The tunnel was twisted and long, hard rock alternating with slippery sand, no light shining through its natural chimneys as she’d been told to come during night time; she knew the way, having traversed so many times, and knew that the rising humidity heralded the glow of underground mushrooms.

Zillarda waited for the visitor, curled tight around her steadily-decreasing horde.               

***

Breaking through the final barrier, Sylvie slung her bag off her shoulders and approached the dragon, who wearily lifted her head and whispered, “You have served me well distributing my horde to the most needy, and I am grateful to bestow onto you my final treasure.”

“Zillarda, The only treasure I’ve ever desired was your kind heart,” Sylvie cried out in alarm, gripping her pack tight in her arms as if to stop the dragon’s dying words.

The dragon rumbled, laughing as she dropped her head, “You earned that long ago, my great girl, but fill your bag with my remaining horde and do with the parcel what you will.”

The pile of gold and precious jewels forgotten, Sylvie’s eyes spilled over as Zillarda drew her final breath, and then the girl’s heart split and spilled over as the dragon’s love and devotion filled it, strong and warm and sustaining.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2024)

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