There was only ever recorded a single account of the Cumberland dragon; all the way back in 1794. The story was printed in the Knoxville Gazette first, and then reprinted in papers stretching all the way up to the northeast. The account gave a location: Cove Creek.

It bordered North Carolina, making the cramped drive in the Crown Vic long and unpleasant. Nellie had not expected Nathalie to go with them on their dragon searching quest, but it was pointed out by Morgan as they whispered to each other in the backseat that taking ride shares over long distances as they had was unusual and generally frowned upon.

They found Cove Creek to be mountainous and just as rural as Cumberland City, if not more so. They tried searching for a spot to stop and gather some information, or to stretch their legs after the four hour drive, but there was nothing. There were hiking trails and an RV park nearby, but nothing where they could ask about dragon lore or even get something to eat.

“We should’ve brought Ash,” Nellie mused aloud, staring at the abundant woods.

“No,” Nathalie said flatly.

They succumbed to their hunger and pulled off at the RV park to get directions to food. After a five minute drive to what was considered civilization–a three-lane road with a Dollar General and a lot of open spaces–they found a small, wooden building scarcely larger than a shed surrounded by a dirt lot. Several cars were parked, and the picnic tables boasted clusters of people.

“This looks quick enough,” Nathalie said. “Shall we?”

Amias eyed the shack dubiously as they approached. His complexion turned ashy as his eyes scanned the menu on the side of the building.

“Cash only,” Nathalie murmured. She dug around in her bag. “I do have cash somewhere….”

“Taco… salad,” Amias half-whispered. “What…?”

“Corn dog,” Morgan mused, cocking his head.

Nathalie only had a twenty on her. She carefully factored in the tax, and ordered the food and three waters. She ordered a corn dog for Morgan, a BLT for Amias—Nellie suspecting she believed that would startle his spoiled palate the least—and grilled cheese with a side of cheesy tater tots for herself and Nellie to share.

Morgan gagged on the very first bite of his corndog. Amias grimaced painfully, but managed to eat the BLT. Nellie did not mind her food in the least, and managed to peacefully share it and one of the waters with Nathalie.

“Where do we venture from here,” Amias asked, carefully wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I saw nothing of the sort in the way of information. No library. Not even an info kiosk.”

“You would think there would be some type of tourist trap if the area had a dragon story,” Nathalie said.

“We can ask locals,” Nellie suggested. “That’s how I figured out Ash was a smoke wolf before our internet was installed.” She frowned as Morgan gagged again on his half-eaten corndog. “I should probably do the asking….”

“Will you gentlemen excuse us for a moment,” Nathalie asked. She led Nellie a few feet away. “I’m not fully comfortable with you walking up to strangers, but I should keep an eye on Mr. Baig and Morgan. Prevent them from assisting you, to be blunt.”

Nellie smiled appreciatively. She practically bounded over to the woman in the order window.

“What can I get you, sweetie,” the woman asked.

“Nothing; we just ate,” Nellie said. “I really liked all the cheese you had on the tots. I had a question about the area, and figured you might know.”

“I might… depending on the question. Go ahead.”

“Is there a dragon story,” Nellie asked. She laughed a little. “Sorry, it’s kind of weird. My little cousin over there said he read about a Cumberland dragon in Cove Creek, and he got all excited.” She leaned forward and whispered, “He’s too shy to ask.”

“A dragon story,” the woman mused. “That’s not what I expected.” She hummed. “Nope; can’t recall them mentioning it in school neither. But, if it’s called the Cumberland dragon, maybe it’s nearer Cumberland Gap?”

“Is that near here,” Nellie asked, trying to contain her excitement.

“About two hours, maybe two and a half if the weather ain’t good. Me and the family drive through once or twice a year to go visit the grandparents in Kentucky. There’s a few things to do if you’re the outdoorsy sort.” She shot a glance at Morgan before lowering her voice. “They got a cave. I bet you could tell him the dragon lived deep inside and really make his day.”

“That sounds excellent,” Nellie said, unable to sound mature through her wide smile. “Thanks! And thanks for the food! I’ll make sure to leave you a good review.”

She skipped back to Nathalie and the others with this promising lead.

---

It took a lot of begging and pleading to convince the adults—mostly Nathalie—that they should take an extra trip to Cumberland Gap. She made it known throughout the drive that they could not stay long as they were already going to be stuck in rush hour traffic at least once getting back.

Cumberland Gap, Tennessee was less than a dozen streets nestled in the Cumberland Mountains between the state lines of Kentucky and Virginia. They passed through the town in no time, and parked in the parking lot for the Iron Furnace attraction just across the Virginia border.

“Let’s check this furnace and leave,” Nathalie said. “We can’t spend more than fifteen minutes here.”

“What about the cave,” Nellie asked. “A furnace could be a dragon house, but so could a cave. We can’t skip it.”

“There are places to spend the night if we have need,” Morgan said, glaring at the slow-loading screen of his phone. “My pick would be the bed and breakfast.”

“We are not staying the night,” Nathalie said firmly. “You’re going to the furnace and the cave, forty minutes at most, and we’re leaving.”

They climbed from the car and took in the smells and sights of the hills, spotty in places but returning to green.

“Ah, nature,” Amias said with a grimace. “Well, suppose we should trudge along then.”

Nellie and Morgan took the lead, both because they were more than ready to run around the woods and because Amias and Nathalie were less than enthused to do so. Nellie paused from time to time to allow the adults to close the gap, eavesdropping on their complaints that mostly circled around on how far they drove and how much walking they would be doing.

“–all for a naught,” Nathalie whispered.

“Perhaps so, dear lady, but the children seem happy enough,” Amias said.

“Now, but when they fail to find this dragon, who’s to say?”

“I see it,” Morgan called from ahead, excitement apparent.

Nellie rushed to catch up and soon spotted a stone structure on the top of a small hill. It resembled an old fireplace with an extra wide chimney that appeared short compared to the girth of the body. She was not sure what she had expected when she heard ‘Cumberland Furnace’ but apparently an actual ancient furnace was not it.

She went to the information plaque that helpfully had a trail map. The Cumberland Cave was near with the route being more of a loop away and back than direct. It was likely the terrain that determined it, but she was up for some climbing. She lined up her finger with the mile ledger and set it across the map beyond the Cumberland Cave, eyeing two other cave locations.

“Cumberland Cave isn’t far,” Nellie said. “And there’s a second cave about two miles from that. It shouldn’t be much trouble, especially if we cut through the woods.”

“We are not wandering from the path,” Nathalie said.

“If I may,” Amias interjected. “I have no love of all this wilderness, but we are much more likely to attract a dragon off the path.” He smiled wryly. “Or rather, I am much more likely to attract a dragon.” He set his eyes on Nellie. “I do propose we stay on the path this time, and for as much as we are able towards the second cave.”

“Let’s go,” Morgan said impatiently. “You’ll make us turn around the longer we stand here!”

He ran off, his hazel eyes wild with adventure.

Nellie chased after Morgan with a grin across her face. Amias had agreed to the second cave. She bet she could coax them onto the third. She estimated it was twelve miles, which was not an easy hike by any means, but they had come that far so a bit farther should not be such a big deal. Especially if she promised to never talk about the Cumberland dragon again, as the adults were hoping.

They found the Gap Cave full of people waiting for a guided tour. Nellie went to locate the trail map.

“I doubt this has a dragon,” Nellie said matter-of-factly. “Onto the Skylight Cave.”

It did not take long before Nellie found a deer path wide and welcoming, and in the direction of the Skylight Cave. A bit of nudging got Amias and Nathalie to venture off the path–Morgan sprinting off into the trees also helped.

It was not much longer after this venture off the trail that they started to slow; a combination of the mountainous terrain, lack of water, and general stickiness from all the strenuous exercise. None of them wanted to point out that they could not see any hint of the trail. Phones were brought out to check the time and the service—none.

Nellie’s ears started to pick up every twig snapping. She had not paid much attention to what cryptids lived in Appalachia after discovering what Ash was since Appalachia was not exactly in her backyard. That seemed like a mistake now.

Amias let out a long, mournful moan that caused Nellie, Morgan, and Nathalie to jump. Nellie’s blue eyes darted to him, her heart pounding.

“My boots will be ruined,” Amias lamented, lifting to show the scuffs, scratches, and muck on the suede boots. His lip curled in disgust. “That better be mud.”

A shrill shriek pierced the air. The four of them ducked just in time as a dark, feathery bolt shot towards Amias. He frantically grabbed a stick, waved it, and erected a glowing dome over himself. The hawk screeched and scratched at it on its second pass.

“Shoo,” Nathalie ordered, flapping her arms. “Shoo!”

“I bet there’s a nest around here,” Nellie said. “Aww, I wonder if the babies hatched!”

“Perenelle,” Nathalie panted, “help!”

Nellie slipped out of her jacket to wave it at the disgruntled hawk. Her efforts with Nathalie’s managed to make it retreat. The three of them stood completely still, listening hard for if it was coming back. (Morgan sat nearby watching with amusement.) After a moment, Amias dropped his dome and Nathalie and Nellie relaxed.

“My eternal thanks,” Amias breathed. He shuttered. “Nature.”

“Only the predatory types, Amias, you’re too broad,” Morgan said airily. He slid off his boulder. “Now then… do we head back now? I did manage to see a plate of pancakes with whipped cream on that bed and breakfast page before I gave up hope of it loading.”

“No pancakes,” Nathalie said firmly, turning in place. “Back to the car, back to the house, and then you two will go back to Europe. Oh, blast it all, which way did we come from?”

They decided on a direction with all the confidence of a blind man crossing the highway at rush hour. Unease began to settle as the shadows caused by the sparse canopy deepened with the lowering sun. 

Nellie was no longer whispering tactics to break away to force Amias and Nathalie to continue finding the dragon. She doubted it existed. She clung to herself, giving a shiver at the dropping temperature.

“I refuse to sleep outside again,” Amias muttered under his breath. “I won’t. I won’t do it.”

A slight gurgling reached Nellie’s ears. “Water,” she murmured. She stopped. “That’s water!”

She led the charge to the creek, dropping in the mud and scooping handfuls of freezing water into her mouth. She slowed her drinking with her thirst quenched, narrowing her eyes to make out a track in the mud. She used her phone’s flashlight to illuminate the creekbed.

It was not a single track, but tracks. They looked like goose feet, but at least double the size and with a wider stride. The impression in the mud was much too heavy for a regular Canadian goose.

“I remember seeing many creeks crossing the trekking paths,” Nathalie said. “If we follow this, we may find one.”

“Anything to get back to civilization,” Amias grumbled. “Master Morgan, how are you fairing?”

Nellie crept along the tracks, ignoring Morgan whining his exhaustion and chilliness to Amias. The tracks led up the opposite back. She held her phone high, but the long grasses hid the footprints. She jumped the creek and scrambled up the bank.

“Nellie? What are you doing,” Nathalie called.

She strained to see beyond where her light shone. The back of her neck prickled.

The weedy trees whipped aside as a something launched up and towards them. All of them screamed. Nellie fell backwards into the stream, yanked out by Nathalie as she tried to bolt only to fall in the slick mud, trapping Morgan in her mad grab at him as well. She was jerked again, this time the other way back into the stream, as Amias shoved Nathalie towards the opposite side of the creek.

They stood (or slumped) divided by the creek and the creature; Amias on the side they had come from and Nathalie with the children on the side the creature had come from.

It was reptilian given that it was covered in scaly skin; Nellie seeing from her flashlight it was mostly black and brown, like the forest shadows, but with spotted dapples of light yellow similar to the sunbeams that managed to break the canopy. It did not have a long, thin snot like the dragons in her fairytales. It was snorter, more bulldog-esque, which somehow made the snarling worse.

The dragon stood on its two legs to around four feet. Its red eyes looked from Nathalie and the children, the rumble deepening in its chest, before swerving its white-tuffed head at Amias. It opened its wide mouth in a roar that sounded like an angry, dying bull. The red ooze dripping from its maw smoked as it hit the leaf litter.

“Find a trail back,” Amias urged, throwing up a shield as the dragon leapt at him. “I’ll meet you shortly! Go!”

Nellie could not move, or would not. Nathalie dragged her off by her arm before she figured out which. There was no knowing if they were running straight into the dragon’s lair. There was no telling what would happen by leaving Amias behind. She halted, hunching over and holding her knees. She wheezed and held the stitch in her side.

“We… can’t leave…,” Nellie tried to get out.

“He said… to,” Nathalie panted, clutching her chest.

There was a long pause filled with their ragged breathing.

“Do you think it’s your mother,” Morgan asked, still leaning against a tree. He was not as winded, but still gulped the air.

The thought had not crossed her mind. The moment the dragon appeared, her only thought was to get away from it. She had completely forgotten why they were looking for it. Although, her thought was more to find signs of Ira than to find her mother.

They shuddered as the dragon’s bullish roar sounded. There was a flash, a glow, from that direction.

“We need to find a ranger,” Nathalie said gravely. “Quickly!”

Nellie’s insides squirmed as they moved further away from Amias and the dragon. Her head swiveled repeatedly back for signs of either of them, her fingers biting through her jacket as she held herself. She flinched as another roar cut the sky.

“We can’t leave him back there,” Nellie blurted, spinning around.

She shut out Nathalie’s frantic screams as she ran back towards the creek. Her heart was threatening to burst from her chest from more than just the excursion.

Amias was panting, wet, muddy; his neat hair a mess. He took his eyes from the dragon when Nellie broke into the creekbed, a look of dumbfoundment on his face.

“Nellie–?”

The dragon bodied him, knocking him down with a hard ram of its head.

“Amias!” Nellie dropped, grabbing rocks and hurling them at the dragon. “Ira! Ira, help! Where are you?”

Her cold fingers failed to dig up any more rocks in her spot. She tried to stand to move spots, her knees giving out as she stared into the large, red eyes before her. She trembled, zeroing in on the blood red ooze dribbling from its snarling jaws. Her mouth dropped open to scream, but no sound came out.

The dragon smashed into an invisible wall, light spreading across the air where it hit. Its hot, rotten breath was not blocked by the shield.

“Nellie,” Amias croaked. His expression was strained as he held both hands up towards the dragon. “Move!”

She scrambled out of the creek just as the dragon broke through Amias’s shield. She managed a gasping scream as it smashed into the creek where she had been sitting. She hurried around and over to Amias, pulling at his arm.

“Come on,” she urged.

“G-go,” he breathed. “I’m too… exhausted.”

She sobbed, pulling at him but barely budging him. She threw her whole weight against him, slipped, and found herself lying in the mud. She was yanked and thrown, finding herself behind Amias.

His breathing was rough as he held up his shield. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his body shuttered each time the dragon rammed into the barrier.

“I-Ira,” Nellie called.

The dragon hunkered down and jumped double its height, clean over Amias and his shield. It landed behind them, snarling.

There came a pop, pop, pop, and a long hiss. Putrid, dark smoke filled the creekbed. Nellie was forced to shut her eyes, tears streaming to lessen their burning. Amias joined her in deep, hacking coughs. The choking, rumbling coughs of the dragon echoed over their own coughs. The sound of its tail snaking through the brush, of it crashing through branches, died away as it took off.

“N-Nellie,” Amias choked.

“H-here,” Nellie got out, the peppery smoke burning her throat. She waved her arms about, gripping Amias’s leg when she found it.

The gentle, constant breeze soon dissipated the smoke enough that Nellie felt it easier to open her eyes, although they still hurt and her vision was mildly blurry from the tears.

The slender figure of a young woman stood against the twilight sky.

“Ira, Ira, Ira,” her voice came mockingly.

Nellie squinted as a light was turned on directly in her face. She fought to stare through it to no avail.

“Ira isn't here, and I’m no prince charming.”

--------------------------------

Started this on my phone when I was up north. It was slow going, but got here in the end. With a dragon! Amias being magic means animals (mostly predatory types) don't like him. I thought to have a bobcat or bear show up first, but liked the idea of him being dive bombed by a sharp-shinned hawk. It was supposed to give an opening for Amias to complain about his energy=magic being depleted because of all the activity, lack of food, lack of water, ect. but it was too clunky.

“What about your next holiday,” Morgan asked.

Nellie was sweeping out Ash’s house while Morgan leaned against the doorway and watched.

They had apologized profusely after their failed attempt to find the Cumberland dragon. Nellie doubted how heartfelt Morgan was, but it was enough to convince his mother when he called her that evening. The following day had been quiet with them closely watched by Nathalie, Uncle Winston, and Amias when they were not shuttered in Nellie’s room.

Amias dropped Morgan off alone on Thursday, saying he needed to confer with the Regere. Morgan could not guess what the talk was about, and was not that interested in speculating on it. He was focused on finding an opening for their next adventure.

“Summer? No way,” Nellie said, shaking her head dismissively. “I’m surely grounded, and there is no way my aunt will let me out of her sight.”

Nathalie was in her workshop, half keeping an eye on them and half needing to get her prep work down for the multiple metal flowers she would be making for people to put in their gardens now that it was obvious the cold was gone. Or what people in Tennessee considered the cold; Nellie still found it a bit chilly.

It felt less weird calling Nathalie her aunt, but she still tried not to use it as a prefix. That did feel weird.

Nellie inched by Morgan with her pile of sheddings. “Besides, I doubt you’ll be out of your mother’s sight once you get home.”

“Ugh, you don’t understand how right you are,” Morgan groaned. He brightened. “What if you visit? Surely there are dragon stories we can look into in Lisbon.”

“But Ira was looking here,” Nellie said.

Morgan scoffed, “I’m sure his highness is pleased to have a moment alone.”

“There’s also the thing about my father not wanting yours near me,” Nellie said.

“Semantics.”

Nellie frowned. “Pretty sure that isn’t how you use that….” She wiped her brow, and leaned on her broom. “Finally! He’s shedding so much right now. Where is he anyway?”

“Ran off after a bird,” Morgan said, shrugging. He was boredly playing a matching game on his phone. “Still say asking for a summer visit is the best move.” He smirked a smirk that she had seen in the mirror countless times. “Unless you want to go the unscheduled route?”

“It worked so well this time,” she said sarcastically.

“Nellie, lovey,” Uncle Winston called from the front steps.

She forced Morgan to take the broom, hurrying towards the house while wiping her sweaty, sore hands on her jeans.

Uncle Winston had his packed duffle by the door. It was decided last night that he would order a rideshare in order to have an adult at the house with the kids; Nathalie being the obvious choice even had Amias been available.

He gave her a firm hug and clapped her shoulders, lightly shaking her back and forth. His expression was strained but not unhappy.

“It’s unfair I ask, but have patience with Nat,” he said. His blue eyes looked over her head, out the door. “And I urge you to be careful. Rhys was distraught, but adamant that this Regere fellow was dangerous. His son is a boy, but still a tread to him.”

“Ira didn’t seem to think my uncle was dangerous,” Nellie said, trying to be assertive but falling short. Morgan did not seem to like his father and it did not help put him in a more pleasant light.

“Be careful, Perenelle,” Uncle Winston repeated more firmly. He looked at his phone. “My car will be along shortly. I’ll meet it at the road to avoid provoking your furry friend.”

Nellie squeezed Uncle Winston. She gulped the lump in her throat, dragging her feet as she followed him from the house. She hung back near Ash’s house, waving as he rounded the curve in the driveway, disappearing.

“It’s nice you have an uncle that likes you,” Morgan said.

“You don’t?”

“My mother has no brothers and her sister is currently unmarried,” Morgan said.

She remembered Uncle Winston mentioning her mother’s older siblings appeared indifferent to the fact that she existed, and were blatant about not wanting to take her in. Morgan must have been blacklisted in the same manner. He had said their shared grandfather did not like him and did not visit; Nellie had been too surprised (and happy) by his appearance to pay it any attention.

“What about our grandmother,” Nellie asked. “Does she like you?”

He stared at her with a mildly disturbed expression. “What an odd thing to ask someone. Completely random.”

“We’re talking about family members not liking or liking us,” Nellie said flatly. She straightened to easier pull her phone from her pocket after a blop sounded. “Amias is heading back. He wants to know if you want anything to eat.”

“Will your aunt be making anything,” Morgan asked.

“Probably not,” Nellie said. “She’s cutting spoons. That’ll keep her busy for the next two hours at least.”

Nellie had Morgan make his opinions known using voice messages to save her from trying to text his complaints over the lack of options. The Wi-Fi was too weak near Ash’s house for a phone call or video call, saving Amias from being harassed.

Ash poofed nearby. He bounded towards them with his feet turning to black smoke and reforming. A dead bird hung from his mouth, and he looked unmistakably proud.

---

Nathalie let them eat their lunch in Nellie’s room. She had a sneaking feeling that Nathalie had warmed to Amias and with her friends lacking to nonexistent, was looking forward to some adult conversation. She was more than happy to let them chat and stay shuttered in her room with her cousin.

Morgan had demolished his French toast stuffed with ham and melted cheese. He picked at his side of fruit, either his stomach realizing it was stuffed or him being tired from the exhaustive pace he had eaten at.

Nellie was more controlled with her mac’n’cheese. She never had it with chicken in it before, and was having a good time finding pieces of tender chicken in every few bites.

“She sends me sweets and visits much more often than our grandfather,” Morgan said.

“Uh… what?”

“Our grandmother,” Morgan said, a ‘duh’ was implied with his tone. “You asked if she liked me. She does. Or tries to.”

“I asked almost two hours ago,” Nellie said. She poised her fork and stabbed it as if hunting with a harpoon. “What’s she like?”

They spent the next hour exchanging grandparent stories. Morgan had no connection to Rhys’s side, but seemed to enjoy the comparisons between Granddad and Grandfather Agarwal and listened to Nellie describing Nana in polite perplexity. Didi Eileen apparently was more into juice bars and styling her hair to show off how gracefully she was aging than knitting, baking, and making Christmas crackers.

“She sounds oddly glamorous,” Nellie said. She sighed wistfully. “I wonder if my mother is anything like her?” She laughed. “She didn’t pass any glamor to me. Maybe that's nurture, not nature?” She awkwardly moved the last bit of mac’n’cheese around. “Has she ever mentioned me?”

“Of course not,” Morgan said. He must have noticed Nellie’s glumness, because then he hastily added, “Never to me, at least. You know they see me as a child. They never say anything to me.”

She fought the urge to tease him for being younger.

“Ready for the madeleines,” Morgan asked, grabbing the styrofoam box that contained six nutty madeleines.

“Start without me,” Nellie said, setting her fork down. “I’ll need a minute.” 

She crinkled her freckled nose as Morgan shoved a whole one in his mouth. It was weirdly fascinating watching his cheeks get smaller as he chewed.

“You know something,” Nellie said as a thought popped into her head. “I never asked what it is your dad does.” She was unable to get an answer with Morgan’s mouth so full. “I know it’s not anything involving the Order of Ferblanc, because Ira told me the knights were people sensitive to magic but not magic. And that they go around and cancel out mage stuff if it’s too dangerous or something. What was the other one he mentioned?”

She went to the small notepad she kept near her bed–now that it was safe to do so with Ash outside fulltime. She had added notes ever since Ira left, having the suspicion that random scrap paper would not suffice beyond the list of cryptids the old people at the coffee shop had mentioned months ago.

In the first few pages she put the mentioned cryptids, giving each a page to themselves should she need to add more like she had with the white screamer and gryphon (ex: Cecily). The Order of Ferblanc followed, and the page after is where she wrote: Keepers.

“Is the Regere involved with the Keepers. Or Stalkers,” Nellie asked. She frowned. “ Kind of a terrible name. But, Ira said his parents were called Stalkers. Is that how all of you know each other?”

Her cheeks burned as Morgan laughed at her. Everyone seemed to forget that she knew absolutely nothing about any of this four months ago.

“The Regere is the leader of the Auctorita,” Morgan said with an air of superiority.

“I’m sure I’d be so impressed if I knew what that was,” Nellie said dryly.

“For crying out loud, you really are naive,” Morgan said. “Don’t glare at me, Nellie; it’s true. Not your fault.” His eyes shot to her notebook. “Is that all you know? Give it here. I want to see what you’ve been kept in the dark about.”

She begrudgingly handed over her notebook. It did not take Morgan more than a minute to get through it. She felt nervous as a frown overtook his face.

“So… am I on the right track, or…?”

“Think you can get me some milk or something,” Morgan asked. “The madeleines are good, but you can’t eat cakes without a drink.”

That could not be a good sign. She opted not to force him to answer, gathered their used dishes and containers, and eased out of her room. She froze as Nathalie’s and Amias’s low voices leaked out from the living room.

“--brat,” Nathale said. “Forgive the bluntness.”

“Forgiven tenfold,” Amias said. “I was nearly five years sober before he appeared outside the townhouse.”

“I worry his influence on Nellie,” Nathalie said. “Even when Rhys disappeared to join that Order, even with Nellie popping up with stories of fantastical animals, I still felt I could handle things. But now… magic, and dragons, and who knows what else.” Nathalie’s heavy sigh reached the hallway nook where Nellie hovered. “Perhaps I’m losing my grip because our relationship has changed.”

“It is quite a lot,” Amias said. There was a pause. “I do have a thought.”

Nellie internally admonished herself for her timing. Her precarious pile in her hands was tripping too much for her to sit still any longer. She gave the baseboard a tap with her foot to let them know she was coming—the idea being to keep them comfortable so she could attempt to listen in after dropping off the plates—paused, and entered the living room.

She stole looks at the two adults as she poured glasses of milk. They were murmuring pleasantly about nothing important.

“Nellie,” Morgan called, sticking his head out of the door. “What’s keeping you?”

“Enjoying yourselves,” Amias asked.

“We will be,” Morgan said. “I think it’ll be great fun explaining the Auctorita, and all such things. There’s so much she doesn’t know!”

Amias and Nathalie both turned shades of gray.

Nellie went back to her room, pleased with their reactions. She settled on her bed, criss-crossing her legs, and leaning towards Morgan with anticipation.

“Where to start…,” Morgan mused. His brows knitted. “Perhaps with the question; have you ever heard the phrase ‘protector of the realm’?”

“Um, sure,” Nellie said uncertainly. “It’s part of a Game of Thrones meme with long titles. I wasn’t allowed to watch it for obvious reasons, but I did hear it ended horribly.”

“A meme,” Morgan groaned. He drew in a breath. “It’s taken from history. They were seen as the first and last defence of the realm.”

“Which was… the kingdom, right?”

“Yes… and more,” Morgan said. “The Lord Protector had deep ties with the House of York, becoming one and the same with the ruling king at times. In the Medieval Ages, the Lord Protector used his power to influence Rome to put more resources into their demonologists which led to the creation of the Order of Ferblanc. At the same time, he recruited very specific peoples–magically sensitive, good with creatures types–to be keepers and stalkers on the lands.”

“So, Ira’s ancient family created the Order of Ferblanc, the Keepers, and…?”

“And, as a result, the creatures, monsters, and magic became things of folklore,” Morgan said. “But, not for real. Now, we refer to this world hidden in the world as the Realm, and both factors still practice as they did ages ago.” He grinned impishly. “Oh, and we still have a Lord Protector, but right now we just call him King Clayborne York.”

She choked on the milk she was sipping.

“Ira’s a prince,” she wheezed.

“Of course,” Morgan said. “Why else would I call him ‘his highness’ all the time?”

Her head was spinning.

“The Actorita was created as a sort of bridge between the Realm and the rest of the world,” Morgan said, reveling in her surprise. “The Regere–my father– and the King have to work together, but which one has real power gets contested. Which makes things between us awkward.”

“Are you a prince too,” Nellie asked weakly.

Morgan’s smirk twitched. “No,” he said coolly. “I’m just Morgan.”

“Thank goodness for that,” she said. “Is there more?”

His smirk returned, but a soft knock on the door interrupted them.

Nathalie was at the forefront with Amias hoving over her shoulder in the cramped space between the two bedroom doors. The sight of both of them, their expressions strained into mixtures of happy, authoritative, and calm, put Nellie on edge.

“We’ve been talking,” Nathalie said, “and since tomorrow is the last weekday of your holiday, perhaps we should go away.”

“I’m not grounded anymore,” Nellie asked.

Nathalie’s eyes flickered pleadingly to Amias.

“I thought a properly chaperoned dragon hunt,” he said. “Let the two of you have a last hurrah before you go back to your studies, and Master Morgan faces the wrath of his mother.”

Nellie blinked in surprise. She looked at each of them, not seeing anything to indicate Amias or Nathalie were lying, and feeling her excitement build as Morgan’s own exuberance bubbled to the surface.

They were off to find the Cumberland dragon.

-----------------------------------

Happy Thanksgiving! I didn't have time to read through it, but since I can't see how posting an article via my phone would work, I wanted this out now. I think I'll schedule it and see if I can edit it after I land. Phone editing should work, if needed.

Market day came twice a month in the town of Westfall as a way for sellers to showcase their wares and serve as a town-wide gathering along the main streets. The market spread within the box of streets that surrounded the town hall and drew almost every member of town into its lively gathering.

Despite the chill in the clouded air, brightness came in the form of cloth hangings that were strung between the buildings and trees of the square. Sellers moved outside their shop doors, and many who had shops and farms elsewhere would pitch tables alongside them. They were generally simple, practical items, such as food, medicine, and clothing, though a few of the craftsmen would showcase their latest wares while one of the farmers would bring along a goat or even a well-mannered cow.

“Ah, just what we were looking for,” William gestured to a table full of glasses, vases, and knick-knacks to their left. “Looks like Mrs. Russo has a lot of pieces for decorating with!”

Wildfire recognized the young, dark-haired woman from the mercantile. Evelyn Russo was the fourth generation of the Vaughn family to work at Westfall’s mercantile, and she remained in the trade even after marrying Victor; but, unlike Victor, she was a woman of very few words.

Wildfire scanned the various items: a set of tarnished gold candlesticks, a pair of carved stone book ends, a tall glass vase, and a hand-painted dish with its own wooden stand.

”These are pretty,” Wildfire offered politely as she gently lifted a set of porcelain salt and pepper shakers in the shapes of birds.

Evelyn nodded simply, a distracted smile on her face.

But then, her eyes then fell upon a white vase with thin blue lines creating a simple forest scene. She carefully spun it with her fingers and discovered a deer had been drawn on the other side. A smile broke on her face.

“That looks like a winner to me,” William eyed her with a chuckle. “Mrs. Evie, would you take a couple old books for it?” He turned back to the young woman.

“Oh, wait–”

William removed two books from a satchel over his shoulder despite Wildfire’s insistence.

“That is good,” Evelyn nodded again, taking the books and setting them out on the table beside the other items. ”Thank you.”

William then took the vase and handed it to Wildfire.

She scowled. ”I thought I was supposed to get something to decorate with.”

“I said you should pick something out,” he clarified with a smile. ”Decorative goods are more expected to be traded for, and I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“Then, you should have told me to bring something to trade with!”

“We’re all set, don’t worry,” he patted her back. “Now you have a vase to set out on your table. Just imagine it full of fresh flowers in the spring!”

Wildfire watched his hand imitate a growing flower out from the top of the vase, and she caved to his generosity with an askew smile. “Thanks, William.”

“You are very welcome.” He nodded to her cheekily.

As they rounded the first corner, Wildfire recognized Thaddeus Moore from previous market trips and strayed to his table.

“Good morning, folks! I’ve got a fresh batch of persimmons, lemons, and grapefruit today!” He spread his hands over the plentiful baskets that covered his table as Wildfire and William approached. His ruddy hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, and freckles covered whatever skin was visible among his heavy coat and scarf.

“No peaches?” Wildfire asked.

“Not this time of year; but try a persimmon!”

“Ah, the weather-forcasting fruit,” William accepted one from the farmer as Wildfire did the same. “What did they think was going to happen this winter?”

“Bitter cold.”

As if on cue, a strong wind picked up, fluttering through the cloth hangings overhead and causing a few hoots down the line as the townspeople bundled against it.

Thaddeus laughed. “I think Mrs. Frieda just enjoys havin’ somethin’ to talk about; but it does make me wonder sometimes.”

Wildfire hummed as she took a bite of the persimmon. ”It’s almost like honey,” she commented with a hum.

“Then, this is a good batch! Take you a few more!”

She produced a small bag from a pouch strapped to her belt and accepted a few of the fruit. She hesitated when Thaddeus sat back in his chair after the one-sided transaction was complete. ”Is there something that you would need?”

”Beg pardon?”

She nervously glanced at William, who didn’t appear to be paying attention, before stepping closer. ”I’d like to trade so I’m not just taking everything.”

“Oh,” he shrugged, “don’t worry about that. I don’t need a whole lot anyway. Though, I suppose the only thing I’m low on this season is firewood.”

“Firewood?”

“I didn’t have near as many trees die off this year–which is a good thing for growing, but with it being so cold this year, I’ve gone through a lot of my reserve.”

She nodded. “Okay; I’ll bring some next time.”

“You’ve got firewood?”

She leaned her other hip toward the table to reveal the modified blade strapped to her belt. “I have access to a lot of trees.”

Thaddeus grinned, stretching the freckles across his cheeks. “You may have somethin’ there, ma’am.”

She smiled lightly before turning away to find William knee-deep in a conversation with the Gandys. When he shot her a glance that silently informed her he would be there a while, Wildfire opted to continue down the line without him. She nervously attempted to duck past, not wanting to remind them of their burnt barn, but both Jack and Catherine managed to slip in jovial waves and hello’s before continuing their discussion with the preacher.

As the tall, red-bricked building that served as Westfall’s town hall loomed over her shoulder, she turned the vase over in her hands. She rubbed her finger across the deer drawn on its smooth surface before glancing up at the building beside her. Perhaps she could pay the Mayor of Westfall a visit while she was there.

She had barely crossed over to the town hall’s wide lawn when she noticed Hudson cutting across in the opposite direction. His usual lighthearted expression was uncharacteristically missing as both hands were crammed into his jacket pockets and his head was bent down. Immediately filled with concern, she redirected her path to catch him before he could slip out of sight.

“Hudson?” She called, slipping the vase into the bag of persimmons hung on her belt.

He popped out of his gloom at the sound of her voice. “Oh, hey, Ms. Wildfire!”

They immediately fell into their usual bout of awkward silence; both appearing to have something to say, and yet both waiting for the other to start. While they had grown to be friends over the last year and a half, they still maintained a polite, yet somewhat strained, distance.

This time, Wildfire found her footing first. “Getting some shopping done?” She attempted, noting the bag tucked under his arm.

He shifted in his olive-green coat and glanced down at the bag. “Yeah, um,” he pulled it out with his other hand, “it’s for you, actually.”

Her brows furrowed with apprehension. “Me?”

“Well,” he scuffed one of his boots on the grass. “I hadn’t seen you in a while, and I wanted to make sure you weren’t goin’ hungry.” He tried to smile, holding it out further. “It’s just some chicken, rice, and squash; if anything, now it saves you a trip around the line.” 

She didn’t move as she looked at the bag. “You got me food?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She swallowed and took the bag from him. She could hear the echoes of William’s words about being missed, and before she realized it, she had started tearing up.

Hudson was mortified. “Oh no! What–what’s–”

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, shouldered the bag, and removed her glasses to wipe her eyes. “This was very kind–and I really appreciate it...” She stopped and huffed before returning her glasses to her nose. “I’ve been having a rough time lately," she managed to admit.

The tall man’s relief was marked with an empathetic smile, though it soon dulled when his dark eyes fell to the ground. “Yeah, me too.” He froze. “Uh,” he spouted quickly, “I mean, I’m real sorry to hear that.”

His nervous embarrassment caused Wildfire to don a soft smile. “I’m sorry to hear you are too.” She glanced away when he looked up, and she shifted the bag on her arm. “You’re sweet to think about me, despite it.”

He shrugged and pocketed his now-empty hands.

She glanced at the bag of food in her hands, and at once, her face sharpened with determination. She looped it around her elbow, opened her bag of persimmons, and pulled out the white vase. “Here.” She handed it to him.

Similar to Wildfire’s initial reaction, Hudson did not immediately take the item held before him. “Oh! That’s... for me?”

“Yep,” she nodded. “Maybe you can set it out on your table. In the spring, you could even put some fresh flowers in it.”

His wide, tan fingers accepted the white vase, and before he realized it, a wide grin had spread across his face. “Hey, it’s even got Whitacre on it,” he glanced up at her.

“Yeah,” she smiled back; some was from his ability to recall the deer’s name, but most of it was from witnessing the joy the gift had filled him with.

“Thank you, Ms. Wildfire,” he rubbed the side of his face almost sheepishly once the giddiness had worn off. “This is mighty kind of you.”

She tilted her head as she watched his hand. “Hey, are you growing a beard?”

“Nah, just the sides,” his fingers adjusted to rake through his dark, yet still-prickly sideburns.

“Well, it looks good,” she offered, cracking a smile. “Very distinguished.

Hudson’s smile could have rivaled the sun. “Well, thanks!” He huffed a bashful laugh. “I noticed you’re keepin’ your hair longer, too. It’s real pretty like that.”

“Thanks,” her fingers instinctively curled around a few brown strands that fell beyond her shoulder.

The two parted with lightness in their steps and grins warming their faces–completely oblivious to William Bauer standing at a nearby table with a smile wide enough to rival their own.

Wildfire stepped up to the wide veranda that surrounded Westfall’s town hall. She noted Thomas’ brown and white horse tied to one of the posts, signalling he would be found inside, and she paused as she approached the door.

She and Thomas were on much better terms than when she had first arrived. The two worked well in tandem to defend the town from any beasts that attempted to invade the streets or fields, but there was still a heaviness upon the young mayor’s mood whenever she interacted with him outside of the line of duty.

She took a deep breath and blew it out to calm any residual nerves, and then she stepped inside before she could talk herself out of it.

She found herself in a large room with high ceilings and green floral-patterened wallpaper lining the walls. A wide mahogany table stretched horizontally before her, but all of the chairs had been pushed against the walls around the room. Two closed doors sat on either side of a stone fireplace directly across from her. The room was lit by the tall windows on either side of the door, as the two large oil lamps that hung overhead were cold and empty. As a result, the dark room was not much brighter in the clouded light.

Thomas peeked in from a doorway to her right. “Wildfire,” he seemed surprised to find her inside. “How can I help yeh?” He asked, quickly adjusting the bolo tie at his neck. The beginnings of a moustache were forming on his lip, and the scars that once ran from his nose to his ear had almost faded completely.

“I,” she paused, rapidly realizing how absurd her appeal was going to sound now that she stood in Thomas’ presence. “I have a request.”

“Sure, come on in.” He gestured to the office behind him, and Wildfire bobbed her head and followed.

The mayor’s office was also lit by a series of tall windows, supplemented with a short oil lamp on his wide, yet tidy desk. An ink well sat beside a thick, yellowing book laid open in the center of the desk, and the pen was still in the young man’s hand. 

Thomas gestured to the chair across from his desk, and when she slipped around it to sit, he sat down across from her. “Well, what’ve yeh got?” 

She set down her bag of food from Hudson and clasped her hands tight in her lap. “Well, I have a deer.”

“A deer?” Thomas repeated, only moving his eyebrows.

“Yes,” her fingers wrung together. “He lives out behind the shop. I’ve been feeding him for the last year or so,” she bit her lip and added, “and I would like for him to not get shot.”

The mayor blinked as her words were spoken, albeit slowly. “Yer asking me to protect a wild deer?” His words were uttered almost as slowly, as if he was considering each word in the phrase.

She smiled hesitantly. “Please?”

“Ma’am,” Thomas pinched at the corner of his thin moustache. “Deer are a source of food, which we’ll always need ’round here. I can’t go askin’ hunters to quit huntin’ just ’cause you befriended one of the prey.”

“Not all deer,” she clarified with a single finger raised, “just one of them.”

“Frankly, I don’t see how that’s possible,” his voice had been firm, yet kind, but she could sense the dismissal rapidly growing in his tone.

Wildfire chewed on her lip before setting her hands on her chair’s arm rests. “What if I branded the deer?”

Thomas’ jaw went slack as his head cocked to one side. “Branded... the deer?”

“Yep. Just like a cattle–a cow.” She corrected herself.

“You’ve branded it??”

“Not yet,” she frowned at his insistence.

Thomas appeared both shocked and amused. “If you can actually brand a deer, then you’ve got it.”

She perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” He grinned on the verge of a laugh, “If you manage that, I will let folks know not to shoot the branded deer.”

Wildfire could sense his sarcasm, but she only perceived it as a challenge. “All right, I’ll work on that and let you know.”

The amusement won out as Thomas broke into a short laugh. “By golly; here I thought this may’a had somethin’ to do with the beasts.” His laugh soon simmered as the young woman’s eyes fell to the book set between them. 

“What are you writing?” She asked without moving her eyes.

Thomas reached for the book hesitantly, only to touch the bottom of the page with his fingers. ”Westfall’s hist’ry. I’ve been neglectin’ to write it, but with you and the Thatchers keepin’ watch, I can actually get it started again.”

She looked up at him. “What’s written in the history?”

He shrugged. “The main events that happen in town. Usually pretty mundane: when harvest takes place, how much rainfall we got... But bigger events get mentioned too.”

Her lips tugged. “Am I in it?”

“Yer about to be,” he smirked lightly. “You crashin’ here was a fairly big event.”

She matched his expression as she tilted her head and looked over the open page. The top was written in neat, simple cursive lettering, but a second hand’s print had begun halfway down the page. The first line in the new handwriting was simple:

Thomas E. Hiller rose to the office of mayor on March 31, 229 following the death of Samuel E. Hiller.

She bit her bottom lip and returned her eyes to Thomas, only to find the young man had diverted his attention to the window at their side.

“What happened to your dad?” She asked carefully.

The young man didn’t move. “He was defendin’ the town from the beasts, and they got ’im.”

She took in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

He turned his head and met her eyes. “He gave his life to protect Westfall. Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about.”

“But, you still lost your dad,” she frowned. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

Thomas shrugged as one corner of his lips tugged askew.

“And after all that, you still run out and fight the beasts, too.”

“My duty is the same as his,” his eyes dropped to the book. “I do what I can to protect our people. ’Sides,” he glanced back up to her with the smallest of smiles, “you ran out and fought ’em off when yeh barely had a stake here.”

She found a smile of her own. “Like I said then: I couldn’t just do nothing.”

“Well,” his smirk softened along with his tone, “I may not be doin’ a good job lettin’ yeh know... but I appreciate what yer doin’.”

She glanced aside, almost embarrassed. “Thanks.”

Thomas smiled with his hands on the desk, only for his attention to return to the book with eyebrows raised. “Say, while I’ve got yeh here,” he slid the book aside to reveal a closed book underneath the first, “I need to fill out the ledger for yeh.”

“What’s the ledger?” She leaned forward with her hands on the edge of the desk.

“This keeps track of everyone who lives in Westfall. Every birth and death is recorded, and, in yer case, when new folks come in.”

The woman watched the mayor of Westfall place the new book on top of the first. He flipped through the wide pages to fall on one half-filled with names and dates. She leaned forward with interest and found Ella Pearson’s name listed with her birthdate. The smallest of pangs knotted her stomach when she noticed her death date six years later. Below her, ’Wildfire’ had been written in, along with ’Arrived August 12, 229.’

“I’m not askin’ for yer name,” Thomas spoke lightly to regain her attention, “but I looked back on how we wrote in the folks who came in from Eastland, and we had written in their birthplace and birthdate along with when they arrived here.” He glanced up at her as his pen hovered over her line in the book. “Is that all right?”

“Oh, of course,” she straightened in her chair. “I was born in Elara, Aravast, and my birthday is December third. I’m not sure what the year would be here, but–”

“Hold up.”

Wildfire’s brows lowered as Thomas interrupted her and immediately flipped back a page in the book. His finger skimmed the line of names until it landed on Hudson Rowlett. “By golly,” he offered a chuckle. “You ’n Hudson nearly have the same birthday.”

She leaned further over the desk to get a better look. “Wait, really?”

Sure enough, next to his name, the birthdate of December 6, 202 was listed. “That’s cool,” she grinned.

“Right, well,” Thomas turned back to the right page and neatly wrote ’Born: Elara, Aravast on December 3’ before glancing back up. “I can figure the date if I may ask how old yeh are.”

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling in thought. “I think I’m… twenty-eight?” She posed more as a question than a statement.

Thomas paused again. “Hold up.” 

Wildfire watched Thomas flip back again and point at Hudson’s line, count through on his fingers, and blurt another laugh. 

“Yer kiddin’ me–you two’re nearly the same age!” He held out his hands.

“What??” She was on her feet and curving around the side of the desk to read the line the right way up. 

“Yer older than ’im, too!” Thomas’ fingers were around his lips as he laughed through them.

“Yeah, by three days,” she laughed, stepping back with one hand on the desk and the other on her hip. 

Thomas flipped back to her entry and added the year ’202’ with another chuckle. “That’s great. Yer gonna have to tell ’im.”

“I will.” She grinned and took a few paces backward. “I think his dad would get a kick out of it since he thought I was younger than him, too,” she added snidely.

“Well, thank yeh for that,” Thomas nodded and set the book aside to allow the ink to dry. He then lifted his blue eyes back to her. “Did yeh need anything else?”

“No, sir; that should be all. Thanks for your time.”

“Yer welcome, ma’am.” 

She bent down to retrieve her bag of food from the floor, only to pause with her eyes on the bag still tied to her waist. ”Would you like a persimmon?”

He blinked once. ”Oh, no, thanks. Carla’s out shoppin’ fer us; I know she’ll pick some up.”

”Well, in case you need a snack before you leave,” she concluded her sentence by fishing one out and setting it on the desk beside the history book. “They’re really good today.”

His blue eyes followed her as she stepped through the doorway and out of sight. He listened for the front door to open and close, then turned to glance out the window. He saw the young woman step down from the veranda and up to William, who had been waiting just outside.

A smile found his lips, and he reached across the desk to take the small, orange fruit into his hand. He hummed as he took a bite, and he carefully held it away from the book as his other hand picked up the pen to continue writing Westfall’s history.

On August 12, 229, ”Wildfire” arrived in Westfall from the planet Aravast by way of a space ship. Due to the ship’s heavy damage upon arrival and inability to be repaired, she has taken up residence in town. She has proven to be an asset in fighting the beasts, especially due to her ability to summon fire.

He paused to dip his pen and finish off the persimmon. With the smile still warming his expression, he concluded the paragraph.

Westfall is pleased to call her one of our own.

-----

I'm reading through Westfall and thought this particuar scene was adorable considering it's just barely starting to hint at the relationships between these folks. Gemini has been there about a year and a half now, and while she still struggles and often isolates herself, she still has William to help drag her out and keep her motivated.

Hudson had just had a fight with his dad, which happens often at this point, and Gemini unfortunately caught the Gandy's barn on fire while fighting a beast. She still has the inhibitor on her chest, so she can only make fire through her blade, but she can't control it once it's out there.

But she's got an awkward friendship forming with Hudson and a business relationship with Thomas, and we know where both of those are going :D

Oh yea and the persimmon thing is one of those old farmer tales where if you split the seed of a persimmon, you could see a knife, fork, or spoon inside ... and depending on what you see is what the winter will be like. Earlier in the story Frieda explains this and swears on it, and I thought it was a fun little annedote to include in this story.