Sand flooded back into the hole Suresh was trying to dig. Cursing, he blocked the flow with his shovel. At this rate, it would take him a lifetime to locate Abiral’s Goblet.
Sweat stinging his eyes, he gazed around the dunes of Dryagana Mrtyu: Dragon’s Death. No movement, and most importantly, no sand dragons.
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The golden surface of the waterfall shimmered as sunlight fell upon it. I gasped.
Finally, I could be cured.
I climbed over the last rock with renewed vigor, but a sudden dread settled in my stomach, stifling any previous excitement.
So many legends spoke of this place
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tore through the woods, paws churning up soft dirt. The smell of mud and recent rainfall filled my snout as I raced through the bracken, desperate to reach the castle. Her scent was fading quickly. Soon even my powerful senses would be useless.
But I had to keep moving. Please let me be on time.
“You find them in the weirdest places,” Aida said to me.
She overturned a rock. A black and yellow-spotted salamander scampered beneath a nearby mossy log.
“I haven’t looked for salamanders since elementary school,” I said, getting ready to squat next to her. “I’m game.”
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“Would you move, you worthless bag of feathers!” I put my full weight behind the shove I give my gryphon, but it’s no use.
He’s rooted. He’s staring. Strike that, he’s pining. He’s literally wiggling his feathery eyebrows… at her.
My forehead slumps against Griff’s furry shoulder.
Heather Dewslip ambles towards the green,
“Now, see here!” Rex glared down at the little black dog sinking its teeth into his toe. “If anyone in this family should be devouring enemies, it’s me.”
The dog craned its neck to peer at the dragon. There was a moment of blessed silence. But then… “Woof! Woof-woof! Woo-oo-oof!”
Time is running out.
So help me, if I can’t get this stupid locker open and retrieve my dragon’s muzzle, I can’t go to my Dragon Hatcher’s Apprenticeship class. And if I miss one more class, I’ll be kicked out of the program, and my life-long dream of becoming a full-fledged dragon hatcher
The legends warned never to wound a dragon. Those compelled by foolishness or drink to attack such a beast must slay it or perish, for a wound would invoke The Dragon’s Spite. In all their days, the dragon would never tire of hunting the offender. However, none of the legends spoke to my circumstance.
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I stumbled out of the beam of light, doing my best to keep my balance on the icy sidewalk.
The house seemed smaller than I’d been expecting. All the houses were smaller than I’d expected.
“Where am I?” I asked Mission Control.
“Human village.” Cheryl smacked her gum in my earpiece.
Basket snug under her arm, Elmira scanned the forest floor. A long, paper-thin material poked out among the nettles—a discarded dragon skin. It was yellow and curled, probably a few days old. Still, she had to be on the right track.
Where are you? She swiped a hand across her brow.
The blizzard howled around the entrance of the cave, sending flurries of ice and snow washing over the floor. Normally that wouldn’t concern me, but it was summer.
I blinked, looking away from the white swirl and focusing on Ma, who shivered slightly and blew a steady stream of fire into the pit between us and the storm.
Hey, Dragonbreath. Camping this weekend. U in?
A wisp of smoke accompanied my snort as I stuck my phone back in my pocket. Camping. The only social event I’d been invited to in years. Not that I could blame them after my laugh fried Craig’s gaming system at fourteen.
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