Andreja’s nights and days were laced with anxiety. She kept thinking of the two boys murdered by Radke and Mori. She thought of them constantly even now. They had just been children! And they hadn’t been threats to Andreja’s father’s new crown. Sure, they were nephews of Cersei. But hell - they wouldn’t have threatened Balerion’s reign. Cersei had murdered their mother, after all. And their two sisters had escaped; they also still had family out there somewhere, surely. What would happen when they demanded justice for the two slaughtered children? Radke had died in the plague, but there was still Mori. He was Balerion’s beta, too. Andreja’s own uncle, who had butchered a boy. The thought was enough to make Andreja sick.
She curled outside her den, breathing in the warming summer air, scaled violet wings folded neatly against her back. She felt like she fit in more ever since they had appeared, together with her horns and the scales that blanketed her paws and underbelly.

“Moi j'veux crever la main sur le coeur!”