Elowen took a shaky breath. “You came back,” she whispered.
He tilted his head, as if listening.
“I wasn’t sure if I would see you again,” she admitted, stepping closer. “But I…I wanted to thank you. For the stone. And the rose.”
He blinked once, silent. No movement. No growl. No fire.
“I made this for you,” she said, voice quiet as wind over water. She knelt to pick the crown from the dirt and held it up with both hands. “I don’t know if you’d want it, but…it’s the only thing I know how to make that’s pretty.”
The dragon watched her. No comprehension flickered in those golden eyes. She smiled softly. “You don’t understand, do you?” She took another careful step forward, keeping her hands raised. He didn’t move. “You’ve given me gifts. I want to give you one in return.”
Still no response.
Swallowing, she stepped within reach. Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.Gods, he’s massive.His body radiated heat like a forge. His breath smelled of ash and hot air. Up close, his scales shimmeredblack and gold, layers upon layers of ancient armor that no man could pierce.
She reached up, slowly, trembling fingers brushing the side of one great, curled horn.
The dragon did not flinch.
Her chest ached at the gentleness in that stillness. “Thank you,” she whispered, rising on her toes and slipping the flower crown over the horn.
It hung there, awkward and small against the magnitude of him. And then the dragon lowered his head further.
It wasn’t submission. It wasacceptance.
Elowen, barely dared to breathe, but reached up again—this time to gently touch the edge of one thick scale near his jaw. Her fingertips pressed lightly to the warm, textured plate.
Immediately, she recognized the texture. It had been a scale she had found buried in the dirt that day, and the creature must have taken it back after she found it out of fear she would tell someone.
She moved her hand slowly across his scales. He made a sound, softer than a growl, and went still.
For a moment, neither moved.
Her touch was feather-light, the kind given to something sacred. Her hand lingered just a heartbeat longer, then fell.
“I don’t believe you’re a monster,” she said quietly. “Not like the stories say.”
Elowen stepped back, placing her hand gently over her chest. “I’ll come again tomorrow,” she said, voice barely more than a whisper. She turned, slowly, and began walking back toward the tree line.
Behind her, the dragon lifted his head fully, the flower crown still resting crookedly around his horn, catching the morning light.
Eleven
It was nothing butweeds,the circle she had put around his horn.It was twisted together by clumsy hands. Wilted at the edges. The petals smelled of morning dew and faint skin oil. Human-made. Imperfect. Fragile.
The little circle of flowers sat lopsided atop his horn, and though he could shake it off with a single twitch of his head, he didn't.
He did not move at all.
Her scent still clung to his scales. Her warmth lingered like sunlight where her fingers touched his jaw. Sogentle. No one had touched him in a hundred years. Not without hatred. Not without fire or steel.
And no one hadgivenhim anything.
He stared at the lake, at the ripples where her footsteps disturbed the bank. The flower crown weighed nothing, but his chest felt tight, as if the bones inside him were expanding.
She should not exist. Sheshould notbe able to look athim without fear. Should notwantto give him something. She should not hum. Should not smile. Should not speak to him.
He did not understand it. He did notknowwhat to do with it.
