Curse Of The Blood-Red Dragon Egg

She reached out carefully, not wanting to startle it or hurt it, she wasn’t sure why. The thing wasn’t cold. It felt warm, like it had been holding sunshine all night.

Penny’s heart gave a small hop in her chest. She set her lunch pail down on the grass and touched the egg with two fingers. It was round and soft-ball sized, a little smaller than a kitchen melon, and its surface had a gentle shine, as if it had been polished by a river.

“No,” she whispered, and the word came out like a question. “Eggs don’t-”

A breeze moved through the brambles, and the egg’s color deepened, blood-red and bright against the green leaves. Penny looked around fast, expecting someone to notice. The farmyard was far behind her, and the bramble patch hid her well. The stream’s sound filled her ears, and somewhere a bird chirped, light and ordinary.

Penny lifted the egg into her arms. It fit in the crook of her elbows the way a kitten might, surprisingly cozy. She held it against her chest and felt the faintest warmth spread into her palms.

When she stood, her skirt snagged on a thorn. Penny didn’t fight it; she worked it free with slow care, afraid of jostling the egg. The thorn left a tiny line of sting on her finger, but she didn’t mind. The egg was worth more than sting or scratch or anything she could name.

By the time she reached the shed, her hands smelled like wood dust and grass, and her breath came out in small puffs. She opened the door with her shoulder and stepped inside.

The shed was dim, smelling of hay bales and old tools. Through a crack in the boards, she could still hear her mother calling for her to help with the sorting.

Penny set the egg in a basket lined with a folded cloth. The cloth was soft and thick, and she tucked it around the egg like a blanket. Her fingers lingered on the red surface, careful as when she brushed flour off a rolling pin.

“What are you?” she asked quietly, her voice so small it barely moved the air.

The egg didn’t answer, of course. But it didn’t feel lonely either. It felt like something waiting.

Penny sat back on her heels and tried to think like herself. On the farm, everything had a place. Even the tools in the shed were always in the same order, because Penny liked things to make sense. This didn’t. An egg like that wasn’t supposed to be found in wild brambles.

Even at her young age of 7. She knew the value of what she had. Knew that her family could never afford to ever buy her a dragon's egg. At least not before she got too old. After a child gets to be about 16, the hatchlings refuse to bond with the child.

She remembered the way her mother spoke about dragon eggs - only in stories and in careful tones. Penny had heard that dragon eggs were rarely found in the wild, and it was rare to find one that wasn’t white.Most people buy dragon eggs from specialized dragon egg farms. Where breeders control who bonds with which hatchlings.

Penny had also heard her father say, once, “Not everyone can afford an egg,” and then he’d turned away to check a latch, as if the words had slipped out too easily.

Now Penny had one.

And it was red.

She looked toward the shed door. The light outside made a bright stripe on the floorboards, and the sound of the farm - chickens rustling, wind tapping leaves - kept going as if nothing had changed. Penny’s secret sat right there under the cloth, warm and steady.

When she stepped outside, she carried the empty lunch pail like she had only gone for fence checking. She helped her mother sort feed. She held the sack with both hands and listened to the grains tumble, dry and steady, down into the bucket. Her mother pointed out the ones that had broken, and Penny nodded, watching her mother’s face for any sign she’d noticed the missing fence wire or the odd shine in Penny’s eyes.

“Did you find the gap?” her mother asked after a while.

“Yes,” Penny said quickly. “I fixed it.”

Her mother’s eyebrows lifted. “Good. I was worried the brambles might have pulled it loose again.” Then her mother smiled, warm as bread when it first came out of the oven. “Now you can get back to your chores.”

Penny nodded again, but her mind didn’t go back to chores. It went back to the basket in the shed, to that blood-red shell like a glowing berry. She kept her voice even, but she couldn’t stop thinking about how the egg had felt in her arms - like it belonged to the farm, even if it wasn’t supposed to.

That afternoon, when the chores were done and the sky began to turn the color of peaches, Penny found a reason to linger near the shed. She carried a stack of old cloth rags to hang by the line, then pretended to tie knots in the string. She listened for footsteps. When no one came, she slipped inside again, quick and quiet.

The shed smelled the same - hay and dust - but the egg’s warmth seemed stronger now, as if it had learned the shape of her hands. Penny sat down beside the basket and checked the cloth. It hadn’t slipped. The egg’s surface had a soft shine, and tiny faint lines ran across it like delicate swirls.

Penny leaned close until she could feel the warmth on her cheek. She didn’t know how to take care of a dragon egg. She only knew how to care for things in her world: keep water where it should be, keep blankets where they belong, clean the places where animals rest.

She ran her fingertip gently over the egg and watched for any mark she might have missed before. For a moment she worried she had done something wrong just by finding it. What if it needed dragon food? What if it needed a nest made the right way? What if it needed her to do something she didn’t know?

Penny’s chest tightened. She pressed her hand flat on the cloth, steadying herself. “Okay,” she whispered, as if speaking to a shy pet. “We’ll figure it out.”

She tried a small thing first. She fetched warm water from the kitchen and soaked the cloth line in a shallow bowl, wringing it out until it was damp but not dripping. Then she used it to cover the egg again, tucking the edges carefully. The basket felt snug, and Penny watched for any change - any coldness, any upset.

The egg stayed warm.

Penny let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The shed air smelled like clean water and old hay. She touched the egg again, and this time her worry slid a little farther away.

Still, she knew she couldn’t keep changing everything without thinking. She stood and looked around the shed as if it might offer answers. A few places held tools and spare boards. One corner had a small pile of straw, left from when they fixed a loose roof panel.

Penny chose straw carefully, bringing just enough to make a round nest. She laid it in the basket, fluffing it with gentle hands so it wouldn’t press too hard. Then she placed the egg in the middle and smoothed the straw around it like a cradle.

When she finished, the basket looked like it belonged in a dragon egg storybook, though Penny’s shed was not a storybook and her hands were not a wizard’s. But the egg looked comfortable, nestled and steady.

Penny stepped back and listened. Outside, a wind chime made a soft tinkling sound. The chickens were quiet for a moment, then started up again. Everything sounded normal.

That’s when she remembered her mother’s voice about not wandering too far. Penny’s secret was safe in the shed, but Penny still felt the need to be careful. If anyone found the egg, it wouldn’t just be a surprise - it would be a problem.

Her father came in later to fetch a tool. He paused at the shed door, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Penny,” he called, not angry, just checking. “Why are you in here?”

Penny’s throat went dry. She could smell the hay and feel the cloth under her fingers even though her hands were empty now. She turned, trying to look like she had been doing nothing unusual at all. “I needed the rags,” she said.

Her father stepped inside, his boots making a soft thump on the wooden floor. He glanced at the basket on the table. “What’s that?”

Penny’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to notice. She forced her voice to stay calm. “It’s just straw and cloth. For the animals,” she said, as if animals were the reason for everything.

Her father watched her for a moment. His eyes moved from Penny’s face to the basket again. Thinking that maybe she'd found a baby rabbit or something, and was going to keep it as a pet for a little bit. So he nodded once, slow, and decided to trust her. “All right,” he said. “Don’t make a mess. We’ll need this space.”

“Okay,” Penny said quickly.

When he left, Penny pressed her palm against her own chest, feeling the steady beat of her heart. She wasn’t in trouble, but the closeness of it made her think hard. Keeping the egg secret wasn’t only about hiding it from her family. It was about making sure the egg stayed calm and cared for, without being handled too much by curious hands.

Penny sat again by the basket and rested her fingers on the cloth. The egg’s warmth seeped into her skin in a slow, comforting way. She imagined it waiting - taking its time, because some things in the world were slow. Eggs didn’t hatch in a few days.

Dragon eggs were supposed to take months, her mother had said once. But Penny’s egg - she didn’t know how long it would take - felt like it was going to be a long journey.

She looked at the shed window, where a slice of evening light turned dust motes into tiny floating sparks. Penny thought about how rare dragon eggs were, how rare it was to find one that wasn’t white. Her family might not be able to buy an egg from a dragon egg farm, and Penny didn’t want to start a worry that would grow into a hurt.

So Penny made a promise to herself in a whisper. “I’ll take care of you,” she said, and the words felt warm inside her mouth. “Every day.”

The next day, Penny went about her chores with extra care. She moved quietly around the shed, and when she passed the bramble patch in her mind, she didn’t feel regret. She felt pride mixed with worry, like carrying a bowl of milk without spilling a drop.

She checked the basket after breakfast. She adjusted the cloth once, then left it alone. She listened to the farm sounds through the boards, letting the familiar noises remind her that she was safe, that she was still part of her family’s day.

And when her mother asked, “Did you sleep okay, Penny?” Penny smiled and said, “Yes,” because she did. The egg was hidden, the shed was warm, and Penny’s secret didn’t have to be lonely as long as she kept showing up.

One warm lesson settled into Penny’s heart like a blanket: Kind care matters most when you have something precious that others can’t yet see.

End of chapter one. 9 more chapters and about 18,878 words in the full book.