have a hard time answering, but always seems to wholly accept my dismissive and somewhat panicked responses.

As I write, the quill feels less and less heavy. I should have put all this to paper a long time ago. Now that it is down, the tight knot of grief I've carried with me for so long has eased. Things are genuinely looking up for the first time in years. The crops are flourishing, and the harvest should be bountiful. Sleet and Arra are both healthy with gleaming scales and boundless energy. And there have been no more animals found mutilated.

August 5th, 744

I should know better by now than to tempt the angels. We should never declare our predictions for the future, or the heavens will humble us for the audacity.

Last month I confidently claimed we would have a good harvest this autumn. This past fortnight, torrential downpours have drowned nearly all our crops, and more than a few sheep. The rain still hammers against my shutters. Everything is damp. Mould keeps creeping into my stores of dried herbs, and I have to throw them out by the armful.

My cow just birthed a new calf, and I worry that the creature will catch ill if the barn floods. It sits atop a low hill, but the waterline creeps higher by the hour. Ach! I just noticed my shoes are sloshing in water! It’s seeping under my door as I write. Speaking of my barn, I must make haste and go check!

August 5th, 744: Evening

There was no flooding yet. The new calf was all right, only damp and miserable.

But something else was amiss: Sleet and Arra weren’t there.

I searched the barn high and low, I searched the shed, I searched the paddock. No dragons anywhere. A feeling of dread started to build in my chest. Where would they have gone in this downpour? Certainly not out hunting, not when all the wild beasts are holed up to wait out the storm.

I was drenched in minutes but hardly noticed, getting more and more frantic by the moment. And then I saw it: a waterlogged dragon print in the mud. And beyond it, I spied another. And another. And then a wyvern print as well. All leading straight towards the village.

It was already dark, but I didn’t bother to go back for a lantern. Instead, I ran after the trail. The rain had washed long stretches of it away, but it wasn’t hard to follow. They had gone in a straight line.

After a mile of jogging, I was amongst the houses that make up the village proper, and there were still dragon prints ahead of me. Here they became harder to track, twisting around buildings and doubling back like they were searching for something.

Or hunting for something.

A hand fell on my shoulder, and I leapt at least half a foot in the air. With a strangled gasp, I whirled around to see Brian.

‘You all right?’ He squinted at me through the downpour with bloodshot eyes. ‘What are you doing out here in this weather?’

I ought to have been the one asking him. He had a blanket wrapped around slumped shoulders, and dark circles blackened his eyes.

‘Looking for something I lost.’ My voice shook as I spoke.

‘Oh’, he said. ‘You need help searching?’

‘No.’ I tried not to glance nervously around me. ‘I’ll find it.’

He nodded distractedly, swaying in place.

‘You’ll catch your death out here, Brian. Is anyone watching the children?’

‘Aye, Brenna. She’s such a good lass. Better than I deserve.’ He pulled the sodden blanket more tightly around him.

Every moment I dawdled, I risked the tracks getting covered by the shifting mud. But I was afraid to leave Brian by himself when he clearly wasn’t well.

‘She’s so good to me’, he continued, ‘and the children love her. She makes me happy. She does. It’s just…’ His voice cracked. ‘Today Brenna made honeyed oatbread.’

‘Your favourite, isn’t it?’

‘Aye. It was… it was exactly like Alyss used to make. Brenna said she learnt the recipe from her years ago. She thought it would make me happy, but all the memories started flooding in.’ It took him a few moments to continue. ‘I miss her, Sarah. I miss her so much. I love Brenna, but I would do anything to have Alyss back.’

I felt that old, familiar ache settling in my chest. ‘I know, Brian. I would give everything I own to see Camden again. But think of your children. What will they do if you catch your death out here?’

‘Aye’, he said, staring at the sheeting rain as though he’d only just noticed it. ‘I suppose it’s a wee bit nasty out.’

‘Go and get some sleep’, I said gently. ‘I’m sure Brenna won’t mind watching the children overnight.’

He nodded. It was too far for him to travel back to the farm in such a condition, so I convinced him to go to the inn instead. I watched him until he vanished behind the curtains of rain, the warm glow from the inn’s windows just barely visible through the murk.

Once I was certain I was alone, I picked up the trail once more. The talon prints were nearly gone, and I went in circles several times before I found them again.

And then all at once, I spotted Sleet and Arra. Tucked behind the bakery, near to the brick ovens, they stood over a small bundle on the ground. Their hides were spattered with mud and… something else that was bright red. They hadn’t noticed me; they were focused on the thing at their feet. I was about to call over to them, to give them the scolding of their lives, but when I saw what was on the ground, the cry died in my throat.

The tiny clothes were torn and bloody. The little hand that peeked out of a mud-covered sleeve was ashen. Arra nudged the bundle with his bloodstained snout. It didn’t stir.

My heart hammered in my chest. Fear like nothing I’d ever know before coursed through my veins. Sleet appeared to be saying something to Arra, but I couldn’t hear him over the pounding downpour. Arra looked up, his gaze sweeping across the yard and I threw myself behind a bush, terrified of being seen. I landed on my hands and knees. Thorny branches littered the ground, knocked free by the battering rain. They dug into my palms, but I didn’t care. Arra must not have noticed me, because he turned and trundled back the way he’d come, with Sleet following at his tail.

Mud seeped into my clothes from below, the sky soaked me from above. I didn’t move, even as my limbs grew numb. I needed to know what child lay there in a huddled heap, but I was paralysed.

Finally, when the cold grew so deep it reached my bones, I forced myself to my feet. I approached the child with nausea roiling through my stomach. They were laying face down, and with trembling hands, I gently turned them over.

My worst fears were confirmed.

Evelina.

Little Evelina, Alyss’ last child. Evelina, Brian’s darling princess. Evelina, only three years old.

I was too shocked to cry. I still am, though I am certain the tears will find me before long.

What was she doing out there, alone in the storm?

I should have gone into the bakery to get Brenna. I should have gone to Brian to tell him what happened.

That’s not what I did. Fear, ugly and debilitating, had gripped me in its iron snare.

I left little Evelina alone in the rain.

And I ran.

August 5th, 744: Night

When I staggered home, my mind was spinning and screaming, but I was perfectly calm on the outside. I still don’t seem to be able to feel anything, as if the numbing cold has reached right down to my heart. Instead, I see my emotions from a distance, observing them as if I’m an outsider inside my own flesh.

I rinsed off the mud and changed into clean clothes. I then went back out to the barn and found Sleet and Arra, curled up asleep. Their scales were clean, and they were perfectly calm and content. There was no trace of the savage beasts I’d seen in the rain, only the same little angels I’d raised these past nine years. I didn’t rouse them, but turned around and went back to the house.

I began to pack. I gathered my warmest clothes, put as much dried meat, fruit and bread as I could comfortably carry into a haversack, and added a pot, a pan, and several rabbit snares, as well as an emergency supply of bandages and healing herbs.

In the morning, I am leaving. I will take Sleet and Arra far, far away, into the wilderness of the mountains. Once I’m there, I will—

I don’t know what I’ll do.

My father was right about them all along. Driven mad by my husband’s death and the loss of future we had planned, I had fooled myself into thinking they were children like any other. It doesn’t matter that Sleet can speak and write as I do. It doesn’t matter that Arra purrs and cuddles against me. It doesn’t matter that I poured all my love and effort into them this past decade, sacrificing my social life and my standing in the village. I was simply wrong. How could I have been so blind and stupid? I saw Buckwheat’s fur on Arra’s bloody muzzle all those years ago. I saw them thriving in lean times as animals went missing. But I ignored all of it. And now I need do the right thing, and put them down.

Yet… even after witnessing what I did, I can’t bring myself to do it. This is the Sleet who played with me in the autumn leaves. The Arra whose muzzle I would wipe clean of apple pulp. These are the dragons who laid on my lap as I read them their favourite story. I just… can’t.

I’ll figure it out once we’re far enough away. Either I’ll make sure they are so lost they can never find their way back here, or I’ll have had enough time to steel my resolve and do what I should have done nine years ago when a mother wyvern was dying in a pool of blood.

You know, I just realised my bracelet of shells is missing. That’s an odd thing to notice right now, isn’t it?

I still feel like I’m watching myself from far away.

I’d better get some sleep. Tomorrow will be the first of many long days.

August 6th, 744: By Sleet

Years ago when Sarah was teaching me how to read and write, she told me this journal helps her organise her thoughts. I never understood it. At least, not until today. I’m not supposed to write in the journal without her permission, but she’s not in any shape to ask right now, and I need to get all this down quick. It’s already turning into a blur.

Because today was the scariest day of my life.

Actually, it was probably the scariest day of anyone’s life, ever.

It all started this morning. The rain finally stopped, and before the sun was risen, Sarah came into the barn to wake Arra and me up. I was so tired from the night before that all I wanted to do was sleep, but Sarah wouldn’t let us.

There was something wrong. She jumped at every noise and kept looking at us strangely. We were going on a trip, she said, a really long one.

I would have been so excited about this because I’ve wanted to go on a trip since practically FOREVER, but something told me this wasn’t going to be a for-fun trip.

She told us we were leaving right away, and I asked if we weren’t going to have breakfast first. A funny look flashed across her face, but it was gone so fast I thought maybe I imagined it.

‘No’, she said, in her no-nonsense voice, and opened the barn door for us to leave.

She stopped short. There were people on the other side. A lot of people. Half of the village, likely, and Sarah gasped in surprise. Before I could react, Arra shoved me into a big pile of straw and covered me over. I tried to climb out, but he growled at me, so I stayed still.

There were enough gaps that I could still see a bit, but I don’t think the villagers could see me. Arra had made sure of that. Sarah thinks Arra is slow because he can’t talk, but he’s a lot smarter than she gives him credit for.

The villagers outside looked furious. The man in front, especially.

‘What is the meaning of this, Sarah?’ he said. Something was clutched in his hand. When he shook it at her, I saw it was a scrap of fabric, along with the shell bracelet that Sarah always wore. The scrap looked familiar. It was from the dress that little girl had been wearing last night in the storm.

‘I found this, caught on the bush next to Evelina’s—’ He choked on the next word. ‘Next to Evenlina’s bo— Next to her!’

He noticed then that Sarah had her haversack and travel-cloak.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ he said, his voice low.

‘I…’ Sarah didn’t seem to know how to answer.

‘My own sister!’ he snarled. ‘I knew you’d gone strange, but this!’

An old man next to him put a hand on his arm. ‘I know ye’re distraught, boy’, he said gently. ‘But don’ jump to conclusions. Ye don’ have proof Sarah did anything. Don’ let grief cloud—’

The angry man — whom I now assumed was Sarah’s brother, Brian — shook him off. He reached out and grabbed Sarah by the arm, pulling her out of the barn with a rough yank. Arra snarled and ran out of the shadows, jumping between them with sparks flying from his nostrils.

There was an immediate uproar. Several villagers screamed. Others shouted. The old man stumbled back, clutching his chest.

‘No!’ he said. ‘That can’ be! The dragon?’ He rounded on Sarah. ‘Tell me it’s not true, daughter! Ye kept this beast? Have ye been hiding it all this time?’

Sarah said nothing, only hung her head in shame.

‘I knew she was mad!’ one of the villagers cried.

‘She’s been setting that beast on us this whole time!’

The villagers surrounded her. They grabbed her arms, yanked at her clothes and hair, screamed in fear and fury. Arra roared at the top of his lungs and drove them back, snapping and snorting little bursts of fire. But the villagers were so angry that he couldn’t stop them. They dragged Sarah away, beating at Arra with sticks and farm tools when he followed. He took their blows, scrambling to stay at her side.

The sounds of the angry mob faded into the distance. I was alone, shivering under the straw.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if there was anything I could do. As the cold seeped under my scales and my legs slowly lost feeling, I thought of my hero, the little girl Maisie from The Hero Who Wasn’t. She wouldn’t have stayed in hiding, frozen in fear. She would have gone out and rescued Sarah. I needed to be brave like her.

So I got up, shook off the straw, and wobbled around a bit to get the blood to flow back into my stiff limbs while I thought hard of a plan. After a while, my talons and legs weren’t tingling anymore, and I still didn’t have a plan. I’d just have to follow them and hope for the best.

I crept through the village, keeping to the tall grass. I had coated my white scales in mud for camouflage, and I knew all the best routes to weave through the houses unseen. Soon I came upon the edge of the village square where crowds of people milled about. I crouched behind a pile of hen cages and cautiously peered around them. One of the chickens inside clucked at me indignantly.

Sarah was in the stocks. In all the years Arra and I had been sneaking into town, I’d never seen them used before. It was scary, seeing her bent over, head and wrists trapped in that heavy wooden slab. The villagers mocked and jeered and threw rotten vegetables, but whenever they strayed too close, Arra would rush at them, snorting smoke.

I knew Arra wanted to protect her, but this was only making things worse. The villagers were scared and angry, and even though he hadn’t actually hurt anyone, the more Arra snarled, the more aggressive the crowd became.

In the face of all that rage, I felt very, very small. Paralysis locked my limbs in place again, and all I could do was watch helplessly as Sarah and Arra were spattered with stinking cabbages and mouldy potatoes.

One man at the back of the crowd lifted up something else to throw, though I couldn’t see what it was until it struck Arra in the flank. He squealed in pain and let out a jet of flames. It was a stone. A stone. Emboldened, other villagers dropped their rain-rotted crops and picked up stones instead.

I moved without thinking. Leaping out from behind the chicken cages, I barrelled my way through the crowd. My talons slid in the wet mud as I skidded to a halt in front of my family.

‘Stop!’ I cried. ‘Stop, please. We didn’t hurt anyone.’

‘By the Angels, there’s TWO of them?’ one villager screamed.

Rocks flew. One struck my wing, another hit my snout. I tasted blood.

‘STOP!’ An angry bellow echoed over the chaos and stunned everyone into silence. The old man from the barn pushed forward through the crowd. ‘What’s come over all of ye?’

‘What’s come over us is my sister has gone mad!’ Brian shouted, his face red.

‘And that deserves stonin’ yer own blood to death?’ the old man demanded.

‘She had no such qualms killing her own blood! Sending monsters to slaughter her own niece!’

I didn’t have much experience with any people besides Sarah, but from the way the old man’s face twisted, there seemed to be a war waging inside of him. ‘I don’ know what happened last night’, he said at last. ‘None of us does. But I do know my daughter. I know she’s never hurt another soul. Never even had a bad word to say of anyone. Now, I don’ know why she kept this beast—’, his eyes flicked over to me, ‘these beasts, but I… I know she wouldn’t’ve done it if she thought they were going to hurt anyone.’

‘You’re blind when it comes to your daughter, Gareth’, the tanner shouted. ‘For a goddamn decade we’ve been listening to you brag every chance you got about how you “saved us all from doom” when you slew that wyvern and “took care of” the dragon. I see now that was all talk.’ He spat in the dirt.

The old man — Gareth — turned crimson and spluttered.

‘Sarah’s always been a bleeding heart’, Brent the blacksmith sneered. ‘Maybe she thought she could tame them. But they’ve corrupted her! Cursed her!’

Anger creased Gareth’s face. ‘Poppycock and balderdash! Ye wouldn’ know a curse if it bit ye in the arse ye—’

‘Oh aye, I forgot you’re the authority on curses!’

‘Please’, I said, raising my voice so everyone could hear. ‘Please listen to me. It wasn’t us who killed Evelina.’

Every eye turned on me, and I balked under the force of their glares. I swallowed hard. ‘Arra and I have been protecting you all from the real killers.’ My gaze sank ‘We haven’t always done a good job, though. I’m so sorry.’

Gareth looked taken aback. ‘What d’ye mean?’ he said sharply.

‘The ones who really killed Evelina, who have been killing your animals all this time. It’s wolves. Wolves have been sneaking into the village at night. Arra and I have been trying to drive them away, but they keep coming back.’

‘Wolves!’ snarled Brian. ‘Of all the excuses! There are no wolves in these mountains.’

‘There are!’ I cried.

‘Lies!’ Brian looked ready to throttle me, but Brenna stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm. She was pale, as if her grief was too deep even for tears.

‘May I see something?’ she said, her voice strained, yet gentle.

I thought Brian was going to argue, but he relented with a wordless grunt. Brenna knelt in front of me, in the mud and rotten vegetables, and carefully took hold of my snout. She opened my mouth, peering closely at my teeth. Then she approached Arra and reached out for him as well. He growled, and smoke poured from his nostrils.

‘It’s okay, Arra’, I told him. He quieted but still eyed her suspiciously as she inspected his teeth the same way she had mine.

She stood up, brushed the slop from her knees, and walked back to Brian’s side. ‘Their teeth don’t match’, she said. There were some confused murmurings. ‘What I mean is, their teeth couldn’t have made the bite marks on Evelina. Or any of the animals we’ve lost these past few years’, she clarified. ‘Their mouths are the wrong shape. Also, whatever killed Evelina had big fangs, and neither of these creatures has canines longer than the rest of their teeth.’

Behind me, Sarah gasped.

Half a dozen expressions rapidly flitted over Brian’s face, as if he couldn’t figure out how to process this new information.

‘I can show you’, I said. ‘I can show you the wolf den. Arra and I tracked it earlier this week, but there were too many for us to fight off alone.’

Brian, Gareth, and some other villagers drew back and gathered into a huddle, arguing fiercely. Brian was still furious, stubbornly blaming Sarah, but I could hear doubt creeping into his voice as they debated what to do next. Other villagers milled about, still glaring at us, though they didn’t throw anything more. I carefully prodded my teeth with my tongue. One of them came loose, and I spit it out in a mess of blood.

Finally, the huddle broke up. ‘Very well’, Brian scowled. ‘We’ll follow you to this wolf den — if there is such a thing. But if we don’t find anything, or you’re trying to trick us…’ He let my imagination fill in the rest.

‘What if these things attack us once they’ve drawn us far enough into the woods?’ Brent the blacksmith narrowed his eyes at Arra and me. ‘Do we even know how strong they are?’

Gareth frowned. ‘We’ll bring Sarah with us’, he said. ‘She has some control over them.’

Men and women alike gathered weapons, and if they had none, whatever farming tools they could find that would double as such. Sarah was released from the stocks, but her hands were tied behind her back. She was placed in the middle of the assembly, with two large men on either side of her. They didn’t dare touch her with Arra snarling every time he felt they got a little too close. Hunting hounds weaved between legs, and more than a few pitchforks and spears were pointed at me as I led our grim march through the woods.

It felt like we travelled forever. I didn’t remember going this far last time. It had also been nighttime then, and the riot of colour in the day-lit forest was disorienting. I had just about convinced myself I’d led us on the wrong path when I saw a twisted tree I definitely remembered.

At least, I was pretty sure I recognised it.

Probably.

Hopefully.

‘Look!’ Brenna cried out. ‘In the earth!’

In the half-dried mud, there was a deep, canine-shaped print, much too large to be from any of the dogs in the village. We followed it and soon came across more paw prints. The forest path opened into a clearing, and there was the wolf den.

It looked empty, save for a couple of old and sick wolves skulking about.

‘These are the vicious beasts you’re blaming for Evelina?’ Brian sneered. His hot glare fell on me. ‘Did you really think we’d fall for that? These pathetic creatures couldn’t kill a lame lamb.’

‘No, that’s—’ I started to say, but he cut me off with a snarl.

‘We’re going to deal with all of you’, he said. ‘But since you led us here on this wild goose chase, let’s put these sad beasts out of their misery first.’

Brian stalked forward, spear poised and ready. My scales shivered. Something wasn’t right.

‘Stop!’ I cried. He ignored me and thrust his spear at one of the sick wolves.

The forest erupted with howls.

Lupine shapes burst from between the trees, dozens of them coming at us from all angles. The ambush was so sudden that even the most hardened villagers panicked, and everything dissolved into chaos. Sarah was knocked over, and with her hands tied, she couldn’t get back up. Arra stood over her, making sure she didn’t get trampled or mauled.

Brian was surrounded, a group of three wolves circling him. They snapped and snarled, eyeing his spear warily. He stabbed out when one of them got too close. The other two took advantage of the opening and jumped on him, biting ferociously.

I reached him just as the wolves had dragged him to the ground. Jumping on one wolf’s back, my tail whipped forward and stung another with a lethal dose of venom. Its back arched in agony, and it staggered away, its limbs already locking up. It would soon be dead.

My venom-sacks would take a few moments to fill again, so I dug my talons deep into the wolf under me and clamped my teeth down on the back of its neck, but my jaws weren’t strong enough to break its spine.

The third wolf had Brian pinned, its jaws snapping at his throat. He held it at bay with the shaft of his spear, but it was going to overpower him any second. I couldn’t help him; it was taking all my strength to hold onto the wolf thrashing beneath me.

Brian’s grip on his spear slipped, and the wolf lunged, fangs bared. Just as it was about to rip out his throat, a green blur barrelled into the beast and knocked it halfway across the clearing.

Arra immediately pivoted, grabbed another wolf that was creeping up on Brenna, and shook it in his jaws until it stopped moving. He was a whirlwind, biting, clawing, and driving the wolves back. The villagers, now recovered from their initial surprise, grouped together and became a fortress of bristling spears and rakes with their hounds growling at their sides. Someone pulled Sarah back onto her feet, and she and a handful of archers huddled in the middle.

Meanwhile, my venom-sacs had filled again, and I gave the wolf I was grappling a deadly sting. I flapped my wings and rose into the sky, where I swooped and dove, harrying the wolves that slipped past my brother.

More and more of them fled back into the forest until only a handful continued fighting. Arra let loose a roar that shook the leaves, smoke billowing from his mouth, and those too lost their nerve and scampered, tails tucked between their legs.

The bodies of ten wolves lay in heaps around the clearing. A few villagers sported nasty bites, but none of them was crippling.

Brian stared at the aftermath, face pale. He then turned to Arra.

‘You… saved my life.’ He ran a hand over his face. ‘I—’

Arra puffed out his chest. ‘I protect’, he snorted.

My jaw fell open. Arra could talk!

‘Yes’, said Brian. ‘You… did.’ He turned to me. ‘You both did. I’m… I’m sorry. For everything.’

Gareth knelt over a dead wolf, inspecting it. It was one of the old and sick ones that had been there when we first entered the clearing. He exclaimed, gesturing us over. ‘Look, he said, pointing. Old burn scars and bite marks the same shape as Arra’s jaws crisscrossed its hide.

‘That wolf’, said Sarah softly, coming up behind us, ‘has the same colour fur that Buckwheat did.’

I looked up at her quizzically.

She gave me a sad smile and said, ‘Sorry, love, an old mystery suddenly makes sense.’

Brian stooped down and picked something up from amongst the bones and scraps that littered the clearing. His hands trembled. ‘Sister, I— I’m so sorry. So sorry I ever doubted you.’ He held out the object and broke down in tears. It was a piece of Evelina’s dress, torn and bloodstained. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

‘Of course I can, Brian’, she said, and she was crying, too. She turned to me. ‘And I’m so sorry to you, my love. For a while, I doubted you, as well. I should have known you better than that. Can you forgive a foolish old woman?’

I nuzzled her skirts affectionately. ‘You said the other villagers wouldn’t understand, so I thought we could protect them in secret, like Maisie. But we should have told you.’

‘Maisie? Who’s Maisie?’ said Brian as he wiped at his eyes.

Sarah shook her head. ‘I’ll explain later.’

She was untied, and the wolf den was burned. A watch would be organised to guard the village’s flocks, and no one, especially not children, would be allowed to go outside alone at night. We headed home, still grim, but at least there were no pitchforks pointed at my back anymore.

Many of the villagers were still suspicious of us, but a few were murmuring excitedly about Guardian Dragons.

I dared to hope.

Sarah was right. Now that I’ve written all this down, I can think more clearly. A big weight feels like its been lifted off my shoulders.

Even though it’s only mid-afternoon, Sarah has already gone to bed. I think I’m going to do the same. Tomorrow will be the first day Arra and I have permission to go into the village and properly meet everyone. I’m excited, and more than a little terrified.

August 9th, 744

After two days of bed rest, I still haven’t recovered from earlier this week. I don’t quite know how to feel yet. Or rather, I’m feeling entirely too much all at once. Remorse for blaming Sleet and Arra, sorrow and anger at Evelina’s death, relief at not having to keep secrets any longer, worry over Brian and Brenna, exhaustion from my ordeal. It’s… going to take me time to sort through it all.

Gleann Beithe is divided over Sleet and Arra. Many villagers are still wary and suspicious, and a few are outright hostile. Others think the Angels sent them to us for protection. Some of the more practical-minded believe we may just have the ultimate defence against our newly discovered wolf problem. As for myself, I will never doubt my children again.

The hunters managed to track down and kill a few more of the wolves, but most have evaded us. It turns out the unusual number of famines we’ve had over the past few years drove the wolf pack from its home deep in the mountains and down into our little valley. I’m sure all those fat, penned-up sheep were too great a temptation to ignore.

Brian and Brenna are not doing so well, though that’s entirely to be expected. Brenna is beside herself with guilt for not watching Evelina more closely that night. I don’t think Brian blames her; she was watching not only her own Jess, but all of Brian’s brood that night, and by herself. I can only imagine the chaos of so many energetic little terrors all at once. A single moment of letting just one out of her sight shouldn’t have led to such tragedy, but Azrael is often cruel and unfair, and no one can predict who he will take at any moment. Brian and Brenna will need a long time to heal, and I hope that they will do so together rather than alone.

I suppose only time will tell what happens. Whether the village will truly accept Arra and Sleet, I simply don’t know. I pray every day to Michael for mercy, to Raphael for healing, and to that dark angel to keep far away, for he has visited our family far too often already.

November 14th, 745

I still don’t understand why, all those years ago, that mother wyvern flew alone over our farm, carrying a tiny dragon with her. I don’t suppose I ever will. What I do know is that her tragedy brought me countless blessings, and I owe her a debt of gratitude I can never repay.

I admit I still hold a small grudge against my father and brother for cutting her down for no reason but fear, and for letting that fear continue to override their compassion for so long. But I am working on forgiving them as much as I am working on forgiving myself for giving in to those same feelings on that terrible, stormy night. Fear is, perhaps, one of the ugliest of all impulses that we allow to invade our hearts, especially when just a few moments of consulting our heads would reveal to us just how foolish we are being.

Even so, it’s hard work to change stubborn minds. It took an enormous effort before Sleet and Arra were welcome in our village. They had to be absolute paragons of virtue, no matter how hurt or frustrated they became in the face of all the vitriol. But, at last, attitudes slowly shifted. Once everyone had had their prejudices thoroughly challenged by the overwhelming evidence of reality, hearts slowly let go of fear, and heads began to listen. I think the most significant turning point was when the mother wyvern’s horns were taken down off the tavern wall and buried alongside her body, her formerly unmarked grave now honoured with a headstone. While there are still a few who refuse to acknowledge dragons and wyverns as anything but dangerous beasts, they are, thankfully, in the small minority.

My heart was fuller than I could ever have imagined as I attended today’s ceremony naming Sleet and Arra the official protectors of Gleann Beithe. My chest swelled with pride in tandem with theirs as the village priest draped ribbons around their necks and anointed them with holy water.

The past ten years have been a hard, isolating struggle, but I don’t regret one moment of it. At last, I know without any doubt I did the right thing. And not just the right thing for myself or for my children. I did the right thing for everybody.

There was feasting and dancing and games all day long. I jigged so exuberantly my feet are still throbbing, and my voice is ragged from laughing and cheering almost nonstop.

I am writing on my last sheet of paper — I have reached the end cover of this journal. Its pages have lasted me an entire decade, now covered in all the sorrows and joys and fears and love these years have brought me. It’s appropriate that I finally ran out of room today of all days when this chapter of my life has concluded. I already have a new journal tucked on my shelf at home, and I cannot wait to see how the next chapter will fill it.