To the east everyone Aurora knew was being killed by fairy tales. Their screams were fresh in her mind. Atop the great rock she wept and waited for a legend. In the forest below the fairy tales sought her.

From the direction of the setting sun a wind rose. She turned to face it and wiped her tears angrily. She knew it would carry her scent to the things. The last rays of the dying sun blinded her, but behind her she could hear claws on stone. It wouldn’t be long now.

Suddenly, fire lit the night. The rock shuddered with a tremendous impact that drove Aurora to her hands and knees and the things to the ground below. There was a deafening roar and fire spilled into the forest. Fairy tales screeched and died.

“You came!” She struggled to stand again.

A great head dipped toward her. His voice reverberated in her chest: “Aurora. Rider. We can save some still.”

Tears came again. “Thank you,” she whispered and slid astride his neck. Muscles bunched and they leapt into the sky, a legend to fight a fairy tale.