Four years ago, Morgan was found half-dead near the dragon village of Thorsbury Upon Wick.
Morgan cannot remember what happened to her, but the villagers suspect she might be a dragon from their long lost ancestral homeland.
Adopted by the villager...
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E R I K
I want to scratch at the flagstone floor until my fingertips bleed. There had to be a way to get the portal back. I wiped my palm over the scorch marks. The stone was still warm.
Behind me, Morgan was poking around the various crates and cupboards of the storage room.
"We should check these boxes. There might be something we could use in here," Morgan said.
I didn't move. I kept looking at the spot where the portal was, hoping it would somehow magically come back.
The hinges of one of the crates next to me creaked open. Poppy was helping Morgan search the room.
"There's nothing in here except useless gold plates and goblets," Poppy sighed and moved on to the next crate.
I couldn't believe it.
The portal was gone.
A hand squeezed my shoulder. It was Rupert.
"Staring at it won't bring it back," he said sagely.
I stared back at him, speechless. He was still a child, yet he tried to make me feel better. The poor fool had no idea of the danger.
Poppy let out a squeal of fright. My heart slammed into my chest. I leapt to my feet, palms at the ready. Poppy hopped from foot to foot and pointed at the crate.
"It's huge! I think it wants to eat me," she squealed.
I stepped closer to the crate and saw a small brown rat cowering in the shadow of the crate. The rodent was tiny, a dark reminder that nothing, not even the rats, grew fat up in the freezing cold mountains.
"Well done, Poppy," I said dryly. "You found dinner."
With a quick flick of the wrist, I hit the rat with a fireball.
Poppy wrinkled her nose. "That was so gross. Why didn't you capture and release it into the wild?"
I picked the roasted rodent off the floor and handed it to Rupert.
"This is dinner," I said to him. "This is all we have to eat."
Morgan shook her head in disagreement. "There has to be food somewhere in the castle. How else did Henry survive?"
She left the storage room before I could point out that Henry would have survived on blood. I ran after her, terrified that she might come face-to-face with one of Henry's servants.
"Morgan," I called after her.
She slowed down, but not because I called after her. A door at the end of the corridor had been left slightly ajar. A soft, inviting light poured out into the corridor.
Morgan drifted towards the door like a moth to a flame. Horrific imagery ran through my head of her opening the door and being greeted by a knife to the stomach.
