Or maybe it really was curious.

It sat back on its haunches, its clawed hands resting on the ground in front of it, the wing membranes running down its arms tucked neatly back. It wasn’t doing anything—not breathing fire, not tensing its muscles getting ready to attack. It wasn’t even making noise anymore. That first huff of a growl had been to get her attention.

They regarded each other. Her heart was racing, getting ready to burst out her ears. The trouble she was going to get into over rock climbing by herself was nothing compared to the trouble she was going to get into over this. This…this was epic trouble. She waited for the thing to eat her.

But it just kept looking at her. She shivered and realized she was in its shadow. A great, huge shadow. And he wasn’t even a big dragon, if she remembered her facts right. Only as big as a bus. Not, say, a house. Adolescent, the word crawled out of her hindbrain. It was young.

The growl came again, and with it a word. “Well?”

It sounded deep, echoey. Like the word didn’t come out of its mouth, but reverberated through its entire sinus cavity. It gave the voice weight, an ancient dignity. She didn’t know how to respond.

“W-well what?” Her voice was tiny and trembling.

It blinked, and the ridges above its eyes shifted. It no longer looked curious, but wry. Amused, even. “Well. Are you?”

Another word crawled out of her hindbrain. Something in the tone or in the way it arced its brow. Male, she thought. It was male. He was asking if she was all right. She nodded quickly and swallowed back a scream. Oh my God, it’s talking to me….

It gave a snort and a satisfied nod.

The dragon had plucked her out of the river. Saved her life. The screaming part of her brain wanted her to get up and run, but she didn’t move.

“Thank you,” she said finally, “for helping me.”

The dragon’s neck snaked back, dipping his head in a nod. The scales flickered gray and blue in the sun. Too graceful for words. She expected him to leave. Or maybe she hoped he would. She ought to be running. Or were dragons like bears in that running only made you look like prey and encouraged them? Maybe she should wait until he was gone.

But he seemed ready to sit and watch her all day.

She was bruised, soaking wet, and starting to shiver. The sun was setting, and the shadows of the trees were growing longer. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, backing away from him at the same time. If she walked upstream a little, she should be able to find a narrow place to cross the creek without too much trouble. She’d look kind of stupid trying to wade in after having been plucked out on the verge of drowning.

“I should get going,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. Now, the instinct to run, to get out of this situation, was almost overpowering.

A low huff from the dragon stopped her. “Wait.”

He leaned forward, crouching on all fours now, bringing himself closer. She could see herself reflected in his eye. His breath was warm and smelled like a campfire. She kept herself from whimpering.

“Stay? Practice speech,” he said.

“Practice—” Speech. Language. He was learning English. He wanted to practice. She almost laughed. But she shook her head. “No—no, I can’t, I’m not supposed to be here, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“But we are.”

Had he been sitting here, waiting for someone to happen along so he could practice his conversation skills? Did he come here a lot? She boggled to think that there could be some dragons as fascinated with people as some people were with dragons.

She’d just been trying to get to the one place she knew there wouldn’t be any people around. She hadn’t even considered that a dragon could be here. A dragon who would save her life.

“You—you sound like you speak the language pretty well. I don’t think you need my help.”

“Not need. Want.”

“Why?” she said, but hadn’t meant to. What happened to running away?

He gave a soft snort that might have been a chuckle. “Because—not supposed to.”

She hadn’t expected him to give her a reason at all, much less a reason she could understand so well. The scales around his mouth and eyes shifted. Was he smiling?

“Yeah. Okay,” she said, unable to stop herself. “But—”

“Yes?”

“Maybe another time. I should go home, get dried off before I freeze.”

He sat back on his haunches again, curling his neck into an S. “Tomorrow?”

She had school tomorrow. What would he do if she said no? Roast her? Could he really breathe fire? “How about next week instead?”

“How many days?”

Dragons didn’t have weeks. “Seven,” she said.

He looked up at the sky, then back at her, and nodded. He was checking the position of the sun, she realized. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay, then.” Had she just agreed to come back? She didn’t have to, she supposed. She’d have said anything to get away.

Again, they were back to staring at each other, not moving. It occurred to her that he’d never seen a human being up close, the way that she’d never seen a dragon.

Then he said, “Help you.”

He moved, turning on his haunches to reach back into the trees. A long, undulating tail lifted and straightened as a counterbalance. Something so large should have been ponderous when it moved, clumsy, all bulk and no grace. Instead, he gave the impression of speed contained. Of power.

He backed toward the water, pulling a fallen log with him. The claws at the very tips of his arms were prehensile. With an echoing huff, he shoved it across the creek. It didn’t quite reach to the other bank, but it settled against the rocks and provided an adequate bridge. And it would still be here next week.

“Thanks.”

“Seven days,” he said, with a lilt that made him sound like he wasn’t sure she’d really come.

“Okay.”

She stepped across the bridge, happy not to have to wade and risk another fall. When she reached the other side, the dragon nodded again, then turned and crept into the woods, managing somehow to slip his bulk around the trees. He didn’t fly—anyone in town would spot dragon flight this close to the border.

In seconds, he was gone. She’d been so anxious to run away a few moments ago, but now she was almost sorry to leave.

She sneaked in quietly, stowing her backpack full of gear in the garage, then ducking around to the front door, which she opened slowly, only as far as she needed to to squeeze in. She shouldn’t have worried. The house was dark. No one had turned on the lights when the sun had started setting. Dad wasn’t home yet, and Kay could hear by the tapping on the computer keyboard that Mom was in her office, working. Moving quickly now, she darted to the hallway bathroom. After a hot shower, the mud, sweat, and blood would all be gone, and she wouldn’t have to explain herself.

When Kay left the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and hair dripping, Mom was still in the office, in the spare bedroom in the front of the house.

“Is that you, Kay?” she called.

“Yeah.” Who else would it be? she thought. If it had been someone else, wouldn’t it be at all worrying that a stranger had come into the house and used the shower?

“I’ve got stuff to make mac and cheese in the fridge. Can you get it started? Dad should be home soon.”

As promised, Dad came in through the garage door just as the casserole dish came out of the oven. Kay had even set the table. They usually managed to eat dinner as a family, however busy they got—that was one of Mom’s rules. Conversation involved Mom and Dad trading a few words about work and the standard round of complaints about coworkers and annoyances. Kay mostly tried to stay quiet. Her mind was full of dragon, and she didn’t want to let word of that slip.

Inevitably, though, her father turned to her. He was almost the stereotypical picture of an Old West sheriff: tall, broad across the shoulders, straight-backed, and confident. He had a square jaw and bright smile, and his brown hair was going gray. He even went around in a cowboy hat and boots. The tourists loved him.