Emma and the Dragon of Moonveil

The moon hung low over the village of Moonveil, painting everything in silver and gold. In the coziest cottage at the end of Clover Lane lived a girl named Emma — five years old, with eyes full of wonder and a heart brave enough for any adventure. Every night, Emma watched the mountains glitter with strange light. The other children whispered it was lightning, but Emma knew better. She had seen the shadows — great, sweeping, magnificent shadows — and she knew a dragon lived up there. "I'm going to meet it," she told her toy rabbit, Pip. "Tonight."

Emma packed a small knapsack with a sandwich, a jar of fireflies for light, and a piece of magic — a single violet gem she had found in the garden the summer before. The path up the mountain glittered with frost flowers and humming stones. Halfway up, a voice rumbled through the trees like distant thunder. "Little one. You are not afraid?" Emma held Pip tight but stood her ground. "I am a little afraid," she admitted. "But I came anyway. That's what brave means, isn't it?" A pause — then the sound of enormous wings settling. "Yes," said the voice, much more gently. "That is exactly what brave means."

The dragon was named Ember, and she was the most beautiful thing Emma had ever seen. Scales like polished amethyst, eyes like two autumn moons, and breath that smelled, strangely, of cinnamon. "I have lived on this mountain for a hundred years," Ember said, "and no child has ever climbed to find me." "Were you lonely?" Emma asked. Ember was quiet for a long moment. "I suppose I was." Emma held out the violet gem. "Then this is for you. So you have something to look at when the nights are long." Ember lowered her enormous head until she was eye-to-eye with Emma. "And you, small Emma, will always have a friend in the mountains. Whenever you see the light — that is me, thinking of you."