Kingdom of Ash

Not as the wyverns peeled apart and then
banked, executing perfect, razor-sharp turns
that had them meeting once more, rising up
into the sky, tails snapping as they locked
talons.
Up and up, Iskra and Petrah flew. Wyverns
slashing and biting, claws locking, jaws
snapping. Up through the levels of fighting in
the skies, up through Crochans and Ironteeth,
up through the wisps of clouds.
A race, a mockery of the mating dance of
the wyverns, to rise to the highest point of the
sky and then plummet down to the earth as
one.
Ironteeth halted their fighting. Crochans
stilled in midair. Even on the battlefield,
Morath soldiers looked up.
The two Heirs shot higher and higher and
higher. And when they reached a place where
even the wyverns could not draw enough air