Chapter 9 - The New Threshold
High above the valley, Elowen Hart sat once again against the silver trees.
The dragon was larger than she had first realized—its scales shimmered with a rich, metallic bronze that caught the morning sunlight like polished armor, and its long tail curled peacefully around the mossy perimeter of the grove.
A small basket sat beside Elowen on the grass, filled with fresh bread she had purchased herself that morning. The baker hadn't looked at the floor this time; he had handed over the parcel with a pale, respectful nod, whispering a hurried regional blessing before sliding the wooden hatch shut.
The dragon opened one golden eye, blinking slowly against the morning light. It lowered its head, nudging the edge of the basket with its warm, dark snout.
Elowen smiled, picking up a thick slice of bread and holding it out on her palm. “You know, people in the village are starting to leave extra provisions by the lower boundary stone,” she remarked lightly. “The miller even claimed he meant to donate flour all along.”
The dragon swallowed the bread with a low, rumbling purr that vibrated through the ground beneath her boots.
“They’re terrified, of course,” Elowen continued, leaning her head back against the smooth bark of the tree. “And they don't know what to call me anymore. The children tried shouting ‘Dragon maid’ yesterday, but the baker cuffed one across the ear before he could finish.”
The dragon let out a soft huff of air, its golden gaze shifting toward the sprawling rooftops of Ashbury Hall visible in the distance.
Elowen followed its gaze, watching the tiny figures of estate workers moving across the distant vineyards. For eighteen years, she had measured her worth by what she lacked—no family crest, no trust fund, no ancestral estate, no protective name to shield her from the whims of the wealthy.
She looked down at her hands, still slightly calloused from scrubbing heavy linens, then reached out to touch the warm, indestructible scales of the creature beside her.
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“I suppose,” Elowen whispered to the wind, “we don't need a history written on parchment after all.”
The dragon closed its eyes, its breathing deep, steady, and entirely at peace.
