You discover a young dragon and fear what others might do to him if he is discovered. It doesn’t help that nobles have stopped in your town and are asking if anyone has seen a young dragon.

Cora gasped and ducked into the alley between the tannery and the forge. Carefully, she peeked around the corner post of the forge, squinting through the smoke and steam at the two men draped in finery, riding astride fanciful palfries through the muddy street. Most nobles carried themselves with a lofty superiority, gazing about as if the poverty around them didn’t exist, but these two were studying their surroundings, even hailing a few of the merchants in their stalls, or basket-bearing women on their errands, and asking questions. She couldn’t hear them over the din from the forge, but she had long ago learned to trust her instincts, and she was positive these men were looking for Rathena. The plump woman they had stopped nodded at one of their questions and turned, pointing back down the road that Cora had just been on. The lane that led outside of town and right toward her home. Cora spun on her heels, slipping in the mud before righting herself again. Shoving her cap just a little lower on her head, she darted into the yard behind the tannery and vaulted the low fence, making for the trees. They might have horses, but she knew the countryside like none other. If those two nobles stepped foot inside her forest, they would find her daggers in their throats. And then she would have to run away again. Killing nobles and the like was all well and good when backed by a paying benefactor. Things were a lot more dangerous now. She reached the low ridge that overlooked her longterm campsite, where Rathena, now almost as big around as a horse was tall and several times as long, lay coiled in the sun beside her tent. Yes, things were a lot more dangerous. Rathena was small for his age, or so Cora had been told, but as far as she was concerned, he was far bigger than she could handle. Just last week, he had nearly set the first on fire while “playing.” He was an hourly reminder of why she never had kids of her own. Sliding down the hill, Cora hissed, “Wake up, Rathena!” The wyrm slowly lifted his triangular head and yawned, exposing a mouthful of dagger-sharp teeth to her as she dashed across the campsite. “What’s the rush?” he mumbled as he watched her duck into her tent. She hastily yanked her hunter’s cloak and the scarf that she used to cover her face off her bed. “We’ve got company,” she told the young dragon, flinging the cloak around her shoulders and wrapping the scarf around her face. “After I kill them, you and I are leaving.” “But we’ve only been here a year!” Rathena whined in a very undragonesque manner, slowly uncoiling himself and stretching across the campsite as Cora hurried out of her tent and grabbed up the bow and quiver she had left just outside. Rathena was nearly long enough now to make a ring around the entire perimeter of the camp, which he did now, stretching his wings skywards with another yawn. Cora huffed a sigh and planted her hands on her hips. “Move your tail, Rathena. I don’t like it either, but I promised Vilira I’d keep you safe, and that’s what I’m going to do. If that means moving again, then so be it.” If dragons could possibly pout, he pouted, his tongue flicking petulantly out of his mouth. “Now, now,” Cora snapped, “don’t be so uncivilized!” She realized she sounded more and more like Vilira every day. She couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or honored. Standing before the young dragon sticking his tongue out at her, she decided on annoyed. Turning his head so he fixed a single yellow eye on her, Rathena asked, “Can we fly this time?” She sighed in exasperation. He knew the dangers of being spotted! She nearly chewed him out for it, too, but she stopped herself. As close as they were to the Tuthul Mountains, they were pretty far from civilization. It would be good to give him a chance to practice his flying, too. With another sigh, she conceded, “Yes, we may fly.” He looked more pompous than thankful as he reared his head back to allow her an exit, but she wouldn’t reprimand him now. She had a couple of nobles to take care of. As silent as a doe, she darted through the trees toward the road that wound it’s way up from Montishire. Even if the princes had been running, they wouldn’t have crossed the little bridge over the gorge yet, so she would wait for them there. When she reached the gorge, she ducked down behind a log, arrow nocked. Almost immediately after she settled into her hiding place, she heard the rhythmic thudding of hooves on hard-packed earth. The sleek riding horses came into view, trotting easily up the trail, their riders sitting casually in the saddle as if out for a hack. Cora drew back the arrow to her cheek and sighted along it. There were too many trees between her and them, but once they reached the bridge, they’d be in perfect range. She heard the sound of their conversation as they jogged their palfries up the road. “…didn’t say it outright, but I’m positive he thinks this will be our final trip,” said the tallow-haired man in the lead. He was broad-shouldered and thick-chested, and he looked as if he knew how to wield a sword. Cora wished she had brought her longsword with her, just in case. “Don’t speak too soon, Garren, lest you invite poor luck,” laughed the second noble. He was thinner, more scholarly with a thoughtful expression, and had a sweep of chestnut hair that brushed his shoulders. Garren pulled his steed to a halt just before crossing the bridge and turned in his saddle to upbraid his companion. “Now, I happened to be standing in the throne room when the Elder Dragon spoke, you newt-brained toadstool! And I consider myself a passable judge of words, and I declare that he sounded positive about this hatchling!” “I’m just cautioning you against obtuse optimism,” the thinner lad shrugged. “Many philosophers have written about the dangers of clouding the mind with wishful–“ “There you go with those philosophers again,” Garren interrupted. “We have eyes, Pethor. Use them to understand the world, not books!” Cora hissed through her teeth. They had stopped just short of the opening between the trees, so she didn’t have a good shot! Giving his companion a sour look, the chestnut-haired noble named Pethor grumbled, “My books were the ones that helped us find the Elder Dragon in the first place, I’ll have you know.” Cora leaned over just slightly to put the noblemen in range, successfully training her arrow on the tallow-haired man’s back. But it brought her out of concealment. The chestnut-haired Pethor spotted her immediately. Eyes popping wide open, he thrust out his hand and cried out, “Behind you!” just as Cora let her arrow fly. Inches from her target, the arrow stopped short, as if it had hit a brick wall. Garren spun and lurched back from the arrow hanging suspended before his face. Behind him, Pethor lowered his arm, and the arrow dropped harmlessly to the ground. Cora stared in astonishment. One of them was a mage? “Who goes there!” Garren shouted, drawing his sword from the sheath lashed to his saddle. “How dare you attack a prince of the realm!” “Shut up!” Pethor snapped, then he turned to address Cora. “Are you the dragon hatchling’s caretaker?” Cora whipped another arrow from her quiver and let it fly, but Pethor reached out his hand once more and stopped it in the air. “Please,” the mage pressed, “We mean neither you or the dragon any harm!” Cora wouldn’t have survived this long if she hadn’t been smart enough to know when to run. So without a second more of hesitation, she sprang to her feet and dashed off into the trees. “Wait!” Pethor called after her. “We’re friends!” Then Garren bellowed, “We are here on behalf of the Elder Dragon Strathanira, father to Vilira and Thirinil and grandfather to Thirinil’s hatchling!” Cora stumbled to a halt. They knew about Vilira? She glanced back over her shoulder at them. Garren went on in his official tone, “We come to deliver to the hatchling, at the behest of the Elder Dragon, his birthright as the future King of Dragons.”