Firebrand Risk
Kalon 1
April 15, 2025

“Wake up!”

Kalon snapped her head up off her arms, blinking her heavily lined and eyeshadowed green eyes rapidly.

She sat at a wooden table that stretched far in both directions, one of several in the expansive area. The walls were made of even older wooden cases filled with books in various states of care. A massive globe sat just out of the corner of her eye.

“Awake now? I warned you not to stay out here last night.”

“Sorry, Grams.” Kalon stretched, shaking the gentle, wrinkled hand from her bare shoulder. “Is it time for work already?”

Grams pursed her lips. Her narrow shoulders slumped, defeated, and held out a metal bat to Kalon.

“You should have the mind to wear a cardigan at least if you start reading after supper.”

“I’ll try to remember.”

Grams frowned doubtfully. “I’ll make you a toast just so you have something in your stomach.” She paused her retreat. “Do go wash up first. You look a state.”

Kalon smushed her fingers into her cheeks as if to feel the condition of her face before leaving her spot. She retreated downstairs to her room through a small door tucked into a corner. 

Her room was cramped with just a small bed, wardrobe, and narrow crate that acted as a bedside table. There was hardly room to shuffle around once the wardrobe door was opened, revealing a mirror.

The black liner she had put around her eyes yesterday was now smudged and smeared into the dark, purple eyeshadow making it appear as if she had black eyes from a broken nose. Her maroon lipstick was wiped across her pale cheek.

She licked her fingertips and vigorously rubbed at the smudges to assemble some sort of order. She stuck her fingers into the short, curly mop of purple atop her head, shaking it to loosen any tangles. She frowned at the fading color and pulled a lock straight to assess the length.

Kalon switched out her black, sleeveless corset top for a low cut gray top with black beading. It was enough of a change to call the outfit satisfactory.

She munched her toast on her way up the narrow stairs to the main floor, resting her bat on her shoulder. She waves the last bit in that air at the old man in the near distance.

“Morning, Gramps!”

Her hand fell as more of the lobby revealed Gramps was not standing alone, but facing two young men. Kalon’s smile fell as she recognized the guarded stance of the black-haired one.

“Ah, Kalon, good of you to start your morning with us.” Gramps ushered her to stand between him and the boys. “We have guests. And so early.”

“I see that.” She stared into the mismatched eyes pointed her way. “All right, Khoa? Bex isn’t with you?”

“He’s being stupid, tryin’ for a mid-life crisis early or something.” The black-haired boy shrugged. “Don’t know, or care.”

Kalon’s shoulders relaxed at Khoa’s response. He was in a good mood, not surly and wanting to start fights.

Khoa brought images of foxes into Kalon’s mind; an elegance and cuteness that played into inquisitiveness. There was a sharpness to his eyes that indicated he could be clever, and that he should never be backed into a corner.

He was the only person she had come across with a face piercing, whereas hers was a bar over her right eyebrow, his was a small, thin ring in his bottom lip.

Kalon frowned. “Where’s your piercing?”

Khoa’s hand covered the bandage that covered his bottom lip and most of the space beneath, touching his chin. His odd-eyes changed, hardening and narrowing.

“Always observant, ain’t you? You just standin’ and starin’ and only now realize I look different? Always off in your own head. Notice Bex ain’t here yet?”

“I noticed as soon as I walked–!” She stopped herself, taking a breath. “Sorry.”

Gramps cleared his throat loudly. “That’s enough greetings. As I said, Kalon will assist you. Just tell her the subject and she can narrow down your options.”

Khoa clicked his tongue. “I said it already, there ain’t a subject. He just wants to sit alone and grab whatever gets his attention.”

“You know that is not how this library operates.” Gramps brushed the pistol on his hip. “Do you take issue with that, boy?”

“Right now I do.” Khoa stepped forward. “I dare you.”

“Khoa, quit it. I ain’t….”

The young man with Khoa had hair so pale it looked as if it glowed in the light. There was a vacancy in his blue eyes, staring into nothing as his words failed him.

“I could always chaperone. That way should he think of a subject, I am right there ready to fetch it. Get him out quicker.” Kalon bounced the bat on her shoulder. “I can handle him should he try to steal or alter anything.”

Gramps silently relented, ushering Khoa towards the old, carved wooden doors.

Kalon tilted her head, offering up a small smile. “Hi, I’m Kalon Gousa, the assistant librarian.” Her smile faltered at the silence. “And you are…?”

“Innit….”

“Good to meet you. Come with me. I’ll escort you to the study chamber.”

She went back to the same table she had fallen asleep on. She pulled out the chair she had used, frowning as Innit sidestepped her and sat two over.

Innit had no piercings in his ears like she and Bex had. He had no facial piercings like she and Khoa had. She felt the jeweled bar through her eyebrow, furrowing.

“Did Khoa catch his lip on something?” She waited but Innit said nothing. “How’d you meet Bex? Or is it Khoa?”

“Grew up together….” Innit rested his head on his folded arms. “I reckon that’s all I got to say about it.”

His accent was similar to Khoa’s, so Kalon assumed that was which person he grew up with. He had an angular jaw and a tilt to his eyes that reminded Kalon of a cat. His pale hair was more lackluster on inspection; an indication that it had gone unwashed for a stretch of time.

“Just tell me when a subject pops to mind, and I’ll assist you.”

She paused for a sign that he had heard her, but none came. She drummed her nails on the table, tilting her head at the chips in the fuschia polish. Gramps would not be happy if she left this stranger to go get her nail polish. She busied herself chipping at it in an attempt to remove it.

She changed focus to her hair once she had chipped off the polish on three fingers. She felt the shaved sides, pulled at the curls on top. She had worn this haircut for three years, and had been dying it for the last two. A change would freshen up her life a bit.

She dug a short, black marker from the strap of her knee-high, heels boots. She removed the cap with her teeth and began doodling haphazard flowers on her arm.

“Do you stop fidgetin’?” Innit scowled her direction from his position on his arms. “I ain’t got a moment of peace since sittin’ down!”

“We’ve been here for hours. Look!” Kalon twisted awkwardly to point out an analogue clock wedged between two bookcases. “Do you see that there? Near three hours and you have not spoken nor shown any inclination of wanting something to read.”

Innit leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Got anything current, or y’all just keep molding piles of paper here?”

“How dare you! Our texts are in great care.” She scoffed. “What a dim view to only want the newest thing.” 

“Dim?” Innit glared. “Stupid, right? Y’all with your stupid accent.”

“My accent? My accent!”

She faltered when a retort failed to come to mind. Innit had an interesting accent, unlike those she heard growing up and not only because he was from the United Americas. That accent was common enough that it was not unusual to hear it even outside the library doors despite them being just under three hours from Geneva Colony.

Kalon took a breath. “It depends how current you want your reading. Grams is our transcriptionist. Her ear is accurate, but it takes longer now for her to write up trending news clips.”

“She… watches and writes up everything?” Innit frowned. “Ain’t that a good way to go nuts?”

“You would think so, but, no, she has a method to it. Working only two days a week helps too.”

“Just two days….” Innit stared off. “What if something came up? Something that….” He shook his head. “It ain’t a thing. Just runnin’ my mouth.”

Grams had been working every day for the last three weeks, long into the night half the time, obsessing over the revelation coming from the United Americas. Kalon gleaned it related to President Washington, and did not care beyond that. She cared nothing for politics and abhorred gossip. She would read the final collection to have knowledge of what the subject was on the chance of someone wanting to read it. Grams was concise and blunt in her reports, so the work would not be too much of a chore.

“Is your interest in politics?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Ah, so it is Khoa and not Bex. I thought so.”

Innit snorted, the corners of his mouth twitching. He showed no further reaction and kept his eyes on the grain in the table, picking at it.

“Do you like imaginary stories or real stories?”

“Stories? I ain’t readin’ any type o’stories. What good is that?”

Heat flared up in her chest at his careless, nearly disgusted response. Her hands balled against the table, audibly scraping the wood and drawing his attention–his hackles raising in kind.

Kalon launched to her feet, causing him to flail about on his seat to keep from falling off.

“What point was there in your coming here? You care nothing for stories, histories. You seem disinterested in everything, and too dour to even look around at all this splendor.”

“Talk about ego.” Innit slowly stood. “You ain’t much to look at.”

“I meant the library, twit.”

Innit’s pale skin tinted pink. “That’s well and good, because you look like you’re tryin’ pass for a boy with that haircut.” He pointedly looked at the lowcut of her shirt. “Ain’t no bad haircut hiding those.”

She stiffened as a bolt of electricity shot through her from his stare. She gnashed her teeth and covered herself with her arms. She tried to spit venom at him, but no sound escaped her mouth.

Innit waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know, tryin’ to make your neck look longer. Still points right down to your chest.” He scoffed. “As if y’all ain’t doin’ that on purpose. It’s all for a look.”

“Get out.”

She was shaking, still holding herself tightly.

Innit deflated, curling away from her. He abruptly stood and walked off. He doubled back.

“Sorry. You ain’t look like a boy at all, that’s what I was–.”

“Go!”

He hesitated before stepping away. “Fine. I ain’t ‘bout to break my back over this.”

--

Grams finished her large transcription three nights ago. Kalon had devoured it. It was as straight to the point as could be, but the sudden resurrection and then immediate fall of a First Son brought out the need to add more context, more background. It was four pages of pure political thriller.

Kalon arched her feet to stand on her toes, lifting her spiked heels from the floor. She slid the thin collection beside a book written on Scarborough Washington’s childhood.

“Kalon.” Grams appeared from behind a shelf. “Vern is calling for you.” She stopped her. “Before that, I need to update the Shepard family from Rio Colony….”

“Do you have your pen?”

Grams smirked, taking a small notepad and pen from her cardigan pocket. “I know better than to ask without it. Go on.”

“The most is written about Rexmere, the second son and third child of the former Attorney General for that colony. But, these writings don’t start until his bid in Scarborough Washington’s marriage pool. He was more a footnote for works on his parents, and even on those of his eldest sister and older brother. Should I point out which books for Blackbern or Almavita first?”

“I was hoping to start with the youngest.”

“Casarina?” She frowned. “A fashionista. She married into the Apex family–the book on the Attorney General’s rumored retirement mentions it in the forty-fifth chapter, a grand total of three paragraphs on the two-hundred and ninety-seventh page. But, only the book on the rumor, not the actual retirement book. And the Apex family was huge into textile, so Casarina ended up designing clothes.”

“Speculations are that she is up for a massive promotion.”

“Really? As… what? She out paced her in-laws with her first major design–Scarborough Washington’s inaugural gown; there are several photographs of her in it. I dare say I needn’t point them out.”

“Too much into the gossip camp for me to state yet. I just want to be prepared should the rumors come true.” Grams poised her pen. “Titles and pages, if you would, my dear.”

Kalon rattled off titles, general contents, and specific pages. Once finished, she shouldered her bat and went to find Gramps.

Gramps was near the entrance, rifle pointed at the floor but clearly visible. A few steps forward revealed Khoa and Innit in the doorway. She bristled as she approached, dropping her bat to drag it across the floor to gain their attention.

Innit was somehow paler than before, with pronounced dark circles under his sky blue eyes. Whatever was troubling him had not appeared to affect Khoa, him being more or less the same but with an extra edge to indicate he and Gramps had not been speaking well to each other.

“Ah, there she is.” Gramps ushered for her to join them. “As explained, Kalon will fetch what interests you on this visit. I prefer it if neither if you went any further.”

Kalon put her hand on Gramps’s shoulder. “It’s fine. So long as it’s just the one, and not for long, I can babysit.”

“He did nothing but waste your time and more the last time.”

“Art books.” Innit kept his voice low and eyes down. “Pictures of art. Or sceneries. Or such things.”

“See? Not more than an hour or so.”

Gramps relented. He turned his focus on getting Khoa out, leaving Kalon to motion for Innit to follow her to the same table as his last visit.

“Any artist or art style you have particular interest in?”

“Do I look like a guy that can even know the difference between a picture and a paintin’?” He took a seat. “I just need the quiet.”

“Monet, perhaps, if that is the case.”

 She kept Innit in sight as she retrieved a collection of Monet, going with the one that contained bits of information just on the chance that the photographs alone were not enough to keep Innit occupied. She dropped it with a deafening THUNK and sat opposite, kicking her spiked heels up on the neighboring chair.

She took her spiked choker from her neck as the minutes dragged on, inspecting the shine on each point.

“Painted his wife much of these.”

“He truly loved her.” Kalon re-clipped her choker around her neck. “I’m certain he was quite fond of his second wife, but I do wonder how much of it was to keep her and the children in comfort and offer legal protections.”

Innit nodded absently. He slowly turned a page, holding his face up on his fist.

“All the girls wear the same long dresses.”

“The style at the time.”

“It’s… nice, I reckon.” He shrugged. “Different. Bet you could pull it off.”

“Because it’s different?”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with different.” His face tinted pink. “Got anything else?” He shut the book. “Ain’t gettin’ much out of this.”

She returned the book and grabbed one featuring sculptures.

“More art?” Innit scoffed. “Why’re they all naked? Ain’t this old timey porn?”

“What? No! It’s art.”

“So… those old Hustlers are art?”

“Old what?” Kalon shook her head vigorously. “No. Of course not.” She hurried to sit next to Innit. “See, look here. It all comes down to intention. Most is about form, I believe; it being much easier to capture human bodies in metal, stone, and clay if they have nothing to hide beneath.” She flipped to a full page of lovers in a passionate kiss. “Look at what Rodin does here.”

“Who?”

“The artist. Look!” She tapped the photograph. “Look how they hold each other. Look at the indent of the man’s fingers on her thigh. You couldn’t see that if he had them clothed.” She turned to a pair of hands poised upright with the fingertips near touching. “No further bodies required to get the intention of this one across. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Also lovers.” He tilted his head to the side to shift his gaze to her. “You’re one of those romantic types, ain’t you?”

Kalon’s enthusiasm waned with her smile. She pulled at the lacy cuffs of her off-the-shoulder top. She found Innit no longer looking her way, now studying the grain of the table with his leg bouncing.

“My thoughts are… more that it would be nice if someone could love me, more than the idea of love itself. I’m not a starry-eyed girl waiting on a dashing rogue.”

Innit’s leg stopped twitching. “Ain’t it usually a prince?”

“Yes, but I share your distaste for politics.”

“Distaste….” Innit stared into nothing, eyes still on the table. “Can’t say if that’s right or not.” His brow knit. “Why’d you reckon no one can love you?”

“Pardon?”

“How you said it. You said it like no one in their right mind would try, not that you ain’t got suitors or something.” He stiffened. “This ain’t… about your hair… right?”

Kalon’s face burned. She stood, slamming the book shut.

“Why are you so fixated on how I look?”

“I ain’t!” Innit scrambled up. “I’m makin’ conversation!”

“And you turn it right to how I look!” She used both hands to wave the book. “We were talking about art! I showed you some beautiful–.”

“Yeah, and you could’ve picked anything.” He ripped the book from her hands, casting it on the table. “Why this?”

“You said that’s what you wanted when you came in!”

Innit’s pale face filled with color. He took a step away.

“Reckon I did say that….” He cleared his throat. “I just didn’t…. There was more to it than sceneries. I need something more bland. Something I won’t give any mind to.”

Kalon squinted at him, frowning. “What happened?”

Innit bristled.

The echoing thumps of Gramps approached diverted them from further reaction. He informed Innit that his hour was up, and told Kalon that Grams wanted more help with her project.

Kalon shouldered her bat and gathered up the book, keeping her back to Gramps and Innit. Her cheeks felt hot.

Innit cleared his throat. “I’ll think up a better topic for tomorrow.”

---------

I decided to do all of the writing from Kalon's pov so I could get a feel for her. And it was less likely for the 'what-if' parts to stick than if I went with Innit, since I'm still not 100% (or even 90%) sold on him getting a wife and kid(s) down the line. He's got other stuff to get through first. Oh, but, that Monet artbook is one I own. So, it's pictures with histories and stuff, and I had a lot of paragraphs about them talking about Monet's love for his first wife, and how his second wife was the caretaker for his chidren with her and the scandal at the time of this woman and her own children living with him, moving around with him, and him funding all the schooling and things for her kids as well as his own for nearly ten years before they get married, when really the talk should've been how her husband just up and ditched her and the kids, living a 'bacholer life' blatantly. Because, at that time period, he should've been providing for his family to some degree even if he wasn't with them, and he just wasn't. So, you get people all scandalized this married woman is a live in nanny and her boss is paying for her children's schooling, but it's like... was she supposed to not work or send her kids to school? And that's why I had Kalon mention the legal protections, because she did eventually get out of that marriage and Monet did marry her and adopt her children, and set them up with wealthy marriages and great apprenticeships and an took care of their futures.

Lol, it was just a thing that was mindboggling to me, so it was mentione a little. I'm also not completely sure on the timeline of things, so there will be some spoilers here and there (like Khoa's mouth), but like most of the stuff in here, take it with a grain of salt.

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Nellie’s eye shot open in time with the feeling that she just fell back into her body. She stared at her black ceiling, tensing at the harsh buzzing rattled from her nightstand. She blinked, her head fuzzy with whatever dream she had been having slipping away. She answered her phone.

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---

There was no way to confirm what Morgan said. He had been grounded for running off to America, and whenever Nellie texted or called, his mother would answer to remind her that he had another month on his sentence. Evora would ask a follow up, typically how school was or how she was doing, but never continued the conversation beyond that no matter how badly Nellie sensed she wanted to.

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Good morning, students,’ Ms. Pelham’s voice came over the loud speaker. ‘We have a special guest this week. Mr. Javernick is here from the state to conduct an assessment. He’ll meet with every single one of you to ask about your time at school. Please, speak honestly and let him know how much you enjoy your time here. First homeroom up will be Mr. Hardin’s.

Emma and Sophia leaned into each other up ahead to whisper about this development. Nellie hurried over as soon as the bell rang to join in.

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She waited all day for her homeroom to be called, but it never came. Olivia had her homeroom called at the end of the day, but being near the end in the alphabet, she was not able to fill them in until their morning locker gathering.

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I’m so sorry I went quiet. Penny told me you met.

That was all. After weeks of silence.

The bell for homeroom sounded. Nellie trailed after Sophia and Emma with her thumbs hovering over her keyboard. She was forced to pocket it without answering as Miss Campbell shot her a glare.

Her homeroom still had not been called by lunch. She took her usual seat and looked around for the others, spotting Emma and Olivia instantly.

“We still haven’t been called,” Nellie said offhandedly.

“OMG, Perenelle, don’t worry so much,” Emma said. “Olivia said he was nice.” She looked at Olivia for her validation. “Right?”

“Right,” Olivia said.

Sophia joined them with a heavy sigh. “We still haven’t been called yet,” she lamented.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Olivia said sympathetically. “He really is nice. I’m sure your class is next.”

“Yeah,” Emma chirped. “It’ll be over with before you know it.”

Nellie turned so they would not catch her rolling her eyes. She looked around for Ava, frowning.

“Hey,” came Mason’s voice from behind her. He stood at the other end of the table with his tray. His casual expression began to turn uncomfortable as the girls whispered and snickered and prodded each other.

Nellie gave the three of them a few seconds, and then answered, “Hi.” It was a mistake. She felt the daggers on her back.

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“Oh, cool, thanks,” Nellie said.

“Emma was supposed to talk to him,” Olivia said bluntly the moment Mason walked off. She glared. “Oh, you like him, don’t you? That’s so low, Perenelle, I swear.”

She opened her mouth to protest but failed under the hurt gaze of Emma. Olivia looked mildly smug while Sophia shook her head disapprovingly. Nellie mumbled she was trying to be polite and supported Emma’s endeavors, and picked at her food.

Ava dropped into her seat ten minutes later. She shoveled half her tray into her mouth to make up for the lost time.

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“He wants to meet my family,” Ava said. She drained her milk. “No one else in my homeroom has to have a home visit.” Her mouth twisted. “I can’t think what I said wrong….”

This new revelation hung over the rest of lunch. Nellie could not stop her nerves from twisting her stomach. Emma and Sophia went from being fair-skinned to downright pale.

Nellie took her seat next to Ava in art. She waited for their teacher to pass on her turn around the room. She leaned nearer to the table, pretending to focus on some details.

“Psst, Ava,” Nellie hissed. “Were the questions different?” Ava shook her head. “Did your parents come up?” Ava shook her head again.

The intercom crackled. ‘Miss Campbell’s homeroom, please make your way to the principal’s office,’ Ms. Pelham instructed.

Her legs were lead as she dragged herself from the room and down the hall. Emma and Sophia were already waiting. She held back from joining them.

“Perenelle Herle,” the receptionist called.

One of the boys pretended to barf as she passed by.

The interview was taking place in the lounge. The old, white fridge made a sick rattling. The smell of burnt coffee permeated the area. One of the fluorescents above hummed and subtly flickered.

A short, stout man sat in the only overstuffed chair available. He had crow’s feet around his twinkling blue eyes that deepened as he gave Nellie an easy, welcoming smile. His tan hair was heavily streaked with gray, but it was difficult to say exactly how old he was. Nellie guessed he was at least in his fifties.

“Hello, Perenelle,” he said, his voice raspy and deep. He gestured to the worn loveseat. “Says in your folder that you started here recently. January?”

“Yeah,” Nellie said, sitting on the very edge of the loveseat with her fingers tucked under her thighs. “I lived in Florida before now.”

“Ah, the Sunshine State.” He leaned back in his chair. “Are you nervous, Perenelle?”

“A little.”

He smiled warmly and set his notepad aside. “Do you go by Perenelle, or are you more comfortable with something else?” He laughed lightly at her shrug. “My name is Silas. You can call me that or Mr. Javernick. Whichever is more comfortable for you.”

“My friend told me you were visiting her house,” Nellie said. “Why her?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say, but it isn’t anything worrying,” Silas said. “She’s not in trouble.”

Nellie nodded, feeling a wave of relief. She would have to text Ava later.

The next five minutes was a back and forth on how Nellie liked the school—she did not—and how she found her classes—slow and boring.

“Hmm,” Silas hummed, looking at his notes. “Sounds like you aren't being efficiently challenged.” He tapped his pen against his notepad, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Let’s change topics a minute… Says in your folder you’re a single parent home.”

“Surely I’m not the only kid you’ve met with just one parent,” Nellie said. She went on edge. Silas was visibly uneasy, keeping his focus on his notes.

He took a deep breath and set his notes off to the side. “Your uncle sent me.”

She shot to her feet.

“Perenelle, please, sit,” Silas urged.

“The Regere sent you to spy on me,” Nellie snapped.

“I volunteered,” Silas said. “Penny told me about meeting you.”

“Penny works with the Auctorita! But-but… she didn’t know Morgan. She was so… flippant about the Regere.” She backed towards the door. “It was a trick. Why?”

“Penny doesn’t work for the Auctorita,” Silas said. “I’d like her to, but she won’t. Perenelle, please, calm down. Our time is nearly over. Let me say my piece.”

Nellie glanced to the door. It would be simple to sprint out, screaming. Screaming what, she had no idea. It could just land her in detention. She eased back to the loveseat, sitting on the edge as before.

“Your father and I were acquaintances a decade before he met your mother,” Silas said. “I recommended him as Commander when the Auctorita was formed. That’s why I offered to meet you in your uncle’s stead.”

“I was told he ran off and doesn’t want the Regere near me,” Nellie said.

“Rhys blamed the Regere–.”

“For my mother turning into a dragon,” Nellie finished. “Got it.” She propped her foot up on her knee. “And, what?”

Silas chuckled, shaking his head. “Our time is up,” he said. “I’m going to schedule a home visit, which I’m sure you saw coming. It’s high time I spoke with Nathalie.”

---

Ash bounced after a pair of robins with no intent of catching them. The sun was too low to light the clearing where the house sat. Nellie had been sitting on the steps since telling Nathalie about her meeting with Silas Javernick, staying out of the way as Nathalie rushed to clean the living room and kitchen. She stayed outside even after Silas arrived, straining to listen through the doors but also not wanting to hear anything.

Nellie hugged her knees. She could not imagine what they were talking about for this long. Silas would make a plea for the Regere to see her, Nathalie would shut it down, and that was that.

Ash jumped, poofed, and rematerialized on top of Silas’s boxy car.

“Ash, no,” Nellie said, trying not to laugh. “You’ll scratch it.”

She leapt up as the front door opened behind her. Nathalie frowned at Ash.

“Mr. Javernick wants to speak to both of us now,” Nathalie said. She pointed at Ash. “Beast, get off that car!”

“Ash, down,” Nellie urged.

The smoke wolf stared at them for a long pause. He jumped off more with the air of being bored than obeying.

Silas smiled warmly at her as she shuffled into the house. He moved an inch to give Nathalie extra room as she sat on the couch. They both stared at Nellie. She squirmed.

“Mr. Javernick has informed me that he works for your uncle,” Nathalie said stiffly. “And, that he’s friends with my brother.”

“Friend is a bit strong,” Silas said.

“We talked about this already,” Nellie said warily.

“May I,” Silas asked. He shimmied forward on the couch at Nathalie’s nod. “Nathalie confirmed for me what your uncle, what all of us, suspected; creatures–crypitds–are drawn to you. You sense magic, as Amias related.”

“Which are also things I already know,” Nellie said carefully. “Is something wrong?”

“Nellie,” Nathalie said, a pained expression etched on her face, “you found a dragon. That’s unusual and dangerous even for people like Mr. Baig and Mr. Javernick.” She took on a grayish tint. “Mr. Javernick says that this uncle of yours wants you to stay with him over the summer. Learn how to protect yourself.”

It took a moment for her to wrap her head around what Nathalie was telling her. She crossed her arms tightly, stepping back.

“You’re sending me to him,” Nellie said. “After months of ‘he’s dangerous’ and ‘keep away’.”

“You won’t be with the Regere, per se,” Silas said. He grinned in a way that reminded Nellie of Santa Claus. “I’ve been given the role of babysitter. You’ll be at my compound with Penny and a few other youngsters. I know Master Morgan is begging Evora to come.”

“You’re okay sending me off somewhere for months with some… guy,” Nellie asked, glaring at Nathalie.

“Of course not, Perenelle, but something must be done,” Natahlie said. “That uncle of yours does have a point; finding dragons and other creatures is dangerous. What would’ve happened had Mr. Baig not been there?”

“Or Penny,” Silas added. “Hard to say if she’s downplaying or Amias is exaggerating….”

“Amias and Penny didn’t know each other,” Nellie said, feeling irritated.

“They didn’t until then, and still don’t talk,” Silas said. He looked guiltily at his knitted fingers. “Penny’s mother was a great friend of mine.” He glanced up. “And of your father’s.”

“Penny knew my father?”

“No…” Silas trailed off. “Only Keena did.” He cleared his throat. “Back to topic… My compound is where Penny trained. Prince Ira has spent time there too.”

She knew that name. She could not think how she knew it, but there was something too familiar about it despite the name being unusual. She hurried to her room, grabbed her box of Rhys’s letters, and sat in front of the coffee table facing them.

“Fox?” She shuffled through more of her father’s early letters. “Is that Keena? I swear, I read the name somewhere… I keep seeing mentions of Fox though...”

“Keena Fox,” Silas said. “Your dad always called her Fox. At least that I know of. I thought that was a British thing.”

“For blokes, it’s not uncommon,” Nathalie said. “Rhys defaulted to it. Kept him friendly while keeping up those walls he had.”

Nellie grabbed random words and phrases and she went through the letters. It was more to stop from looking at Nathalie and Silas at this point. She was unsure if she wanted to spend her summer at some compound, but could not deny it was exciting.

That dragon was dangerous. That was undeniable. She shuttered as she remembered how it stared at her, remembered the rank smell of its breath. It would be a smart move to learn how to effectively get away from such a creature, as Penny had.

She gulped, sitting straighter as it dawned on her; she was going to try again. She would go searching for dragons again.

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

I was greeted with the news that my nieces don't have school today, so I guess that's it for a comment.

Read full Article
December 14, 2025
P.Track.16

Nellie bolted into Nathalie’s wide arms. She squeezed her tight, feeling too safe and warm to pay any heed to Nathalie’s angry, hysterical scolding. She deserved it anyhow.

“How’re you holding up, Mr. Mage,” the young woman asked, unceremoniously half-dropping Amias on the path. “Did that dragon ooze on you?”

“I-I–?”

She grabbed Amias roughly by the shoulders, twisting him here and there like he was a present she was inspecting. She abruptly dropped to a knee, grabbing his leg with force enough he had to grab Nathalie, who in turn grabbed Nellie, to stop from falling over.

“Looks like it got your leg,” she said. She pushed it away as if disgusted. “Luckliy, you were fighting in the stream or you would’ve lost it by now.” She shrugged. “Or died. Maybe both.”

Morgan was staring at this young woman—though Nellie was starting to wonder if she was old enough for the descriptor—with rapt attention. “Who are you,” he asked incredulously.

“Your salvation,” she said snarkily. “Well, come on. You can collect yourselves at my room.”

It was embarrassing to discover that they had been circling between the Gap Cave and the Skylight Cave. It took an hour of stumbling through the dark woods before they saw the welcoming twinkling of Cumberland Gap. The town had a sleepiness to it even though it could not be later than 6PM.

Nellie dragged herself after the young woman, trying to close the distance to question her or thank her. But, she was too tired to keep pace with her brisk strides across the Iron Furnace parking lot.

“Our car–,” Nathalie started weakly, not able to put fight into it.

“Your magic man needs food. You’ll have something to eat first.”

“And I have questions,” Nellie said.

“Of course you do.” She quickened to a trot. “Hurry up. I’m going to feel bad asking for extra if they’ve already made dinner.”

They arrived at a building, or two buildings, that were very old. The smaller was a log construction that was as tall as Nellie’s and Nathalie’s single-story house, except the presence of upper windows let it be known it was two-story. The metal roof butted up against the other building at the halfway divide. This building was truly two-story and old, but not nearly as ancient. The siding was also wood, but not exposed logs. There was a gentle eek-fup, eek-fup, and a gurgling that indicated a water wheel nearby.

“The bed and breakfast,” Morgan whispered to Nellie. “I’ll have pancakes yet.”

Nellie was first in behind their mysterious rescuer. She shuffled awkwardly to make room for the other, feeling very much like she entered a stranger’s house without permission. She was distracted away from looking over the decor by a woman older than Nathalie bustling over to meet them.

“I found lost hikers,” the young woman explained. “Think they could eat something before I take them to their car?”

“Pancakes,” Morgan chimed.

“That shouldn’t be much trouble,” the old woman said, eyeing them.

“Thanks; I’ll bring them to my room for now.”

The four of them–prompting in Morgan’s case–muttered their thanks to the woman as they passed.

The room had a clear theme: sunflowers. The bedspread was bright yellow to match the large painting of a sunflower field that hung over the bed. There was a sunflower embroidered pillow on a blue, wing-backed chair. A sunflower footstool nearby.

Their rescuer was young, easily being college-aged like Ira. She had brunette hair that brushed the tops of her shoulder, and wore half braided back to keep it from her face (presumably not fully braided to keep her neck warm). She struggled to unlace heavy leather boots that went up her calves, kicking them off next to the footstool before dropping in the blue chair. Her striking green eyes went to each of them before settling on Nellie.

“Go ahead.”

“Um… I don’t–?”

“Questions. Ask them. Pancakes don’t take long.”

Nellie’s cheeks tinted. She could feel everyone staring. She fidgeted with her jacket zipper.

“I’ll give it a start,” Amias said. “Thank you, young lady, for swooping in when you did.”

“Heard her screaming bloody murder,” she said, pointing flippantly at Nathalie. “Thought maybe a bear was being naughty. Then he,” she pointed to Morgan, “started yelling about dragons.” She snickered. “Then the calls for Ira.” She set her gaze on Nellie again. “Are you Nellie?”

“Y-yes,” Nellie stammered. “How–?”

“How many people know Ira and get caught up with dragons?”

“You’re… Penny,” Nellie said carefully.

“I am.”

“Ira’s girlfriend,” Nathalie said, unsurely.

Penny’s face darkened. “Is that what he’s saying,” she growled. “I’ll murder him!”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Penny shot up, put her hand on her belt–which was full of small pouches and sleeves that suspiciously looked to house knives–and opened the door a crack. Then wider to show the rest of the room to the old woman.

“Pancakes are on the table,” she said, craning to see where each person was in the cozy room.

“Thanks,” Penny said. “I’ll bring them down shortly.”

She dropped next to the bed, lying on her stomach.

“Forgive me, young lady,” Amias said, watching her with bemusement. “How is it that you are… acquainted with his highness? You sound American.”

“I am American,” Penny said, straightened with a pair of slippers in her hand. She pointed a slipper at Nellie. “So’s she, and I don’t hear you questioning her.”

“Am I American,” Morgan mused.

“Seems like you’re outnumbered, Mr. Mage. And we have home field advantage.” She jumped to her slippered feet. “Let’s get you fed and out of here.”

Nellie trotted after Penny with Morgan elbowing her to give him the lead. She could tell her pants were not regular jeans. They looked too heavy, the color too dark. She swayed slightly trying to see if they had tinplate woven in like Ira’s coat, but failed to see any metallic sheen. Her drab colored shirt had none that she saw, but it did have defined wrinkles on the otherwise loose sleeves as if they were normally bound in long gloves or braces.

“Should we call the Order of Ferblanc about the dragon,” Nellie asked in a low tone.

“Those snobs? Oh, right, you’ve met Ira,” Penny said, visibly rolling her eyes. “That’s not really their job. They're more around to keep people like him,” she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at Amias, “in check if they go nuts on the population. More than happy to jump to if Ira calls though.”

“I don’t have a number for the Keepers….”

“They’re like that,” Penny said. “There’s a Conservatory not far. I can check in with them sometime tomorrow afternoon. I should be able to keep her in check until then.”

Penny led them to a long dining table. Plates set with pancakes were upon it. There was a jug of milk, a jug of ice water, and a small jug of syrup. Bowls with strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and sugar sat in the middle of the four plates next to two cans of whipped cream.

Morgan hastily took the nearest seat and started heaping butter, fruits, syrup, and cream onto his pancakes. Nellie sat next to him, crinkling her nose at his efforts to get the large bites into his mouth. She chose to eat the fruit on the side like Nathalie and Amias, but helped herself to the whipped cream.

“Pardon for bringing this up,” Amias said, speaking quietly as the old woman walked the edges of the room. “You seem under the impression you can handle this… animal.”

“And you seem unable to grasp that you’re alive because I can,” Penny said loftily. She plopped a strawberry into her mouth. “I can’t take her down alone. I’m not stupid. But, I can’t irritate her enough to get her to back off.”

“Her,” Nathalie asked tentatively, as if not sure she really wanted to know.

“Ira and me figured all dragons are female,” Penny said, nonchalant. She waved dismissively. “Just our running theory seeing as our mothers both turned.”

“Yours too!” Nellie shrunk as the old woman whipped her head towards them. “Sorry,” she added, lowering her voice. “Yours too?”

“And yours, from what Ira told me.”

Amias narrowed her eyes at Penny. “Three women all curse, for lack of understanding. I was unaware there were so many.”

“Who’s your mother,” Morgan asked. He searched his syrup puddle for soggy chunks he missed. “Does she work for my father too?”

“Who is…?”

Morgan straightened as if smacked. “You don’t know my father,” he asked. He bristled. “The Regere of the Auctorita.”

“Oh, him,” Penny said. “No, she’s got nothing to do with him. She was more… freelance, I guess you could call it. Wait, shh.” She straightened, smiling a wide, forced smile. “Hey.”

“Good evening, Miss Penny,” a young man greeted enthusiastically. A pretty, young lady with a blonde bob hung on his arm. “The missus was hoping we could get that picture with Hodge tomorrow morning.”

“You said this morning he was too tired and to ask later,” his wife piped up. “If he’s up for it….”

“Oh, sure,” Penny said with forced politeness. “I was going to shoot some tomorrow, so he’ll be all done up.”

“Can–can he wear some flowers,” the wife asked hopefully. “I have my second bouquet still from our solo pictures.”

“Sure,” Penny said, her smile starting to look uncomfortable. “I can add them last. You can help.”

“Oh my goodness, really! Thank you so much! I’m such a huge fan! He’s so, so, magical, and whimsical, and–.”

“Okay, honey, let’s leave Miss Penny to her company,” the husband said. He smiled happily. “Thanks so much. You’ve made our honeymoon extra special.”

Nellie felt compelled to wave as the newlyweds retreated towards the stairs. She rounded on Penny, leaning over the table and keeping her eyes watching for further interruptions. “Hodge?”

“My unicorn,” Penny said, not bothering to say it quietly.

Nellie’s jaw dropped. “U-unicorn?”

Penny pulled out her phone. She tapped and swiped, and held it up for Nellie (and Morgan, leaning in) to see.

The Instagram was full of tiles featuring a gorgeous white stallion with a long, white mane and shimmering, golden dapples. In the center of his forehead, splitting his forelock, was a long, spiral horn that started black and ended red at the tip. He had large, expressive brown eyes that looked far more intelligent than those of a regular horse.

She tapped one of the photos. This one had Hodge laying with his cloven feet curled into his body. His lion-like tail was tied with a red ribbon to match the ribbons braided into his mane. His small goatee had a little curl styled on the end. Roses were strewn about and a graphic stamped on the picture wished people a Happy St. Valentine’s Day.

“This was one of my favorites,” Penny said fondly. “He’s so handsome in red.”

“It really is a unicorn,” Nathalie said weakly, glancing over.

“You post this creature online,” Amias asked, his brows furrowed.

“Why not,” Penny asked, clicking her phone off. “It’s not like people think he’s a real unicorn. He makes bank on social media. All I need to do is keep my photography skills up, and we’re set.”

The old woman inched away from her wall, approaching with a kind smile and opportunistic eyes. “It’s rather late,” she said. “We do have rooms available.”

“We really can’t,” Nathalie said before either Morgan or Nellie could speak. “The pancakes were very good. I’ll gladly pay for the lot.”

“Put it on my room,” Penny said. She stood. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

Nellie felt overwhelm rise in her chest as everyone climbed to their feet. There were far too many things to ask Penny, or just to simply talk over. It was clear that Nathalie would not budge on leaving that moment, and Amias would very well back her up with how they have come to some sort of understanding. She hurried after Penny, away from the proprietor and the spare other guests coming to sit in the comfortable chairs scattered about.

“Wait,” Nellie pleaded.

“Yes, you can meet Hodge,” Penny said.

“Cool, but I wanted to ask about,” Nellie lowered her voice, “Ira. Is he okay? Is he here?”

“His daddy has him working,” Penny said with a bite. “He keeps his phone off when that happens.”

There was a small park across from the bed and breakfast, with a single line of parking off the street. There was only one vehicle present; an old, red pickup truck with a shiny, new horse trailer attached to the hitch. It was not a large trailer or large truck, but the combination took up nearly half of the parking spaces.

Hodge was more beautiful in person despite being half-asleep in a dark trailer. The weak streetlight that managed to penetrate the trailer caught his dappled fur, making him look like he sparkled with golden moonlit.

He raised his head, his eyes fluttering. He snorted angrily and threw his weight against the trailer.

“Ssh, Hodge,” Penny cooed. “I’ll get rid of them.” She waved a hand at Amias and Morgan. “Give him more space. He dislikes men.” She looked at Nathalie. “And… if you could step away a bit too. He won’t be outright aggressive, but the whole maiden thing with unicorns is very real.”

Nellie hesitated as they arrived at the Crown Victoria. Ira was accounted for, in an unsatisfactory way. That was the main reason she wanted to find the Cumberland dragon, finding the dragon was a bonus. If such a terrifying event could be called that. She accomplished what she meant, and even got to see a real unicorn. Even still, she could not open the door.

“Nellie,” Penny said, starting her back to attention. She handed her phone over. “Put your number in. We’re keeping in touch.”

---

Nellie thought that once Amias took Morgan back, that life would slip back to the doldrum as it had after Ira left. That was far from the case.

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

The lore with the Cumberland dragon is that it oozes this blood red junk that'll kill you if you don't submerge it in water. Apparently, the native tribes retold that bit of info to the calverymen that found the dragon. The dragon is also called 'goosefoot' because of the tracks (I forgot to say that in the 15th chapter).

Penny intro! Ira, Penny, and Morgan were the characters most needed to be infroduced in this, and now they all are. I liked the idea of Penny posting Hodge all over Instagram while everyone else in the Realm is all 'we should keep things hush-hush because panic'.

I couldn't fit it because of the clunkiness, but since Hodge is hostile to men, disgruntled by boys, and wary of non-virgin females, then his whole photoshoot with that bride is problematic. And when the photoshoot is problematic and Penny can't detter the fan any longer, then she says something about him being skittish/tempermental, and holds a halter on him to keep him more calm. Which is how she's recognized because she's in way more of Hodge's pictures than she would like.

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December 10, 2025
P.Track.15

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.

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