Firemouth
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Once, long before Nell’s time, the dragons were everywhere else.
Nella traced her finger along the thin, jagged line on the map. The flickering light of the candlestick caused the markings to jump and dance on the old parchment, as if the peaks around the Valley were restless, edging away from their posts. The Thorns, they were called, sharp and deadly, woven around their prize. Rumour claimed they could not be traversed.
