Dawn knew about wyverns of course. Rain had told many a story about the beasts: they were firestorms locked inside scaled, reptilian bodies, with breath stinking of brimstone and teeth that felt like hot pokers when they sank into flesh. Everywhere they went there was ruin, fire and ash, and horrifying loss of life. And they had a taste for pegasus meat, cooked well.

"So when you see them, or smell them, run," the old mare had rumbled to the three of them — Dawn, Under Star, and Earth, both much younger then, sucking up the tale with wide, terrified eyes. "Don't think, just go. Spread your wings and fly. Because they won't hesitate to sink their fangs into you, youngsters, mark my words."

But Dawn couldn't fly, not now: the open cavern was big, but not big enough for a running start. And as the wyvern crept further out of the shadows, exhaling breaths that smelled like scorched flesh, the space in which he had to maneuver shrank, until he was being pressed up against the blackened husk of the tree. The same tree he'd cornered the hawk against. Hunter turned prey — he had no idea the universe could be so cruel.

Why hadn't I listened to Rain? It was little wonder he'd felt so ill at ease when he'd smelled the smoke — his body had remembered her wisdom, and had tried to warn him by way of sudden discomfort, uneasy fear. Why didn't I go when I smelled the smoke?

By this time, the wyvern was fully in the light, and was bigger than Dawn would have thought possible: at least the size of Thunder, and just as terrifying. Those ugly spines on its head extended now, pointing outward in a spiky crown, and its talons were black and lethally long, curved like a falcon's. Its yellowy gaze was both hostile and shrewd, and as Dawn backed up against the tree, quailing in fear, its mouth parted, revealing a maw bristling with thorny teeth and four long, cruel fangs: two on top, two on bottom. Hot pokers, Rain had said. Like they channel magma. They get a pegasus's neck in between them, and there's nothing more that can be done.

Dawn shook. No. Was he going to wind up between those teeth?

The wyvern let out a husky growl, and Dawn felt the air inside the cavern swirl, stirring with a sudden, sickening heat. "No!" he squeaked. It was about to strike!

And it did, its neck snapping forward like a snake's. But in the same breath, Hawk launched herself down from the cavern wall, plunging down onto the dragon's skull like a diving eagle. It was the same move that Dawn had used on the hawk, only the wyvern didn't see it coming — her hooves struck the beast squarely on the top of the head, slamming it down against the floor.

The wyvern let out a grunt, more from surprise than pain. But this was a reflexive creature — it recovered quickly and swung its huge head, flinging Hawk off of its back. She twisted midair, landing squarely on her feet in front of Dawn.

"Earth," she shouted. "Go. Bring help."

Looking terrified, Earth spread her brown wings and fled. Under Star remained, circling high above frantically. Dawn looked up at his friend, wishing dearly that he was up there in the safety of the sky with him.

"Hawk," he said weakly.

"Stay calm," she ordered. "This creature wants to kill us, then eat us, Dawn — this is no time for panic."

He wasn't panicked. Panic was the wrong word. The wyvern's sudden appearance had washed all emotion out of his body, and it had yet to return. In its place, he felt an odd apathy, and a stuffy-headedness, like his skull was full of cotton. He struggled to find focus as Hawk lowered her head, pointing her horn threateningly towards the wyvern; part of him wondered if this was all a bad dream.

"Are you listening?" Hawk roared. "I'm going to distract him, Dawn — when he moves, run back for the cave entrance, and fly. Got it?"

He whinnied in despair. "But what about you?"

"Don't worry about me! Now go!"

She lunged sideways, flaring her wings open and neighing loudly. The wyvern reacted instantly, instinctively: it swerved towards her, jaws opening wide, going for her back leg. Its teeth snapped closed on air, a breath away from her flesh. She came down and leapt, and the beast lunged again, just barely missing her left wing — it got a mouthful of feathers instead.

"Go!" Hawk shrieked. "Now, Dawn!"

But his head was still full of fog, and something about the wyvern lunging at Hawk was just... It was like watching a tornado, or an approaching hurricane — he couldn't look away. And by the time he snapped out of it and realized that the way to the tunnel entrance was clear, the wyvern had noticed him again and twisted away from Hawk.

No! Cold fear coursed through Dawn, and he finally got his legs moving, stumbling shakily towards the cave entrance. He looked over his shoulder to see the wyvern pursing him across the floor, fasting and snake-like and terrifying. Abruptly, it stopped, its neck cocking back, smoke spewing from its nostrils.

Smoke. Fire!

A tide of flames blazed forth from its mouth, engulfing the stones and wall and blocking the exit. Dawn screamed and flung himself away, crashing awkwardly to the stone. The wyvern turned, its neck pulsing, and the fire chased after Dawn, intense and bright and terrible. Just when he thought he would be consumed, Hawk rammed into the beast, her horn sinking between the scales of its neck, into its flesh. The wyvern let out an agonized screech, and the fire halted.

"Dawn, jump!" Hawk screamed. "Fly!"

Fly? Fly how? Jump? Jump where? Another cry came from high above — Under Star. He'd landed at the very top of the cavern, and was calling his name.

"Dawn, here! Here!"

Yes, there, just below Under Star: another shelf, just below where he'd landed. If he could get a running start—

He stopped thinking. Don't think. Run. He ran, as far as he could, kicking off of a nearby rock and spreading his wings, flapping madly.

But it was useless — one of his wings knocked against the side of the cavern, and he dropped, crashing unceremoniously back to the ground. No! Not enough room!

"Dawn!" Under Star cried, wings flapping hysterically. "Dawn, hold on!"

Across the cave, Hawk was still wrestling with the wyvern, jumping between it and Dawn, trying to keep its attention. The wyvern was furious now, bleeding from its throat but no less powerful for it. It snapped its jaws at Hawk as she pranced about, and belched a cloud of fire at her. She dodged, dropping hard beneath it, and stumbled. In a flash, the beast lunged at her once more, and as she tried to leap out of range, its teeth closed around her back leg.

"Hawk!" Dawn screamed.

The wyvern flung her hard, and she hit the rock wall with a sickening crunch before falling to the ground in a pained heap. The wyvern threw its head back and roared in triumph. On the ground, Hawk twitched, dazed, and her eyes opened, found Dawn.

"Run," she groaned. "Before it..."

Dawn's eyes swiveled to the cave entrance. The fire there was slowly dying down — he could be there in moments, and airborne moments later. Then he turned back to Hawk. The wyvern was slithering over, more smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Smoke. Fire. For some reason, all he could see was his hawk lying on the ground, pulling its broken, beaten body towards the tree, and feeling sour and wrong for creeping after it, watching it suffer. If ending the hawk had felt wrong, running and leaving Hawk behind felt evil, because the wyvern, just like he had, was about to put her out of her misery.

He went forward. He didn't know what he was doing. Rational thought still hadn't returned, and everything felt almost dreamlike as he bleated loudly, spread his wings as Hawk had: "Hey! You forgot about me. My meat is tasty too!"

The wyvern turned, tongue flashing in and out of its mouth. Its body folded away from Hawk and it came towards him, eyes glowing with hatred. More smoke from its nose, and then  a firestorm was surging towards Dawn, hard as a fierce headwind. But it came in a straight line; he scrambled and leapt, and the heat blasted past him, setting the rock ablaze and crawling up the wall.

What am I doing? He thought as the wyvern sent another wave of flame towards him. Keep him away from Hawk. How? Don't know. Hopeless. Hopeless. This is a wyvern. You're going to die, Dawn. You're both going to die!

Then everything seemed to drain away, and it was just him and this fire-breathing dragon. Him and the fire, leaping and dodging and twisting. Him and his pounding heart, his aching body. Him and this despair, knowing that he couldn't keep this up forever, he couldn't possibly, he was just a colt — this was a full-grown, cold-blooded predator. But still he danced and leapt, jumped and dodged trying to keep it away from Hawk. How long? As long as you can. Until help arrives.

By this time, the entire cave was kindling with flames, and the wyvern was growing frustrated. Dawn stood in the one spot of floor where there was no fire, his wings tucked tight to his body, panting heavily. The wyvern was snarling, its own wings rising and falling from its torso — a sure sign of anger. Its fangs flashed, and he remembered Rain's harrowing words about hot wyvern teeth, and then saw flashes of sky and clouds behind his eyes, and the sea. He wanted to see the sea. He wanted to live — he'd never been so desperate for something he'd always assumed was a given.

But to live, this wyvern had to die.

How?

The wyvern attacked — no fire this time, but a fanged strike, with such blistering speed that Dawn almost didn't see it. He shrank back, and the wyvern's mouth hammered closed hairs away from his face, blowing back his mane. Screeching, he scrambled away, then lunged, straight into the flames. The sting of heat was furious, and shocking — he screamed as it licked his back legs and brushed the bones of his wings. Footfalls, and here came the wyvern, its head snapping forward in another bite. Whinnying, Dawn ran into more fire, and finally empty floor, in front of Hawk. The wyvern turned slowly, and then he saw it: the puncture wound that Hawk had plunged into its neck earlier. It was still dripping hot red onto the floor.

Of course! If he could strike his own horn in the same spot...

He had no time to think about it anymore: the wyvern came again, its talons throwing sparks as they scraped across the cave floor. It took all Dawn had to let it draw close — he had to get it to strike again. It growled as it approached, its lips drawing back to reveal meaty pink gums, and its flint-like fangs. The hole in its throat was wide as day. Dodge and strike. Simple. Just dodge the attack and strike. Dodge and—

This time the strike was too fast — suddenly there was tremendous pain as the wyverns teeth came down on his foreleg, and Dawn could feel them tear through his flesh, sink into muscle. He shrieked, shocked and horrified, and then, like Hawk, he was thrown hard into the flaming wall. Sound drained away, and for a second so did sight — when his vision came back, he was on the floor, head swimming with pain, and the wyvern loomed above him, mouth open, nostrils churning out smoke. Fire. The beast was going to roast him alive, right then and there. He remembered the flames licking his legs.

No. No! He struggled to rise. He could see the hole in the wyvern's neck. Strike it. End him. You can do it... Stop him, Dawn!

With all of his strength, he surged up wildly with his horn. He missed the hole. Instead, his horn struck into the wyvern's mouth, plunging into its gums.

The wyvern gagged fantastically, rearing back and hacking up blood. Then it slammed a huge claw down on Dawn, pinning him to the ground. He couldn't move. No. Yes. It was over — he'd bungled his one chance to bring the beast now, and now he was going to die in fire. No, please... Someone help me!

Before the wyvern could bury him in flames, a great shadow eclipsed the cavern. Dawn didn't see what it was, but the scaly brute paused, swiveling around, and a moment later something bowled it over, sending it tumbling to the other side of the cave. A great, hulking black shape came to stand in front of Dawn's battered body — he struggled to bring it into focus and felt himself deflate in relief.

Thunder!

And not just the great stallion — as the wyvern recovered, rolling back onto its belly and bellowing defiantly at Thunder, another shadow came down from the sky, beautiful and ruthless as it slammed down on the dragon's back. The beast warbled in alarm as Midnight flattened it to the ground, and as she leapt off, Thunder snarled, "On your feet, colt."

Dawn scrambled to obey, his body aching with pain and his head woozy. A bolt of pain went through him as he tried to put weight on his front limb, and he gasped out, "M-my...my leg!"

Thunder's giant head swung around to face him, his black eyes hard. "Swallow it," he commanded. "This is no time for passing out, not yet. Midnight and I may be here, but we need you, Dawn — Hawk is hurt worse than you, and this is our only chance to get her to safety, while this beast is distracted. When we attack, go to her. Get her out."

A shudder of trepidation went through Dawn, from horn to tail-tip. Get Hawk out of this inferno? By himself? Dazed and wounded as he was? "But—"

"No buts!" Thunder turned away, lowering his horn and charging to where Midnight was still engaging the wyvern. "Go! Now!"

Dawn went, stumbling over to Hawk, half-blind with pain. She was still in a heap on the ground, and when he reached her, a bolt of terror — she wasn't moving, and for a moment, the thought she wasn't breathing. Then he saw the slight rise and fall of her chest, the flutter of her long lashes. Skies be praised! He bent down.

"Hawk," he said urgently. "Hawk, can you hear me?"

She appeared delirious, her eyes glazed over with a pained sheen. "Dawn," she groaned. "I told you...to run... Told you... Why didn't you...?"

"Never mind that," he said, digging his snout into her side. "Get up! We have to run while we can. Thunder and Midnight are here, they're fighting the wyvern. This is our chance!"

Hawk blinked, struggling. "Thunder... Midnight..."

"Yes!"

"Here?"

"Yes!"

Comprehension, finally. She blinked several times more, her eyes finally clearing. She panted heavily. "Help me up."

It seemed to take a season to get his friend on her feet. Even when there, she tottered heavily, moaning in pain, one of her back legs twitching uncontrollably. Was it broken? Don't worry about that. Run, he had to focus on running, getting them both to run.

They turned to face the fire, which still slicked the walls. Within it, Midnight and Thunder stood against the wyvern, their horns lowered, backing the creature into a corner. The dragon seemed uncertain now, even anxious — blood still leaked from its throat, and it was blinking rapidly as it tired. Yet, Dawn still knew that it was an incredibly dangerous and powerful creature — the pain he felt shoot through his leg every time it touched the floor would not let him forget. And a ball of fear sat in his belly at the distance between the creature and the entrance to the cave.

It's fast. It could whip past Thunder and strike us if we tried to run past. But there was no other option, none — they could not get up a flying start inside this kindling place. They had to run back outside, where the sky was actually accessible. And they had to go now.

"Hawk," he said grimly. "We've got to run, actually run. Can you do it?"

Her head lifted from where she leaned heavily against his side. "Go," she said. "I'm ready."

So they went, breaking into a mad dash for the cave entrance, Hawk first, Dawn right on her heels. They went fast and true, and yet the world as Dawn experienced it seemed to slow in the horse-lengths it took him to reach the archway. In that time, he saw the wyvern turn its head towards them, its sick yellow eyes darkening in fury. He saw the smoke pulse from its nose, and saw the glow of the depths of its throat as it brought forth another blast of blazing fire, sending it coasting towards Hawk and Dawn even as Thunder roared in rage and plunged his horn into the other side of the beast's throat.

Dawn rammed his head into Hawk's flank as the fire poured after them, pushing them both harder, farther from the heat, but it chased after them even as they lunged through the archway and beyond, boiling the air and setting the ground aflame. For a moment, a terrifying, awful moment, it circled around in front of them, engulfed them, and all that Dawn could see was fire, all he could taste was smoke and ash and brimstone.

Then he saw the sky past the flames, wide and cold and safe and eternal. Under Star was there, he saw, and so was Earth, and even Mountain, circling, calling, waiting.

"Hawk!" he screamed. "Up! Fly!"

They charged up the slope, the same slope that Dawn had tumbled down when chasing after his elusive quarry. It ended in a jutting nub of rock, and Hawk, then Dawn, kicked off of it, flashing out their wings and pumping desperately, maddeningly, as the flame broiled up from behind, licking at their feathers, struggling to hold on.

Slowly, they rose. Slowly, the heat faded.

Dawn looked down. The flames were now far, far below them, already flickering down to a simmer as they lost their purchase on the high stone slope. They were safe!

"Dawn!" Mountain swept by, her speckled wing brushing the tip of his. He angled after her until they were flying  as one, her above, him below. She looked down at him, eyes bright and anxious in the hard sunlight. "Thank everything good and holy! But... You're injured! Is anything broken?"

No — he was sore and hurting, and the bites in his foreleg were still dripping blood, but nothing was broken. And he was more concerned about Hawk in any case. He said as much: "I'm fine. What about Hawk?" His friend was circling a ways higher with Under Star and Earth. The former came flying over, eyes wide with fear.

"She says her back foot hurts," he said. "And so does her left wing. I think we need to land!"

"And we will," Mountain assured him. "But not without Thunder and the Head Mare."

They turned as one to gaze back down at the giant rock formation, which was still crackling with flame and billowing smoke. Last he'd seen, Thunder had plunged horn into the wyvern's neck. Had he killed it? Or was there trouble? Are they still fighting? Are they okay? The had to be — nothing could defeat Midnight, let alone Thunder. Then what is—

Suddenly, two dark shapes plunged out of the flame, taking the same path up from the cave that Hawk and Dawn had moments earlier. There they are! Something was crawling out of the blaze behind them: the wyvern, injured and furious. It let out a harrowing scream as Midnight and Thunder launched up from the ground, and though it spread its wings in defiance, it did not follow them into the air. It sat in the flames and smoke, staring up after them with hatred.

"What happened?" Mountain cried as the two reached the group. "Are you two all right?"

"We're fine," Midnight said. She turned to peer at Dawn. "Dawn? Hawk?"

"Something's wrong with Hawk," Under Star said urgently. "We need to land, soon."

"So we shall, someplace far away from here," the Head Mare said determinedly. "Come!"

She sped away, and the rest of the pegasi fell into line behind her, following as she galloped across a sky laden with cloudbanks. Dawn turned once more to gaze upon the blaze they left behind before pumping his wings, catching up to the Head Mare. "It's still alive," he said with genuine confusion. He glanced back at Thunder, who remained silent. "Why didn't you kill it?"

Midnight regarded him with a unreadable expression. "That was not the point," she said. "Our aim was to get you and Hawk out safely, nothing else. And besides," she said, refocusing on the horizon, "it wasn't necessary. You see that it didn't pursue us. We've left it with some good wounds it's not likely to forget in a hurry."