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something I don't know?“ ”Thou dost not need to be taught to use thy
     wingsdragons fly naturally. Didst thou need to be taught to walk before the Sleep?“ In
     truth, Khisanth could not recall. ”Thou likely took stumbling steps at first. But thou
     assumed upon waking that thou couldst walk, and thou didst.“ ”Are you saying I should just
     assume I can fly, and I will?“ Khisanth scoffed. Standing, she brushed damp pine needles
     from her chest and tail and affected a look of disinterest. Still, she waited for the
     nyphid's response. ”No.“ Kadagan shook his head as he alighted to the ground. ”Though the
     skill is
    natural, the knowledge is not. Thou needs to practice, but effortlessly, like a leaf falls
     from a tree. Thou must stop caring about flying and just do it. After thou hast practiced,
     it will become second nature." Kadagan could see that she was trying to absorb his words,
     yet her natural hostility had wrinkled her brow into a scowl.
    “Stop thinking about being a dragon, and just be a dragon.” Khisanth's thick lips ruffled
     contemptuously. The nyphid's gall was limitless! “If there's anything I know more about
     than you,” she stormed, “it's how to be a dragon!” With that, she spun her snout around
     and thundered off again toward the shelf above her lair. The indignant dragon posed
     herself as before and prepared to sprint down the hill toward the ledge. But at the last
     second, she caught a glimpse of Kadagan, standing far below, arms crossed expectantly,
     face tilted up to catch the sun as he watched her. Whether from spite, or some emotion far
     more powerful, Khisanth abruptly conjured a brief mental picture of herself flying above
     the earth. She stopped thinking of every step she would take, of leading with her right
     foot so she could push off with the same. She commanded herself to move, to run, and when
     her toes touched the edge, she sent no conscious message to her wings. She was over the
     brink. Her wings snapped up, then out. The dragon's horned head jutted forward, and her
     four wingless limbs stretched backward beneath her expanding chest, in starched, straight
     lines, parallel to the ground. Khisanth was gliding. She saw the tree line fast
     approaching and tensed for a moment, then remembered to simply be a dragon. Her wings
     angled slightly on their own, and she rose sharply above the thick green leaves and into
     the waiting blue sky. Coming at last out of the glide, her long, leathery wings folded,
     then sprang open again with a snap. Wind currents tugged at her, jostling her as she
     soared. She let the wind take her where it willed. Khisanth saw the whole of the world as
     the gods had created itrugged land, shifting water, turbulent airand she thought what a
     loss it would have been to sleep through her entire life beneath it all. Looking back, she
     saw herself with an admiring detachment. The scales above her rippling muscles were sleek
     and black like polished onyx. What perfect creations are dragons, Khisanth thought. Surely
     as god-touched as the land itself. Ah, flying.... The blood-rush it inspired was akin to
     that of gorging, especially when a tail wind helped her cruise with impossible swiftness.
     She pushed herself on this maiden flight, past the first ache of her wing muscles, until
     the legs that would help her land cramped as well. She located the edge of forest that
     shielded her lair and let her body take care of the details of returning to earth. Either
     she had flown too long, or her body had little practical knowledge of landing, because her
     legs buckled upon contact with the ground. Khisanth tumbled head-over- tail, losing count
     after the tenth rotation. At last her tail met with a stout tree trunk and she stopped,
     unable to tell up from down. “Not bad,” said Kadagan, as ever at her shoulder. “Not good,
     but not bad. Next time thou wilt know not to fly beyond