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Grade
11

I should have listened, he should have thought.

 

Below him, the forest’s burning away, heavy pine smoke burning away at his lungs and stinging his eyes. “Jean, you are never to go to them!” his sister had all but screamed, and he knew she was thinking of their father, dead before he was born; of their mother, dead last year; and of little Miram, dead just last week. Her eyes were still red in the morning, now.

 

At least he’s deep enough in wilderness to avoid disaster to the city, five days away from their old village. He helped her thatch the roof just a few days ago, carried the straw through cobbled streets choking with filth and consumption. The market vendors will feel sorry enough for her that she’ll be able to afford the carnations.

 

It’s cloudy enough that it might take a day for someone to notice. Strangely, he feels almost calm, eyelids falling.

 

“Little boy, are you giving up now?” a voice asks, a rumble that he knows is the dragon, and he knows he doesn’t regret this. He can’t, and he can’t stop, now. He knows, now.

 

Aubrey opens his eyes and burns, grinning.