The Dragon Who Hated Fire

She coughed and waved it away. The air smelled like old leaves and warm stone. A thin veil of smoke drifted along the ceiling.

Pip’s stomach tightened.

Fire.

She hated fire. She hated the bright leap of it, the hot breath of it, and the way everyone smiled and said, “But you are a dragon!”

Pip did not feel like a dragon in those moments. She felt like Pip, who liked cool creek water, soft moss, and the little bell that hung outside her home.

She wrapped her scarf over her nose and mouth. “I only need to find the other side.”

The tunnel gave no answer.

Pip moved slowly. She kept one claw on the wall and felt her way forward. The stone was cool and bumpy beneath her scales. Drips fell from the ceiling and made dark spots on the ground.

At the first bend, she found two paths.

One sloped upward. The other dipped down.

Pip peered into the upper path. A faint breeze brushed her cheek.

“That must lead outside,” she said.

She hurried up the slope. Loose pebbles slid under her feet, and she had to sit down to keep from slipping. At the top, she found a wall of stone.

It was not an opening at all.

Pip sighed. “That was not the safe way.”

She slid back down and chose the lower path.

The smoke grew thicker there. It curled around her ankles and made the tunnel look soft and strange. Pip could barely see her claws.

She stopped.

Her breath came quickly. She wanted to call for Moss, but her voice seemed small inside the mountain.

Then she heard something.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

The dripping water.

Pip listened carefully. The sound came from ahead, steady and gentle. She followed it, keeping her claw on the wall.

“Water can show me the way,” she murmured. “Water does not need fire.”

The thought helped a little.

At the next turn, a narrow stream ran along the tunnel floor. It was no wider than Pip’s tail, but it slipped toward the darkness with a clear, cheerful trickle.

Pip stepped beside it.

The stream led her past a patch of pale mushrooms. Their soft glow was not bright enough to light the whole tunnel, but it showed her where to place her feet. She thanked the mushrooms in a whisper.

The passage became narrow. Pip turned her body sideways and squeezed between two smooth rocks. Her scarf caught on a little point of stone.

“Wait,” she said.

She tugged once.

The scarf pulled tighter.

Pip felt panic flutter in her chest. She could not go forward, and she did not want to pull her favorite scarf apart.

She closed her eyes and listened to the stream.

Plink. Trickle. Plink.

Pip loosened the scarf with careful claws. She pulled one corner free, then the other. At last, it slipped loose.

“Slow is safe,” she told herself.

A warm breath of air moved through the passage. It carried a new smell - wet earth, pine needles, and smoke.

Pip lifted her head.

The smoke was coming from behind her.

She looked back down the tunnel. Gray wisps rolled over the little stream and curled around the mushrooms. The tiny lights faded behind them.

Pip’s mouth went dry.

The smoke did not rush. It did not roar. It simply kept drifting, filling the passage one quiet curl at a time.

Pip turned toward the dark opening ahead. “I am going to keep moving.”

She followed the stream.

The tunnel bent three times. At each bend, the air grew cooler. Pip could hear a faint rustle, then the sound of leaves brushing together. Daylight appeared ahead as a pale blue patch.

Pip hurried, but she watched her feet. The floor was slick near the stream. Once, her back foot slid, and she sat down with a soft thump.

“Oof.”

She rubbed her tail and waited until the dizzy feeling passed. The cool stone pressed against her scales. She was safe. She was still moving.

Pip crawled the last few steps and came out beneath a wide stone arch on the far side of the mountain.

Sunlight warmed her face.

She blinked at the open sky. The valley entrance lay just ahead, with tall grass waving beside the path. A robin hopped on a fence post and sang three bright notes.

Pip laughed with relief.

Then she heard a bell.

Not the little bell outside her home. This one was farther away, from the valley road. It rang once, then stopped.

Pip turned.

A gray ribbon floated above the trees.

More smoke drifted across the valley, thin at first, then thicker near the creek. It slipped between the green hills and spread toward the round dragon homes.

Pip’s smile faded.

She stepped onto the path. The smoke smell was stronger now: dry leaves, warm wood, and something faintly bitter.

Moss was somewhere in the valley. Pip’s family was there too. Everyone was home, she thought. Everyone was safe.

But the smoke was moving closer.

Pip looked back at the tunnel. The mountain had given her a way through, but it had not brought her all the way home. She still needed to cross the valley, and she needed to learn where the smoke began.

A breeze stirred the grass. It carried a soft murmur from the creek.

Pip tightened her blue scarf and listened.

“Water can show me the way,” she said again.

This time, her voice was steadier.

She started down the path toward the valley, keeping the creek on her left. The smoke floated above the trees like a gray blanket being pulled slowly into place.

Pip did not have to make fire to help.

She could watch. She could listen. She could find a safe path.

And if she needed help, she would ask for it.

The thought warmed her more than any flame. She walked on beneath the clear sky, while the little valley bell rang once more through the drifting smoke.

The bell’s last note faded over the valley. Pip kept the creek on her left and followed its silver ribbon between the trees. The water made a soft shushing sound over smooth stones. Smoke drifted above the banks, carrying the smell of dry leaves, warm wood, and something bitter.

Pip’s blue scarf brushed her chin. She held its end as she walked, wishing the air smelled only of pine and cool water.

At the edge of the village, Moss hurried down the path to meet her. His small handbell swung at his side.

“Pip! You came through the mountain?” he asked.

“I did,” Pip said. “There’s smoke coming this way. I think we should find out where it began.”

Moss looked toward the gray haze. “I’m glad you’re here. But you don’t have to go near anything hot.”

“I know.” Pip swallowed. “I hate fire. I can’t breathe it, either.”

Moss’s face softened. “Then we’ll stay by the creek and be careful together.”

Soon, neighbors gathered with water jars and damp cloths. Little hatchlings stayed close to their families. Pip felt the eyes on her, and her claws curled against the path.

“I don’t know how to make fire,” she said.

“You don’t need to,” her mother told her gently. “You can help in your own way.”

Pip looked at the creek. It ran clear beside them, calm and bright beneath the smoke. She knew how to watch its turns and listen to its little changes.

“Let’s follow the water,” Pip said. “We can stay together and look for where the smoke starts.”

The neighbors nodded. Moss lifted his handbell and gave it a gentle ring so no one would wander ahead. Then they set off beside the creek, keeping to the open path.

Pip listened as she walked. The creek bubbled over stones. Leaves whispered overhead. Beneath those sounds came a faint crackle.

She stopped.

“Did you hear that?”

Moss listened too. “I did.”

The smoke smelled stronger here, warm and bitter. Through the trees, Pip spotted a small patch of ash near the creekside path. A few blackened pinecones lay beside it.

Her stomach tightened, but the creek flowed steadily at her side.

“That may be a trace,” she said. “We should keep looking, but stay by the water.”

The group moved on together. Pip did not feel brave like the dragons in the stories, who laughed at flames. She felt afraid, and she kept walking anyway, close to the clear, cool creek.

The smoky path curved ahead beneath the pines. Somewhere beyond the trees, the faint crackling continued. Pip took a slow breath and listened for the water’s way forward.

End of chapter one. 4 more chapters and about 6,897 words in the full book.