Page 106 of Dream Reaper

Ava could see it in her mind, the forbidden barrow, the desperate mother longing for a child. Her own heart cried out a wish that this mother would find her child somewhere. But that haunting melody stirred a premonition inside her that suggested it wouldn’t be that easy.

When iron winds split sky and stone

And labor wracked her form,

The cradle smoked with scale and fang⁠—

A rootwyrm prince was born.

Scaled was the babe and white his eye,

Like a barrow-worm his body coiled,

And the midwife fled the birthing room

Across the frozen whale-road.

The king he swore by sword and ring,

By war-flame forged of sky,

“Cast out this wyrm, this serpent child,

And let the wyrmkind die!”

One of the children gasped in horror, pressing her hands over her mouth at this very unparental king.

But the queen she wrapped him in scarlet silk

From the loom-hall’s crimson dye,

And would not yield the scale-born child

Nor neglect his hungry cry.

He grew in girth, he grew in length,

He wound through hall and stair,

And the hearth fires hissed like shade-wolves

When his shadow crossed their glare.

“Bring me a bride,” the rootwyrm spoke,

His voice like gravel and flame.

“For I am prince of blood and crown,

And I will have my claim.”

One bride they brought in linen white⁠—

He swallowed her with a sigh.

Another came with golden hair⁠—

She did not live to cry.