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The Benign Dragon

Don’t judge a book by its cover. Most people claim that dragons don’t exist. The few people who do say only negative things about them: they’re our enemies, they kill people with their fire, they lock princesses up in tall, tall towers (though people copied that idea from story books). Dragons are thought to be evil.

I suppose it all began a few months ago, when I had just turned nine years old. I was reading a story book, bursting with vivid descriptions of how dragons caught their prey, their ever-changing colours, where they hunted. As soon as I decided that I believed in dragons, I wanted to see one.

I planned it all on the spot. It should be easy enough. I lived in the countryside, close to an unexplored crag. My mother had always wanted to visit them for the spectacular views, but it was said to be too dangerous. I didn't mind this though, and hoped to explore the caves up in the mountains. I knew it would have to be my secret.

So I marched outside, grabbing the reins and releasing Penny from her stable. She was a Clydesdale horse. She was lovely and gentle, a present for my seventh birthday.

Penny is caramel brown, white strands of hair on her hooves and a stripe of white between her eyes. Her mane is black, beautifully straight and loose when out in the wind.

Shadow suddenly whinnied, longing to join us. Shadow was Penny’s twin. She was the same breed and looked exactly like her; most of all, they don’t like to be parted. But I couldn’t lug Shadow along with us, could I? I had no choice but to leave her.

I was a nine year old girl, running with a horse and trying to find a dragon.

                                      To be continued.