There we are, Anna whispered. The dragon foal went still at her voice. Then it snorted and swiveled its snout towards her, its eyes still shut. Its tail quivered; its nostrils flared. A menacing growl rose from its chest. Easy there, Anna said gently. Easy. She placed her palm on its forehead, applying calm pressure between its eyes. The foal gave a satisfied snort, settled back against Nightlove’s flank — and then it opened its eyes. They were big, blank, and sightless. Like white, silvery moons. The baby dragon had been born blind . . . .