Bracken reached the drop before anyone understood what he meant to do.
His good wing opened against the wind. The injured one dragged half-spread behind him, catching snow and knocking it into the storm crypt path. He had no chance of flying. Grief had not made his bones foolish, but the homebell above him had rung in Harrow's hand.
The copper-backed wyvern came out of the cloud sideways.
Her left wing beat. Her right wing jerked at the elbow, recovered, then jerked again. A rider lay over her neck with both boots out of their rests and one arm buried in the harness beneath the throat bell.
"Cress!" the rider shouted. "Give me the ledge. Any ledge."
Cress turned toward the nursery wall. The bell beneath her breast gave Harrow's late third beat.
Bracken jumped after the bell.
