"No! Seasmoke-!"
Laenor's face was blackened. Though the gusts stirred up by the landing dragons had knocked him down, they did nothing to stop him from throwing himself onto Seasmoke again with a horrified scream.
His voice was already hoarse, breaking and thick with tears, like a child whose toy had been snatched away.
He had suffered no serious injuries himself-he had merely been blackened by stray dragonfire from Sunfyre and Sheepstealer, and when Seasmoke crashed onto the sand, the dragon had shielded his rider. Laenor had escaped with a few scrapes; his dragon had taken almost all the damage for him.
Seasmoke, by contrast, was a horrific sight.
Aegon might have been better off not looking. On closer inspection, Seasmoke lay limp on a stretch of beach pitted by the impact. Most of the pale silver scales on his chest were shattered, and scalding Dragonblood streamed through the gaps, sending wisps of white steam rising from the sand.
The right wing was the worst. Sunfyre's fangs had merely torn through most of the membrane of the left wing, but Sheepstealer's savage dragging and wrenching had snapped the entire shoulder blade on the right. His thick jaws had gouged several holes in the wing membrane, leaving mangled flesh and stark white bone exposed.
The dragon's eyes were unfocused, and weak, broken whimpers squeezed from deep in his throat.
This was the "masterpiece" of Sheepstealer, that "Mud Dragon." Who knew whether he had a grudge against beauty, to leave the handsome Seasmoke in such a state?
"Hssraaah..."
"No! Don't-!" Seeing Seasmoke exhaling far more than he inhaled, Laenor burst into tears again.
No longer caring about the scorching Dragonblood, he flung himself onto Seasmoke, wrapped his arms around the dragon's neck, and buried his face among the shattered scales, his shoulders