Squished between a plump banshee and a raccoon eating a literal garbage sandwich, Larkspur resigned herself to another long day at the Golden Ring DMV. For comfort, she buried her nose in her cloak. Larkspur drew in a deep breath of brimstone. This morning’s flying lesson with Scarlet had been perfect. K turns, reversing, even parallel docking, Larkspur hadn’t made a single slip up. Today would be different.

After giving her favorite dragon a rub down, Larkspur wolfed out to catch the early magic carpet to town. Buttercup would have flown her, but after four failures Larkspur just couldn’t bear another cheering up session. Having her own flying license would open so many doors for them on the farm.

“C347.”

“Honey I think they’re calling your number,” the selkie gushed, spraying saltwater in Larkspur’s face.

Nodding her thanks, Larkspur wiped her face and felt fur. No not again! Werewolves were cool and great at parties but transforming mid flight is absolutely forbidden. Larkspur slapped a hand over her hand as a growl rumbled in her throat. The raccoon waggled his eyebrows at her.

“C347. Going once, going twice, trust me I won’t say it thrice.”

Slip in hand, Larkspur pulled her cloak over her head to camouflage her pointy ears. Lightning fast, she tossed the numbered slip at the DMV clerk. Just as quickly the clerk’s tongue flew out and snagged it. Counting backwards, Larkspur concentrated on retracting her claws.

“Sorry I’m a wee bit nervous,” Larkspur said. “Any words of encouragement.”

“I don’t get paid enough to be inspirational,” the clerk said as he reviewed her paperwork. “Take this form to the yellow zone. Mr. Mandrake will be administering your test.”

Larkspur was furious. Her good day was slipping through her paws. With each step she grew angrier. She was sick of failing, sick of feeling small, and most of all sick of the DMV. With a howl, Larkspur leapt on the first dragon she saw. With the wind in her fangs, she spurred the test dragon to the sky.