"Do you feel it, boy? Do you feel the mist preparing?"Darius en Kragin squeezed his eyes tightly closed, his tutor's words echoing in his mind. Did he feel it? Gods, yes. Even though he was only eight seasons, he felt it. Felt his skin prickle with cold, felt the sickening wave of acid in his throat as the mist enveloped him. He even felt his veins quicken with a deceptively sweet, swirling essence that was not his own.Fighting the urge to bolt up the cavern steps and into the palace above, he tensed his muscles and fisted his hands at his sides.I must stay. I must do this.Slowly Darius forced his eyelids to open. He released a pent-up breath as his gaze locked with Javar's. His tutor stood shrouded by the thickening, ghostlike haze, the bleak walls of the cave at his back."This is what you will feel each time the mist summons you, for this means a traveler is nearby," Javar said. "Never stray far from this place. You may live above with the others, but you must always return here when called.""I do not like it here." His voice shook. "The cold weakens me.""Other dragons are weakened by cold, but not you. Not any longer. The mist will become a part of you, the coldness your most beloved companion. Now listen," he commanded softly. "Listen closely."At first Darius heard nothing. Then he began to register the sound of a low, tapering whistle-a sound that reverberated in his ears