The culling-pens stink of salt and rust. In the smallest pool, a sea-dragon hatchling shivers behind the bars, no bigger than Nerai herself. Its wings are dull gray, and one fin is notched from birth. The breed-masters have chalked a white cross on its side: runt, unfit, to be drowned at dawn. Nerai grips the cold bars. She has until sunrise.

Nerai decides to steal it. She finds the keeper's keys hanging by the gate and slips one into the lock of the small pool. It clicks open. The hatchling lifts its head and stares at her with wide silver eyes.

The hatchling is too scared to move. It backs into the corner of the pool and whimpers. Nerai climbs in beside it, the cold water soaking her legs, and holds out her open hands. 'I'm not them,' she whispers. 'I'm here to get you out.'

Slowly the hatchling creeps forward and climbs into her arms. Nerai carries it out of the pool and toward the sea-gate, water dripping from them both. The yard is empty and silent. The way is clear.