" Because it should have been me. I would have been perfect for the prophecy. I would be brilliant at saving the world. I would also have been brilliant at leading the other dragonets, proving that NightWings are the best tribe, and making sure things happened exactly as we wanted them to. Just one problem: I didn’t hatch on the brightest night. I hatched two years too early. STUPID SNIVELING MOONS IN THE WRONG PLACE AT THE WRONG TIME. And so you know who got to be the all-special chosen NightWing instead? My little brother. HOW UNFAIR IS THAT? I was even there when his magical destiny landed on him. I was standing right next to his annoying egg in our hatchery, talking to our mother. Her black scales gleamed in the firelight as she curled around it, brushing the eggshell lightly with her claws. “Take me hunting,” I wheedled. I don’t wheedle anymore, just for the record. “Please? I need help. I keep losing my prey after I bite it, and I think other dragons are eating it before I find it again.” So we’re clear, I didn’t really need help. I mean, I was as hungry as everyone, but I can take care of myself. What I wanted was for Mother to stop being drippy and boring and for her to leave that egg alone for even half a second. “I can’t, little one.” Mother sighed one of her long, scale-rippling sighs that made her tail flop over. “What if something happens to my egg while I’m gone? It’s so close to hatching now. "
― , Prisoners (Wings of Fire: Winglets, #1)