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Rhekka knew it was a dragon egg when she rinsed the river mud away, warmth radiating through her palms. She hid it from her father, cradling it at night. He almost found it once, rummaging for something to trade for another bottle, but Rhekka’s hiding spot was clever.
She was harvesting when the scent of smoke reached her. The shack burned to ashes overnight. She cried, thinking both the egg and drunkard had perished. But a soft call rose from the embers.
Rhekka rinsed the ash away and held the hatchling close, amazed at what a little fire can do.
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