Ember spread her wings against the thunder and spotted a tiny mouse clinging to a swaying branch, its paws slipping on the wet bark. The rain drummed like a thousand tiny feet on her scales, and she tucked her chin, ready.
She dove into the storm, but wind slammed her sideways and rain blinded her eyes. Ember flapped harder, one wing catching a droplet that exploded cold against her cheek, and she realigned toward the swaying branch.
Ember reached the branch just as it cracked — the mouse let out a squeak and dropped. She snatched the mouse into her claws, tucked it against her belly, and banked hard toward the cliff where a dark cave mouth yawned.
Inside, a low golden glow pulsed from glowing moss on the walls. Ember set the mouse down, and it blinked up at her, trembling — then unclenched its paws and offered her a dried blueberry from its cheek pouch.
Ember took the blueberry, then pulled a half-eaten cracker from her saddlebag and broke it in two. Crumbs dusted the mossy floor. The storm outside thinned to a steady patter.
The mouse curled against Ember's warm scales, and together they listened as the rain slowed to a whisper and the first golden light of dawn touched the mountain.
Ember stepped to the cave mouth and watched the world below — the rain had stopped, and a perfect rainbow arched over the sleeping village.
Ember tucked her wings and glided down toward the village, the mouse riding safely in her saddlebag, both of them ready for whatever came next.