She stood amid the Dragonblood Grass, feeling the changes in her body—her heartbeat steady and powerful, her breathing long and deep, like the engine of a Muggle truck hauling goods back and forth to town. Even the temperature of her skin had risen high enough to boil water.
She stepped out of the grass and headed toward the manor's exit, leaving shallow impressions on the ground that matched the outline of her soles. Those prints formed an unbroken trail behind her, running from the edge of the meadow across the front yard, through the half-open iron gate, and down toward the path that led farther into the mountains.
Her hood was down. Her face was completely exposed, and the scales on her skin reflected scattered glints beneath the slanting sunlight. She walked along the path for roughly fifteen minutes before stopping near a fork in the road.
She turned and gave the manor behind her one last look.
The outline of its gray stone walls blurred in the morning mist. No smoke rose from the chimney, and she had casually pulled the iron gate shut when she left. She withdrew her gaze and took the road on the right at the fork. Faint mountain ridges could be seen at its end, and the sky above them was paler than the sky nearby, as though the wind had pushed the clouds in another direction.
Over the past half year, aside from improving the Dragonblood Potion, she had also investigated the location and boundaries of the Welsh Green Dragons' breeding grounds. She had no intention of waiting any longer.
She quickened her pace. Her shadow stretched longer and longer behind her, like a guillotine blade slowly being raised, its point aimed at a horizon she had yet to know.
On the evening