---
Fenna obeyed, stepping barefoot into the center. The heat here was different, it was concentrated, deliberate. It curled along her calves, tugged at her chest.
The Matron's wings spread wide. She began to move. One slow step forward. One sweeping motion of her neck. Her talons scraped rhythm into the stone.
Fenna blinked. "I'm supposed to copy you?"
"No. You are supposed to feel me. Then answer."
The first time Fenna tried to follow the rhythm, she stumbled. Her foot caught a ripple of molten stone. Her motion was stiff. Wrong. Emberling tilted her head, confused.
"Stop thinking," the Matron chided. "Let the flame speak."
Fenna closed her eyes. She inhaled the ash. Exhaled her doubts. And then she began to move.
Her arms swung in gentle arcs. Her steps matched the slow thrum in her chest. A swirl of flame licked around her ankles, not to harm her but to accompany.
She moved again. Twirled. Sank into a crouch. Rose with a spin.
The volcano responded.
