The chill of dawn seeps into the cave, rousing Hannah from a fitful sleep—her eyes flutter open, dizzy and ravenous, the faint warmth of the dying fire doing little against the morning cold.
Then a sharp, familiar neigh cuts through the hush, and her foggy mind snaps awake. She fumbles for her mostly dry but still frigid clothes, pulling them on quickly before staggering toward the cave mouth, limbs sore from the prior day's brutality.
The morning air bites, snowfall lightened—proof they're closer to her destination. She steps out, breath catching.
"Bess!" she cries, disbelief and joy in her voice,
"How did you get here? I thought I left you stranded up there!" She runs to the mare, hugging her neck tight, pressing her face to the warm coat.
"My precious Bess, my only good thing!"
Bess preens, chest puffed, snorting warm snot straight into Hannah's hair.
Hannah laughs softly, swatting her gently then grabbing her canvas bags and tugging Bess toward the cave.
The mare plants hooves, ears flat in disdain for the cramped dark, but is forced inside, nose twitching in distaste.
Hannah revives the fire with dried branches, then pulls out beef jerky leftover from the city, chewing slowly to quiet her hunger.
She fetches river water to boil, dips rags in the warmth to clean the beast's scales, wiping dried emerald blood away with careful hands, whispering soft reassurances that feel more like a promise to herself than to the injured creature curled in the cave's far corner.
No pursuit signs—no armor clink, no shouts, no boot crunch on frosted grass.
She relaxes a fraction but stays cautious; the nobles won't quit, not when their pride's been bruised by a runaway servant and a "wild lizard" that dared to fight back. One misstep will put them all in danger.
They stay three quiet days.
Hannah forages sweet clover and dandelion greens for Bess, fishes the river with a sharpened stick and a thread of vine, tends the fire and the beast's slowly healing wounds, her guard never fully down.
Calm shatters on the fourth dawn when she returns with weeds slung over a shoulder and a dozen fresh fish—Bess screams, hooves skittering against the cave's stone floor, mane wild with terror, the cave thrown into chaos: bedding scattered, firewood knocked aside, the beast gone.
Her heart lurches into her throat until she spots fluttering wings overhead—the beast is awake, spooked Bess half to death then fled to a narrow ceiling crevice, its wings tight to its body like a frightened bird.
Hannah sets down her haul, calming Bess with a firm hand on her neck then turning to the ceiling, her voice soft and steady, no trace of the panic clawing at her chest: "Hey buddy, it's okay—don't be scared. I saved you from those bastards, no one's gonna hurt you now."
Bess huffs sharply, stomping a hoof and tossing her mane, still edgy, her eyes darting up to the ceiling with open distrust.
Silence lingers, long minutes stretching into an eternity before a slitted golden eye peeks out from the rocks, wary and skittish, its breath a faint hiss that echoes off the walls.
Hannah lifts one of the fish, holding it up so the firelight glints off its silver scales: "I brought food. You look carnivorous, so I caught these—can you eat fish?"
The beast stays hidden, so Hannah, famished and bone-tired, sets to grilling fish over the fire.
When three fat, charred fish are done, their scent curling through the cave, she wraps them in large maple leaves, places them gently under the crevice, then turns back to grill more for herself and Bess, her ears pricked for any sound from above.
Unseen, the beast vanishes mid-air, darting down to snatch the leaves in a blur of scales and wings, taking quick, ravenous bites before flying back to hide, all in the blink of an eye.
Hannah turns, her eyes widening in shock—fish gone without a trace. "What? Did you eat all? When did you come down? I didn't see you at all—are you some chameleon beast? That's amazing!"
"What chameleon can fly, you idiot?" A voice rings out—angry, childish, the beast's first words, sharp as a shard of glass.
Bess snorts loudly, as if agreeing the question was foolish, still keeping a wide berth from the ceiling.
"Wah—you can speak too?" Hannah gapes, more shocked than ever, "What are you?"
"I'm the mighty black dragon, son of Calamity!" he snarls furiously, his voice echoing from the ceiling, still hiding but peeking through the rocks, sparkling red snake-like eyes glinting in the firelight like polished rubies.
To Hannah, fierce as he tries to sound, he looks oddly cute—tiny, for a dragon, with scales that shift from emerald to black in the flames, his horns no bigger than thorns.
She can't hold back a soft laugh, earning a sharp hiss from the ceiling, loud enough to make Bess flinch.
For the next three days, the routine holds: Hannah ventures out at dawn to fish the river, forage sweet wild berries and edible dandelion roots, and cut fresh hay for Bess from the meadows beyond the cave, returning to find the cave quiet—save for Bess's occasional huff of disdain.
The dragon remains hidden in the crevice, only darting down unseen to snatch the grilled fish she leaves for him, never letting her catch a full glimpse of his form.
Each time she speaks to him, he responds with snappy retorts, too proud to show he's growing used to her presence, too stubborn to admit he's grateful.
One evening, after returning with a bundle of starchy roots and a string of plump fish, Hannah pauses to brush Bess's mane, her fingers lingering over the mare's soft coat, then presses a hand to her own waist—she's gained a faint layer of softness, her ribs no longer protruding sharply under her tunic, her skin losing the sickly pallor it held at the manor.
The realization hits her like a quiet wave: surviving in a cave, fending for herself and two dependents, she's eating better than she ever did as the count's third daughter.
Back at the manor, she'd been starved, fed only crusts of bread and watery porridge, her body wasted from endless labor and neglect, her days filled with scrubbing floors and mending clothes while the other servants sneered and the nobles turned their noses up at her.
The irony is bitter, almost funny—she'd been a prisoner in her own home, a slave to people who saw her as worthless, yet out here in the wild, cold and cramped but free, she's thriving.
She chokes back a laugh that tastes like ash, shoving the memories of cold nights, empty stomachs, and cruel words deep down; she won't let those ghosts taint this fragile peace.
That night, she grills the fish slowly, turning them over the flames until the skin crisps, adding a sprinkle of aromatic wild thyme she'd found growing by the river, and sets a portion by the fire instead of the crevice.
"I added herbs—they make it taste better," she says, keeping her voice casual as she sits cross-legged by the flames, tearing into her own fish, the herbs bursting with flavor on her tongue.
For long minutes, there's silence—then a faint rustle, soft as a mouse's footsteps, and the dragon drops to the ground a few feet from the fire, his small black form blending with the shadows before he shifts, his scales glinting emerald in the firelight, catching the glow like scattered jewels.
He's tiny for a dragon, no bigger than a house cat, with delicate, translucent wings and a snout that twitches as he sniffs the air, too proud to admit the herbs smell good enough to make his stomach growl.
He snatches the fish, his claws careful not to burn themselves on the hot leaves, then sits back on his haunches, eating slowly—close enough that Hannah can see the red glint of his eyes, bright and fierce and unguarded.
"About time you stopped hiding," she says softly, her voice gentle, no trace of mockery.
He snorts, his mouth full of fish, crumbs sticking to his chin.
"I'm not hiding—I was keeping watch. A mighty dragon like me can't be seen fraternizing with humans so freely."
Hannah raises an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Mighty dragon who was caught by nobles and used as a game?"
The dragon freezes, his scales flaring with anger, his red eyes blazing, before he slumps slightly, his wings drooping at his sides, his voice losing its sharp edge, softening into something that sounds like shame.
"They didn't catch me fair. I was separated from my clan, still young, my powers not fully awakened. A group of hunters tracked me for days, using nets laced with dragon-bane—they didn't know what I was at first, just a strange flying lizard with unusual scales."
He pauses, his tail flicking restlessly against the stone floor, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes, bright and raw.
"They sold me at an auction, labeled a 'rare flying lizard' for noble amusement. I knew if I spoke, if I revealed I was a dragon, they'd lock me away, drain my powers, or worse—so I pretended to be a dumb beast, no more than a wild animal. I thought they'd lose interest, tire of their toy."
His voice tightens, his claws digging into the cave floor, leaving tiny scratches in the stone.
"Instead, I was bought by that brat Friedrich.
He and his friends dragged me out to hunt, tied me to a boulder, shot me with arrows, pelted me with stones—torturing me for fun.
They thought I was just a mindless creature to play with, to kill when they grew bored. I couldn't fight back, not with the dragon-bane still lingering in my veins, not with the ropes binding me so tight I could barely breathe. I thought that was the end."
He falls silent, finishing his fish in a few quick bites, and Hannah reaches out slowly, not daring to touch him, just resting her hand nearby, palm up, a silent offer of comfort. "You're safe now," she says, quiet and firm, her voice a promise.
"I won't let anyone hurt you again." The dragon hisses, a faint, half-hearted sound, but doesn't pull away—for the first time, the arrogance in his voice fades, replaced by a faint, unspoken gratitude that glows in his red eyes, bright as embers.
Bess huffs from the corner, shifting her weight and stamping a hoof as if annoyed at the sappy moment, and the dragon snaps his head up, his pride returning in an instant, his chest puffing out.
"Don't get sappy! I'm still the mighty son of Calamity—I'll repay this debt someday, then fly off to reclaim my throne!"
Hannah smiles, knowing it's his way of saying thank you, and nods, letting the fire crackle between them, the cave warm and quiet, a fragile new bond taking root in the dark, like a flower pushing through stone.
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To be continue...