Page 130 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Alaire nodded. Flying was the one thing she’d come to treasure as much as reading. She gripped Solflara’s braid tightly, eager for the rush of wind through her hair. Mastering aerial techniques had become a pivotal part of her new regimen.
All at once, the two creatures launched skyward.
Solflara’s fiery wings beat rhythmically as the ground dropped away, the forest below shrinking into miniature stalks of broccoli. Thrill surged through Alaire as sparks trailed from Solflara’s purple tail.
Dawson manipulated the wind to carry his voice. “Utilize your environment. Trust your instincts.”
“Got it!” she shouted back.
His thumbs-up was their cue.
Alaire and Solflara split away, circling wide to face Dawson and Beck across the open air. Hesitation and excitement pounded in her chest. Leaning forward, she urged Solflara into a dive.
The phoenix responded instantly, falling into a steady, familiar rhythm.
Dawson and Beck mirrored their descent at blinding speed. Wind howled in Alaire’s ears as she tightened her grip, eyes locking on Dawson’s raven hair.
“Now,Solf.”
“Wewillbe having a conversation about using that name.”
“Focus.”
“I can multitask.”
Solflara rolled into a perfect circle spiral around Beck, but Dawson led him into a sharp turn, avoiding with practiced ease.
They pushed each other to their limits, executing every maneuver drilled into them at the Aeriel Coliseum—and improvising when instinct demanded. Through their mental bond, Alaire guided dives, banking turns, spotting openings. Yet when Solflara’s aerial instincts surpassed hers, she let the phoenix take the lead.
The sky became a blur of color and motion, phoenix and griffin locked in a deadly ballet.
No matter how hard they pressed, Dawson and Beck remained one step ahead. Every time she thought they had an opening, Dawson maneuvered Beck into a climb or dive, always fighting to gain the higher ground—always angling for the strike position.
Time to act.
“Now,Solflara.”
Her phoenix unleashed a burst of fire, a flaming barrier across the sky. As Dawson and Beck veered to avoid it, Solflara dove and rolled, giving them a precious moment to regroup.
Seizing the moment, Alaire pulled sharply on the braid, signaling Solflara to climb. The distraction worked—they gained altitude, positioning themselves above Dawson, ready to strike.
“Time to turn the tables.”
“They won’t know what hit them.”
When the flames cleared, Dawson realized they’d used his own tactic against him.
Solflara tilted forward, and Alaire pressed into her back. Their sheer speed made her grin; she was downright giddy. They were so close—just a few more inches, and victory would be theirs.
At the last possible moment, Dawson’s sharp command echoed through the skies: “Beck, break right! Let’s remind them who’s the best.”
The griffin responded instantly, their communication seamless. Beck climbed steeply, wings slicing the sky, then flipped into a half-loop. Rolling over, he faced them head-on.
Alaire tried to track him, but the swift reversal disoriented her. Before she could react, Dawson rang out behind her: “Got you.”
Beck’s talons grazed Solflara with a lover’s longing, mimicking a simulated hit.
The current hollowed out around her—air magic.
