The world looked different from dragonback.
Aragon had known this since he was eleven years old and Elivira had been young enough that her wingspan barely cleared the stable roof, and the first time she'd lifted him into the air he'd made a sound that he had subsequently refused to describe to anyone and that Elivira still occasionally brought up at inconvenient moments. He knew it the way he knew the weight of a sword in his hand or the smell of rain on stone — completely, in the body, past the point where knowing required any conscious thought.
But knowing didn't make it smaller.
