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  He stepped out of the tangle of pokeweed and wild roses to get a better view of the river vista. Suddenly the earth gave way beneath his feet. The overhanging embankment collapsed, eroded away for years by the flowing river.

  “Help!” Twig yelled uselessly. He clawed at anything within reach as he became part of a landslide of soil and rock and vegetation that swept him down the slope toward the river.

  With a splash Twig was pitched into the river.

  A snarl of weed stalks, roots, and dirt entangled him, dragging him under. He opened his mouth to squeak, but it only let in a large mouthful of water and soil, and he choked and spat, clawing at the flotsam of vines, stalks, and muddy leaves. The river current was strong, pulling him downriver, quickly turning him over and over like a pinecone tossed down a hillside.

  The current pushed him up, and his head emerged briefly at the surface. He gasped wildly for a breath. “Help!” he squeaked, his mouth again filling with water, his body pushed and pummeled and pulled again by the current.

  With a sudden thump, Twig was washed into something large and heavy in the water. It was an old, sodden tree stump, floating heavily, mostly submerged, covered with slippery algae. Twig climbed on top of it, spitting up water and dirt.

  The waterlogged tree stump floated steadily down the river. After a while, the river widened, and the trees could no longer touch their brothers and sisters on the opposite side. Twig pulled a floating weed stalk out of the water and tried to pole the makeshift craft, and was only slightly successful at maneuvering it toward the bank.

  He looked ahead, downriver. A supple-looking sapling had been partially uprooted by the current and was bending, arched and stretched, over the river, dangling in Twig’s path.

  In a moment the sodden log swept by the young tree, whose leaves were tantalizingly close. Twig quickly gathered his strength, tensed his muscles, and leaped.

  His weight pulled at the sapling, and for a second Twig thought he might be dunked again in the water. But he scrambled up the branch and down the trunk, and made it to the muddy bank.

  Twig felt the warm mud beneath his body and breathed in deeply.

  He looked around. Just then an amber shaft of afternoon sunlight poked through the clouds and slanted its way across the river, illuminating the jewel-like blossoms and fern fronds on the riverbank. The whole world seemed bathed in gold. The sun slanted down some more, and Twig blinked.

  Something caught his eye. Twig sat up, looking more closely. It glinted in the mud and sand where water had eroded the riverbank.

  About twice his size, it looked to be a gold ball, slightly dimpled on one end. It was luminous, like it was lit from within. Twig couldn’t tell whether its glow was from the setting sun hitting it or from the sphere itself.

  But as Twig marveled at it, he noticed it was slipping slowly, then starting to roll, down the steep embankment, down toward the dark water, carried by a landslide of soil. On impulse, he raced to it, pushing upward with his shoulder, trying to keep it from sliding. His paws slipped, and for a moment it looked as though he would end up in the river again.

  Pushing with all his weight and muscle, Twig moved the golden orb inch by inch up the embankment, until it rolled safely into the grass. He sighed, brushing the bits of dirt and leaves from behind his ears and between his toes. He wiped the golden ball, rubbing it with his furry arms, shining it to a gloss, and then stood back, staring at it.

  It was perfect. It seemed to glow, smooth and flawless. He knew that no one in the Hill, no one, had ever seen the likes of it.

  Suddenly he heard a noise. He cocked his ears, listening. Then he heard it again.

  It came from the golden ball.

  It was a tiny, chipping sound. The ball wiggled a bit, rocking slightly back and forth.

  Twig’s eyes widened as he saw a very small crack appear on the surface of the sphere. The crack grew larger.

  Twig scurried behind a clump of weeds and peered back at the sphere. It shifted and jiggled some more, rocking more and tilting forward. Small sounds came from within it, peeps and clicks and whines, sounding like a combination of cries for help and growls of warning.

  Twig was mesmerized. “Whatever it is,” he whispered to himself, “it’s hatching!”

  chapter 7

  A Dragon

  The shell split in half, the two pieces opening like a gooey, prehistoric flower bud, revealing a wiggling and slightly sticky creature unlike any that Twig had ever seen.

  Twig didn’t know what to think of the . . . what was it? It was covered with thousands of shiny, emerald-green scales. The scales rippled and shimmered, one moment flat against the curved back and round belly of the creature, then suddenly pointing out from its body, as though it was alarmed or excited.

  A miniature mountain range of small, red-purple bumps ran down its spine, from the base of its head to the tip of its tail. It had two slightly rounded wings that looked as though they were made of soft, cinnamon-colored velvet, checkered with tiny veins of turquoise blue. A hooked claw jutted out at the crook of each wing, sharp and glinting in the sun.

  Twig couldn’t stop staring at its eyes. They were like two kaleidoscopes, fiery sunflower yellow, with flecks of brilliant gold and burnished copper. The tiny creature tilted its head this way and that, studying its surroundings for the first time.

  It was formidable, but adorable. And Twig knew exactly where he had seen one before; it closely resembled the pictures in his book collection. It was a dragon.

  Twig was fascinated, but cautious.

  “W-w-well, hello, little guy,” he ventured, his voice squeaky. “You’re . . . real. You’re not just a picture in a book!”

  The dragon flicked its tail and jerked its head sideways, peering at Twig. Its scales rippled.

  “Are you looking for your mommy?” Twig asked. “Where’s your momm . . . uh-oh?” He quickly spun around and looked in each direction.

  The dragon stared at Twig for a moment, then opened its beak-like mouth.

  “GRRRUUUK!”

  Twig scooted back in surprise.

  “GRRRRRRUUUUUUK!” It flapped its velvety wings in rapid beats.

  “Oh!” Twig exclaimed. “I guess I’m the mommy!”

  “GRRRUUUUUK!” The dragon hopped at Twig, wings still fluttering, mouth agape, eyes excited and golden, almost landing on top of him.

  “Whoa, not so fast, little fella. I’m just a temporary mommy.”

  There was a small cluster of wild grapes nearby; Twig hurriedly picked a few and laid them on the ground in front of the dragon baby, who sniffed at them with its tongue, as though experimenting, then looked up at Twig.

  Twig was disappointed. “No?”

  He thought for a moment, then took the grapes and squeezed them into a pulp.

  “Better?”

  The dragon sniffed again, then gobbled them down.

  Twig lifted a small stone, finding a wriggling earthworm and a roly-poly bug, and made a presentation of them on a platter of bark.

  “Here! How’s this?”

  The dragon let out a squeaky, plaintive bleat, like a rusty gate in a breeze, and then ate them up.

  Twig tore leaves into strips and then chewed them a little and spit them out, thinking that perhaps mother dragons regurgitated when feeding their offspring. The dragon ate those, too.

  “Good?” Twig asked.

  The dragon squeaked again.

  The fresh smell of wild cucumber was near. Twig located a tiny patch of the short, umbrella-like plant, one of his favorites. Digging down, he found his prize and wiped the dirt from the crispy white tuber.

  Twig held out one of the roots, then took a bite himself, chewing noisily.

  Scrunch . . . scrunch . . . scrunch.

  Suddenly the tangle of ferns and wild cucumber plants exploded in a burst of wind and wings, and Twig felt what seemed like pins being dragged across his back. He squeaked and catapulted in a somersault.

  The shiny black talons of
a hawk had just barely grazed his back; the hawk had misjudged her distance by but a hair. A tiny bit closer and Twig would have been swinging in a death grip, talons slicing through his spine, as the hawk carried him through the understory of the forest.

  Twig knew the hawk would, in the shake of a chipmunk’s tail, return for a second attack. Quickly scanning the area, he saw a small pile of blue glass jars some distance away. Some lay with lids rusted tight; others were broken.

  Wide-eyed, he turned to the dragon. “Quick!” he exclaimed. “Let’s go!”

  The dragon looked at Twig blankly. In a panic Twig yanked at the dragon’s tail to pull it along, and then grabbed hold of one of the dragon’s wings. “Now!” he squealed, and then took off toward the broken jars. One was nearly covered with weeds and grasses. He darted to it, pushed the grasses aside, and pointed.

  The dragon, as though this was a game, flapped and vibrated its tiny wings.

  “In!” Twig squeaked at the dragon, pushing at its rear end. Twig immediately raced in behind, pulling grasses over the opening, and burrowed into the back of the jar.

  Simultaneously they heard a loud clink as the hawk’s talons hit the jar. The cloudy glass distorted the looming face, but Twig could see, just a whisker away, the eyes of the hungry hawk.

  They were trapped.

  The hawk glared into the jar. Twig knew that if it weren’t for several millimeters of clear blue glass, the hawk would eat him. The hawk shrieked again, furious and frustrated. Her beak was hard-edged and strong. She snapped at the jar, attacking repeatedly.

  Now, with the yellow eyes of the hawk staring in, the dragon seemed to sense the danger. It backed against the curve of the glass, quivering.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Twig whispered. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  They sat in the jar, Twig protectively covering the small dragon, until the hawk saw the futility of the situation, lifted her wings, and flew off.

  Looking nervously at the sky, and heart still racing, Twig emerged from the jar, the dragon wiggling out after him. The fresh air outside was intoxicating, and Twig breathed in deeply. It felt good to be alive.

  Now he suddenly wanted to be home. He looked at the dragon, his whiskers twitching. “Time for me to go,” he said. “I’m heading back home now.” He turned and started to scamper away, but the newly hatched dragon hopped after him.

  “No, not with me,” Twig ordered. “Head back home. Wherever that is.”

  The baby dragon blinked at Twig.

  “Go home.”

  The dragon flicked its tail.

  This time it was Twig who blinked. He knew he couldn’t leave the defenseless creature alone in the Woods. But a dragon in the Hill? That wouldn’t work. The Council would not have it.

  Twig looked sympathetically at the dragon. He pondered. It would be difficult, but maybe if he hid the dragon . . . at least for a while . . .

  He started home, the dragon scurrying behind. With the Naming Ceremony approaching, this was just what Twig needed: a hungry, homeless dragon.

  chapter 8

  A Hiding Place

  Using the waning sun as his guide, Twig began to see familiar signs. He was getting close; the trees, the terrain, and the smells in the air were ones he recognized now. He rounded a large rock outcropping and saw the looming silhouette of the Yard in the distance.

  He recognized a voice, some distance away. “Twig! Twig!”

  “Lily?” he answered. “Over here!”

  It had only been the best part of a day, but it was wonderful to hear a familiar voice, especially Lily’s.

  “Twig!” he heard again, closer this time.

  He quickly pulled the baby dragon behind a tree stump. “Stay still!” he whispered. The dragon looked at him, cocking his head.

  Just then Lily came scurrying up through the mayapples and toothwort.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “You’ve been gone all day!”

  “Sit down here for a minute,” he said, leading Lily to the stump. He stood there for a moment and looked at her.

  “All right, this is secret, right?” he said seriously. “No telling anyone, and I mean anyone!”

  Lily’s ears perked up, and she nodded. “Not a soul.”

  “This may be the most incredible, special thing you will ever see,” he said proudly. “This may be th—”

  Lily gasped impatiently. “What is it?”

  Beaming, Twig half pulled, half pushed the baby dragon out from behind the stump.

  The dragon lifted its head. “GRRUUUUK!”

  Lily hopped back. “Oh! Wow. That’s a—a—it’s a—” she whispered.

  “It’s a dragon,” Twig said.

  Lily held out her paw, and the dragon stretched out to sniff her. A snort of warm breath shot out.

  “Ooh! He tickles!” she giggled. “Where did you find him?” The dragon’s tail looped and flicked.

  “I found his egg, in the dirt. Then I . . .” And Twig was off, telling Lily the whole story.

  Lily smiled. “Have you named him yet?” she asked, gently stroking the dragon’s snout and neck.

  “He’ll have to earn a name like the rest of us,” Twig replied. “Something will come to us after he’s settled in.”

  Lily choked. “Settled in?”

  “He’s just hatched. I can’t abandon him.”

  “So you have a plan?”

  “I’m sure I can hide him for a while, until I can train him a little, or at least until he can get along on his own. I don’t want the rest of the Hill to know about him. I want to keep him as my secret.” Twig looked at Lily. “Our secret.”

  Lily caressed the dragon’s scales. “Where can you hide a baby dragon?”

  “I was thinking: Why not the wooden clock tower near my house? Nobody ever goes there. It’s empty. And I can lock him in so he can’t get out.”

  Lily looked doubtful, but the dragon nuzzled her chin. “Well,” she relented. “That might work. We can take turns bringing in food and keeping him company.”

  Twig smiled. “I notice you said ‘we.’”

  “Of course I said ‘we.’ For one thing, he’s adorable. For another thing, he needs a home. And for another thing, you couldn’t do this by yourself. We’ll be his adoptive parents. Deal?”

  “Deal!” replied Twig.

  They set off through the mayapples toward the old clock tower, with the dragon trotting and flapping behind. The wooden tower was tilting and cloaked with weeds.

  “It’s creepier than I remembered,” Lily said. The swollen door creaked as they brushed aside spiderwebs. Inside, centipedes slithered into piles of dusty dead leaves.

  But after spending some time cleaning up a bit, and letting fresh air in, they gently coaxed the dragon into its new home.

  Twig found a stick and used it to hold the latch together. The dragon clawed at the door.

  Lily tried cooing and reassuring it. “Do you think we can leave him without any problems?” she asked.

  “We may have to come up with a plan B.”

  The two of them sat a little ways from the clock tower, listening to the dragon inside. They could tell it was anxious, pacing frantically around the inside of the dark space, making clicking and scraping noises. After a while the pacing stopped.

  “I think he’s okay now,” Twig said. “We can check on him a little later.”

  “And bring him food,” Lily remarked as they headed home. “Just your normal, everyday care of baby dragons.”

  They parted ways. The evening shadows were falling rapidly; Twig had been away for only the day, but so much had happened.

  Back at his burrow, Twig stepped into his kitchen. Olive’s elderberry pies had cooled.

  A good ending to an eventful day.

  chapter 9

  A Sundial

  After a few days Twig and Lily had developed a routine. They would meet surreptitiously at the clock tower between or after classes, letting the dragon explore and romp, a
nd always being careful to go unnoticed.

  The dragon flapped and fluttered its wings, like a baby bird fledging from its nest.

  “His wings are so little . . . I wonder if he’ll ever fly,” Lily pondered.

  “I bet they grow,” Twig replied. “Why else would he have them?”

  The two friends lounged on the leaves in the dappled sunlight, smiling as the dragon snorted and sniffed through the dry leaves, suddenly pouncing on an insect. He rummaged with his nose through the weeds and bumped headfirst into a rock.

  Lily laughed. “He really is kind of a klutz,” she said.

  “Maybe even a bigger klutz than me,” Twig added.

  Lily looked up at the sun. Metal Crafting started promptly. “We’d better get to class,” she said.

  Twig sighed. It seemed like torture to have to leave the dragon, but they led it back to the clock tower and hurried down the path to school.

  Class had nearly begun when they slid onto their bench seats.

  “Attention, class,” Professor Burdock said from the front of the room. A map of the Hill had been pulled down to conceal their next assignment. “Your next Metal Crafting project will be one that will be completed at home. It is a difficult one. Your skills will be tested to their limits. It will be more of a challenge to some”—he looked straight at Twig—“than to others.”

  Twig burned under Burdock’s gaze.

  “Normally, at this point in the semester, I would want you each to design and construct a simple hinge. Sounds easy, but they are more difficult than you might think. However, for this next project, I have thought of something more unusual.”

  Twig wiggled uncomfortably. He was afraid to see what was under the map.

  With a flourish, Master Burdock pulled at the map, and it shot up with a clatter.

  USING FOUND MATERIALS, CONSTRUCT A SUNDIAL OF YOUR OWN DESIGN THAT IS BOTH VISUALLY APPEALING AND TELLS THE TIME OF DAY.

  DUE IN ONE WEEK.