It had been weeks of hunting and hardship when Nettles finally descended upon Maidenpool astride Sheepstealer, her dragon's brown scales glinting in the pale sunlight. The town below stirred with unease, peasants pointing skyward as she guided her mount to land in the courtyard of Mooton’s castle.

The Rogue prince stood waiting, his crimson cloak billowing in the breeze. Caraxes lurked just beyond, his elongated neck twisting as he watched the new arrival. Nettles slid down from Sheepstealer’s back with practiced ease, her wild hair whipping about her face. She bowed her head slightly—just enough to show respect without groveling.

“My prince,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “I heard you’ve been hunting Vhagar. Thought you could use another dragon in the skies.”