I took a step back, feeling the deadly drop behind me as a hollow chill in my gut.  Mane bristling, the young wyvern came forward.  I thought of calling for help, but Nur'Vari was away, and no other adults were close enough to hear, assuming any of them would rescue me if they could.   Desperately, I tried to think of his name.  He was a fosterling, I knew that much.  His parents... my heart sank.  His parents had been killed by humans.  Humans like me.  He moved again, pushing me further back.  I felt open air behind me, my heel resting on the very edge of the cliff.
"Go on, then, fly away," he taunted.
I looked into his eyes and saw no mercy.  He wasn't going to stop.  He was going to kill me, here and now.  I couldn't fight him.  I couldn't flee him.  I did the only think I could think to do.  I started to sing.
It was a wyvern mourning song, one of the first I had learned.  I wove into it other words in the ancient singing-tongue, words of lost family and friends, of sorrow and pain, of fear and the fear that hope could bring when all the world was turned upside-down.  The fosterling reared back as if struck a blow, mane still bristled but chest shuddering uncertainly, listening until my song had ended.
"Why... why do you sing of my grief?" he asked slowly, unsure if I was singing in sympathy or mockery.
I looked into his eyes again and held his gaze, letting him look into my eyes too, hoping he could see my heart as I could see his.
"I sing of my grief, as well," I told him. "I lost my parents, too..."