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Harry was the one who had found it.
She did not even know what it was, at the time. She would have never seen one before. It was rare for anyone to see one – they were usually so heavily guarded. Harry claimed that she had found it when she was out collecting fruit, but John was not sure he believed that. Surely a mother would not leave her eggs unguarded, somewhere where a young woman could so easily find it and take it away.
Harry had not told John about it straight away. Perhaps she would not have told John about it at all, had John not found it himself when he was looking for the bow that Harry had stolen from him. It was her own fault that she had given him incentive to search through her belongings.
He had confronted her about it immediately. Why is there a dragon egg under your bed?
Any attempt she would have made to deny that she knew what he was talking about faded at the words. John had seen her eyes go wide.
Dragon egg? I thought it was a stone!
A stone that big? Don't be daft, Harry. Where did you find it?"
Nowhere! It was just outside the forest. What do we do with it?
We can't keep it. Ma will kill us both, if it doesn't burn the entire house down when it sneezes.
Maybe we can train it.
Are you joking? It'll be the size of a small elephant when it hatches, and it will only get bigger after that. We need to get rid of it. You need to take it back to where you found it?
Can you do it?
Excuse me?
Can you take it back to the forest?
Why do I have to take it? It's your egg! You were the one who found it!
Yes, but Ma will get suspicious if I'm not home when she gets here.
So you want to pin it on me instead?
You're the favourite child. Besides, you're out late more often than I am. She'll be more likely to believe you if you tell her you were out, I don't know, hunting or something.
Harry.
Please.
Harry had punctuated the word with her best, most pathetic facial expression, and John, being the best brother in the world, had given in.
That was why he was here, with a bag on his back that was so heavy it made his shoulders ache, trekking his way down the rocky path to the forest. The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon, the last of its red-orange glow beginning to disappear. If it had been up to John, he would have gone first thing in the morning, to give him enough time to get to the forest and back before dark. However, John was no dragon egg expert, and he had no way of knowing how long they had before this thing hatched. Harry said she had found it weeks ago, and who knew how long it had been sitting in the forest before she found it? To leave it one more night before he took it back to the forest risked letting it hatch under Harry's bed during the night and waking up to a living, (fire)-breathing baby dragon – or not waking up at all.
At least John knew the path well, he thought to himself. Even if it did get dark, he knew this route. He could walk it with his eyes closed. He would stick to the path as much as he could, and he would not wander too far into the forest. And he had his bow, just in case.
He was not entirely certain what he was going to do when he finally reached the forest. What should he do? Should he just leave the dragon egg and flee the scene before anyone saw him? Or, should he try to hide it somewhere, so that no one else made the same mistake that Harry had made, believing it was a stone and taking it home? The latter idea sounded like the right thing to do, but at the same time, if anyone did make Harry's mistake, it was not John's problem. He was not responsible for the actions of complete strangers.
(He would just be responsible for the situation that led them to those actions).
The sound of footsteps on the rocky path ahead of John made John start, and he had the sudden, illogical desire to duck out of sight and hide until the person (no, the two people – there were two sets of footsteps) passed. He shook away the thought and kept walking. He was doing nothing wrong. There was no curfew, no law against walking on this path. No one would suspect that the reason why his bag was bulging out against his back was because there was a dragon egg inside.
He kept walking, and unsurprisingly, the two people passed him by with no more than a glance and a nod of acknowledgement. John's shoulders sagged just a little in relief once they were out of sight.
There was only a little bit further to walk, now. He could see the forest approaching. The sun had not yet set – he could go a little way into the forest, leave the egg where it would be hidden from anyone walking down the path, and get out before dark. He would undoubtedly end up walking home in the dark, but that was all right. The path was safe, and he would be fine. As long as he was out of the forest before sunset, he would be fine.
The wind rustled gently through the trees. During the day, John always found the sound nice and peaceful. Now, the sound was more ominous than anything else. He had never seen the forest this close after dark. He knew better than to explore that far from home. He had heard the stories. Young children wandering off at night and never coming back. Growls coming from somewhere deep in the shadows, savage animals that would lunge and attack at the first opportunity. Bandits lurking in the dark, waiting to steal from those who strayed too far from the path.
John pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He would be fine. He told himself that they were just stories, and that it did not mean that any harm would come to him, although he could not help but think that there was an element of truth to those tales. Stories tended to become more and more fantastic the more that they were told – the harmless story of a child wandering through the forest could become the story of a child lured to her death by a witch's spell in the night – but that did not mean that a child had not gone missing at night. The animals that were described deep in the forest might not be quite as nightmarish as they were said to be, but it was a fact that there were animals in there, and those animals could, and would, kill if given the opportunity. People had died in that forest. That was a fact.
He reached the outskirts of the forest and came to a stop. Even though the sun had not disappeared below the horizon, the density of the forest trees did not let any of the light in. The sight of it was like something from a bad dream. It made John even more tempted to just leave the egg where he was and run home to the safety of his bed. However, leaving it here was the wrong thing to do and he knew it. It wasn't just that someone could take it home with them. There was more to it than that. If the egg hatched here, the dragon might follow people on the path back to the village. The dragon could kill someone, or burn the entire village down. That much was a risk if someone else found it and took it home, too.
He looked over his shoulder. There was no one around, unsurprisingly. It was too close to night time now. Most people would be clever enough to go home, to the village, where there were lights, and people, and less danger. But no, here was John, being that one idiot who was putting himself in danger, because Harry had been stupid enough to take a dragon egg home with her one day.
He could do this. He could do this. He just had to make his way into the forest, just a little way in, drop the egg somewhere beneath a tree, somewhere relatively out of sight, and then he could get out and run home and forget this whole thing ever happened. With any luck, Mummy Dragon would find her egg, take it back to her dragon home, and raise her child, safely inside the forest where they would cause harm to no humans (but for the few stupid ones who wandered too far into the forest, but you could hardly blame the dragon for that).
He took a deep breath, looked over his shoulder one more time, and then stepped into the forest. He was on high alert for even the slightest of noises, for the smallest indication that he was not alone and that there was something else there that he should fear. The hairs on his arms stood up, and goosebumps prickled over his skin even though the weather was hardly cold. At the first rustle of leaves, he turned, whirling around, before his conscious mind caught up with his unconscious instincts and pointed out that it was nothing more than the wind. He did not feel stupid for his overreaction. It was a good thing, to be on high alert. He would rather a few false alarms than to make a mistake when there was something real.
He moved further into the forest, but he made sure not to go too far in. If he did, the trees would be too dense to let in even the light of the setting sun, leaving him in pitch-black darkness. He kept glancing over his shoulder to make sure he could still see what remained of the warm red-orange glow. He walked in a straight line as much as possible, because the last thing he needed was to get lost taking unnecessary twists and turns.
There was another rustle through the leaves, and John paused mid-step, listening. There was no sound that followed it – it must have been the wind once more.
He took another step, and then another, and then froze once again. That time, the rustle of leaves was definitely not caused by the wind.
There was something in the trees.
He tilted his head to the side and listened, but there was no sound. Whatever was in the tree had to be clever enough to know that John was listening for him and knew to keep quiet, to stop moving at the same time that John did.
He pretended to dismiss it again, and took another couple of steps. However, John most definitely had not dismissed the sound. Instead, he was listening carefully, not only to confirm that there was something in the trees that was following him, but also to work out which tree it was hiding in.
There.
A couple of steps later, there was another rustle, behind him and to the right.
He turned quickly, and in the same movement, he was pulling an arrow from his bag, pulling it back against the string of his bow, pointing it towards the tree where the sound had come from.
There was no sound, and no movement. Whatever – or whoever – was up there was silent, watching, waiting. John's gaze flickered over the tree, looking for shadows or movement in the trees.
When nothing happened for a moment, John spoke. "I know you're there," he said. "Show yourself." He kept his tone calm, hard, like a man who had no hesitations when it came to firing an arrow in the forest. He did not want to, of course – John had no desire to kill if it was avoidable, and did not want to harm a being that he could not even see – but whatever it was did not need to know that John's unspoken threat would not quickly be followed through.
There was movement again, and John followed the sound with his bow and arrow, shifting his aim. He managed to catch a glimpse of something as it jumped, gracefully, from the branch of one tree to another. It had two legs, and looked human, but John did not have the opportunity to take a very good look. He drew the arrow back and aimed it at the tree branch where the figure had landed.
"You have three seconds to come down before I shoot," he said calmly. "One. Two..."
There was the sound of rustling again, and then the figure appeared. It was human, John realised. It – no, he – grabbed onto the branch and swung down to hang off it, before dropping to the ground, landing in a perfect crouch before straightening to his full height.
The person was a young man – almost a boy, really, maybe a few years younger than John. He was taller than John was, but had that youthful brightness in his eyes. John's arrow was still pointing at him – he had followed the boy's movements with his aim – but surprisingly, the boy did not look afraid. In fact, if anything, he looked unimpressed, or bored. He looked at the arrow distastefully.
"You're not going to hurt me," he said calmly, without a hint of doubt in his voice. John did not lower his bow, but the man was right. What harm could this person do to him? This wasn't some unintelligent being who would act on instincts, who John would need to kill in order to save himself. This was a human, who could think and feel and live instead of merely surviving, and John was not a heartless killer. John would never hurt someone if there was another option.
However, John would defend himself if it ever became necessary, at whatever price. So, he did not immediately lower the bow, instead asking, "What makes you so sure?"
The man looked unconcerned. "You armed yourself when you thought I was something that would hurt you. The look on your face when I came down says you were surprised to see what I was, and your moral compass forbids you from causing me unnecessary harm. You're already relaxing the bow – have you noticed? You're trying to act like you're still on high alert, but you're not. Poor form, really. Put the bow down, or you'll cause unnecessary strain."
John hesitated, but then he lowered the bow, though he did not return the arrow to his bag. "What are you doing out here?" he asked, glancing towards the trees from which the young man had jumped. Was he here alone, or was he here with a bunch of friends, who thought this was all part of a game?
"I could ask you the same question," said the man. "You know better than to walk this way at night."
"You should know better too," John said. "The forest isn't safe after sunset. You should be at home."
"I am at home."
"Don't be silly. No one lives in a forest. You'd be torn apart in the middle of the night while you were sleeping."
"A human would, yes."
John frowns, narrowing his eyes and looking the man up and down. Two arms, two legs, one head. His skin was pale, but not unnaturally so. The only thing that did not look completely ordinary were his bright eyes – John had never seen eyes that were quite like his before – but they were not an abnormal colour. If they were red, or gold, it might suggest that there was more to him than met the eye, but they were not. His eyes were a fascinating mixture of blue and green and grey, but all those colours were entirely normal for a human.
And yet, the young man was standing before him with his eyebrows raised, as though he was expecting John to pick up on something obvious.
"You're... not human?" John asked slowly.
The man rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips turned up into a smirk. He did not reply, but instead started walking in a slow circle around John, forcing John to turn on the spot to keep his eyes on the man. John's grip tightened on his bow, but he did not raise it again.
"Now," the boy said calmly. "What is someone like you doing in the forest? You would not be here if it was not important. Obviously, it was something that could not wait until morning, otherwise you would have kept your distance until sunrise. It would not have made that much difference to the lighting – this forest is dark even in the middle of the day – but you would be safer, because the more dangerous creatures would be hidden away or sleeping. Most of them are nocturnal. The were-creatures are diurnal, of course, but in the sunlight they would be in their more... intelligent forms."
"Is that what you are?" John asked. "A were-creature?"
"No," the man replied. There was something almost playful in his tone, like this was some sort of game to him. "If I were a were-creature, I would be starting to shift now, wouldn't I?"
"Are you a shapeshifter, then?" John asked. "One who can shift whenever they want, rather than being controlled by the sun?"
The young man hummed, sounding amused. "You seem to be working on the assumption that I currently look human, and thus, must be in a 'human form'." He finished a full circle, and then came to a stop in front of John. "You would have much more success if you considered the idea that this is my sole, natural form, and it is not a human one."
John frowned, looking over the man again. Was there something he was missing that wasn't quite human, some feature that should have given his true identity away? In his head, he started listing creatures that shared similar features to humans. Could this be a vampire? He was certainly pale-skinned, as vampires were, but John had not seen a flash of fangs when he smiled, so that could not be right. Perhaps he could be a satyr. He glanced down at the young man's trousers, trying to work out if they were hiding furry legs beneath them, but that immediately realised that that idea was wrong as well. The young man was bare-footed, and he definitely did not have hooves.
After a moment, the young man decided to give John a clue. He did not speak, but he raised a hand and ran it through his mop of dark curls, brushing them out of the way for just long enough for John to catch a glimpse of one of his ears.
One pointed ear.
John had seen pictures of elves in books and framed on walls in galleries. He had heard stories of their connection with nature, their powers over the natural elements, their grace when they moved. However, he had never seen an elf in person. As far as he was aware, no one from his generation had, because elves were extinct.
They had been told the stories in lessons, time and time again. Elves were one with nature, lived with nature, but nature was often so temperamental and dangerous. There had been forest fires, tsunamis, hurricanes. Many beings, from many species, had died from events like those, but elves were among the species that got the worst of it. And that was not to mention the wars – elves were a peaceful species, or so the stories told, and so they did not fight, even when they were attacked. They were hardly a large species to begin with; John had been told that their species had gone extinct long before John's lifetime.
There was no way a real, living elf was standing before him. He could not be real.
"No way," John breathed.
The pointy-eared man raised his eyebrows and lowered his hand, letting his hair fall back over his ears.
When the man did not speak, John shook his head and said, "No, you can't be an elf. They're extinct."
The man stretched out his arms as though to say, And yet, here I am. "Obviously not."
"But..." John started slowly. "We learnt about you. The fires, the war – how can you be real?"
"You are correct in believing we are an endangered species," the young man said calmly. "But to say that none of us exist anymore is inaccurate. We choose to keep our distance from your species, for our own self-preservation." He paused for a moment, and then added, "Really, it's foolish of your kind to hold onto this belief that my species has died out, while never venturing too far into the forest to see that that is really true. It is a mistake to theorise without all the facts."
John looked around. "So, there are more of you in here?" he asked.
In response, the young man – the elf – raised his eyebrows and smirked.
After a moment, the elf returned to walking in a slow circle around John, just as he had been doing earlier. "Now that your question has been answered, I have one of my own," he said. "What is someone like you doing in a forest at this time of day?" He glanced over John's shoulder, and then added, "Although, day is not quite the correct term."
John glanced towards the edge of the forest. The last few streaks of sunlight were filtering through the trees, but it would not last much longer. It was going to be dark very, very soon.
The realisation made John worry. A part of him desperately wanted to stay here and talk to this elf – to meet a member of a species that was supposedly extinct was fascinating – but at the same time, he knew better than to stay in the forest after dark. This elf seemed friendly, but that wasn't to say that the other creatures in this forest would be.
He could come back during the day, when it was safer. Maybe, if he was very, very lucky, he might run into this elf again. After all, the elf lived here in the forest. It was not as though he would be gone if John came back in the sunlight.
"It's late," he said, going to step past the elf. There was a tree a few steps away, whose roots stuck in odd places around its base. If he put the egg there, it would stay, as though it were held by a nest. It would not roll away. It might even hide it a little – but the egg was bright blue, so any creature in the forest that was not colour blind would be drawn to it because of that alone.
However, the elf held no interest in letting John go easily. He did not allow John to step past, instead stepping in front of him to block his path.
"That," the elf said, "does not answer my question."
"I just came to drop something off," John said, because it's the truth, even though it's vague. "I need to get home before it gets dark. Move, please."
The elf did not move.
"I really need to go," John said after another attempt at getting past. "I'm sure you're quite happy to live here, but I'd really rather not get torn limb from limb if I can help it. Let me go."
"Mmm, no," the elf said, in a voice that was more playful and child-like than it should have been in a dark forest. "This is far more interesting. I'd rather know what a human like you would need to drop off in the forest at this time of night."
John swung his bag off his back, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to protect the egg inside of it. There was something mischievous in the elf's eyes, and John was unsure if he would leave the egg be, or if he would try to do something with it. John had heard that there were species of fae that were playful and cheeky, fae who would get people into trouble and cause harm not with the intention of being harmful, but with the intention of having fun. Who was to say that elves like the one who stood before him were not the same?
The elf glanced down at the bag in John's hands, that same, mischievous smile growing on his face. "What could possibly be so important that you had to drop it off in the forest, right this minute, so close to sunset? It's obviously urgent." He took a step closer, and John held his ground, resisting the temptation to take a step back. "It's heavy, obviously. Round. Smooth. Now, I can't see through your bag, but if I judge by the shape alone, I'd say it might be an egg. A big egg, definitely. Maybe a dragon egg?"
John carefully kept his expression blank, his instincts telling him to hide any other reaction, avoid giving anything away, but he knew there was no point. The elf had not made a lucky guess – he knew. There was no way that John could convince the elf that he was wrong.
He tightened his grip on the bag so that the elf couldn't make any attempt at snatching the bag away from him. "How can you tell?" he asked quietly after a pause. "Big, round, and smooth isn't that much to go off. It could have been a stone."
"It could have, yes," the elf concedes. "It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but clearly it was a good one. I happen to know that a dragon egg went missing from a cave nearby here several weeks ago. Now, you turn up at sunset with a large object in your bag that definitely matches the egg in size and shape – probably safe to say the two are related."
John frowned, glancing down at his bag. "Harry said she found it by the forest, not by a cave," he said quietly.
"I expect she did," the elf said. "I do not believe she was the one who took it. It was taken by a group of men, along with as much gold and treasure as they could carry. They were probably too stupid to realise what the egg actually was. Once they worked it out, though, they left it here by the forest, and that would have been when your sister found it."
John looked down at the bag again. "I thought if I took it back to the forest, I was taking it home."
In response, the elf raised his eyebrows, an amused look coming over his face. "You believed the dragon lived in the forest? You do realise how large they are, don't you? They would have great difficulty moving about thought the threes without taking the forest down with them."
John grimaced. Now that the elf pointed it out, it should have been obvious. Had he thought about it, he would have known that there was no way that this was where the dragon lived. He felt stupid for making that mistake.
He could not leave the egg here, for more reason than one. It would not be found by its mother, here. Few creatures could survive as babies without their mothers. Leaving the egg here made it likely that the only beings who would find it would be predators, who could damage the egg before the dragon hatched, or harm the dragon when it did. When the dragon woke, it would be alone.
And if it was not harmed by something else in the forest, then it would cause harm. It would be big even when it hatched. It could cause damage to the forest and harm to the creatures within it. And that was to say nothing of the risk of it burning the place down should it let out a breath of fire.
Oh, it should have been obvious that a forest was the wrong habitat for a giant, fire-breathing creature. John was an idiot.
The elf seemed to have followed John's train of thought. He was watching John with that mischievous expression on his face.
"You know," he said after a moment of silence, giving John long enough to have considered the likely outcomes of abandoning the egg in the forest. "The cave isn't far from here."
John turned to stare at him. "You've got to be joking."
The elf grinned. "No," he said. "It's the logical course of action. I know you've come to the obvious conclusion – if you leave the egg here, it will get hurt, or it will hurt someone else. The expression on your face says you don't want that to happen. The only way you can ensure that the dragon hatches and survives, and does not cause unnecessary harm to anyone in this forest, is to take it to where it belongs."
"It also ensures that I get roasted alive by a fire-breathing dragon," John pointed out.
"Not necessarily. Dragons are diurnal. She'll be asleep. If you are careful, you can get in and out of her cave without waking her."
"That sounds like the most insane plan I've ever heard."
"Maybe so, but it's not an impossible one. The men who stole the egg were able to do so without waking her, weren't they?"
John glanced down at the egg, and thought about the dragon inside. Dragons were dangerous, yes, but they were not cruel and heartless. The people who had been harmed by dragons were those who had intended to harm the dragons themselves, or to steal from them. Dragons would protect their possessions, but they would not seek out innocent victims.
The unborn dragon in the egg in John's bag had never caused harm to anyone. It did not deserve to be left to die.
John glanced towards the edge of the forest. There was no sunlight left now. This was beginning to feel like the most insane night that John had ever had.
He glanced at the elf, and let out a sigh. "Fine," he said. "Where's the cave?"
The elf's face broke out into a grin. It seemed this was the response that he was hoping for. John was not sure why that was the case, except that, perhaps, the elf thought it would be funny for John to risk his life returning a dragon's egg.
"It's not far," the elf said. "I'll show you."
"You'd better," John said, swinging the bag back onto his back again. "I'm not going to a dragon's cave by myself."
"I wouldn't expect you to," said the elf, "and I'm in need of something to do. I can feel my brain rotting from the boredom of the forest. Come." He stepped past John, moving towards the outskirts of the forest, and John took a deep breath, shook his head, and then followed.
They left the forest, and John let the elf lead the way to the cave. The roads were quiet, now. Most people were not stupid enough to be out late at night. Perhaps that was part of the reason why the elf was happy to follow him, despite being a member of a species that had managed to hide its existence from humans for so long.
"What's your name?" John asked after a moment or so of silent walking. He saw the elf glance at him out of the corner of his eye.
"Sherlock," the elf said.
"Sherlock," John repeated. "I'm John. Just letting you know, Sherlock, that if you get me killed, I am going to haunt you for the rest of eternity."
The corners of the elf's – Sherlock's – lips pulled up into a smirk.
They rounded a bend, and now John could see the cave that they were approaching. Without even a hint of sunlight, the sight of the cave, and the path that led to it, was ominous and creepy. Nothing about the cave was welcoming: it screamed Danger: Something evil lurks inside. On any other day, if John saw a cave like this, he would choose another path. He hoped his sister appreciated the things that he put himself through for her sake.
The elf did not keep them both on the path, but strayed off to the side, so that they were not directly approaching the mouth of the cave. This meant that, if the dragon was awake, she would not see them coming. They came to a stop a few metres from the cave, and Sherlock turned towards him.
"There you go," the elf said, an amused-looking expression on his face.
"You're not coming in with me?" John whispered.
"Of course not. One set of footsteps has a far higher chance of going undetected than two sets."
A sick feeling began to unfurl in John's stomach. He glanced towards the cave, and ten looked back at the elf. "Maybe you should be the one to go in there," he said. "You did a great job of sneaking around in those trees before I caught you. You're probably quieter than I am."
"I'm not the one whose sister was careless enough to take a dragon egg home with her. I believe that makes it your responsibility."
"Why, are you too scared to do it yourself?"
"Are you?"
John decided not to answer that, because the truth would be too obvious no matter what he said.
He glanced towards the cave and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could do this. Get in, leave the egg, get out. He didn't even have to go far – he could leave the egg just inside the cave's entrance, and surely the dragon mother would find it then. How hard could it be?
He took his bag off his back and took out the egg carefully. He did not need anything to lengthen the amount of time that he spent in the cave – he did not want to be fiddling around taking the egg out of his bag while he was inside. He made sure his arrows were in an easily-reachable position before swinging the bag back onto his back again.
"You can leave that out here, you know," Sherlock said. "Your arrows won't do much against a dragon."
John had feared that much, but he shook his head nonetheless. "It gives me a sense of security."
"It'll only weigh you down."
John thought about leaving the bag with the elf and sneaking inside the cave empty-handed, save for the egg. He might be able to move faster. Then, he thought about how mischievous elves were said to be, and wondered if doing this would just mean that he would emerge from the cave and find both the elf and his bag gone.
The elf raised his eyebrows, a playful sort of smile growing on his face. "You think I might steal it," he said.
"Won't you?"
Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "I suppose you got this idea from the same people who told you that my species was extinct?"
John glanced down at his shoes, but decided it was not worth the risk anyway.
"Wish me luck," he said after a moment, turning to look towards the cave.
"There's no such thing."
"You're a real comfort."
He shifted his bag on his back, took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his rapid heartbeat, and then he approached the cave.
A part of John wanted to run, to get in and out as fast as he could. He wanted to sprint to the entrance, throw the egg as though it was a ball (surely, with its size, it would not shatter if he did that), and run away before he was seen. However, he knew that if he aimed for speed, he would sacrifice silence, and making too much noise risked him being burnt to a crisp by one hot breath from the dragon, before he even had time to gasp.
He crept to the cave's entrance, and then glanced over his shoulder to where the elf stood. Sherlock was still there, watching as though this was some kind of play for his amusement. John wondered if Sherlock was actually getting anything out of this – beyond a relief to the boredom he had complained of earlier.
John took a deep breath, and then he entered the cave.
The first thing he saw was gold. Lots of gold. Dragons were known to be hoarders, and he could see now what that word really meant. Gold and jewels and various other treasures were scattered through the cave. It is no wonder that the men who had stolen the egg had come here. Even John could not stop his mind from wandering to how much even a small portion of this treasure would mean to his family. Even John wanted to reach out and grab just a few pieces of gold while he could, to stuff them into his bag before he left. He resisted the temptation, however. He knew better than to take that risk. He had one job here: to leave the egg and get out. He was not here to take.
He dragged his eyes away from the piles of gold to look towards the dragon. She was sitting on top of her collection of treasure, curled upon it as though it was a nest. Even curled up as she was, she was several metres long. John knew that dragons were enormous, but it was breathtaking to see that up close. John had never seen a dragon before, aside from in pictures: the closest thing John had ever seen was a shadow as a dragon passed in front of the sun.
Now, up close, John could see the light blue colour of her scales, which almost seemed to reflect the treasures around her. He could see the individual scales on her body, see the way the shade of blue was not constant but was rather a mixture of different shades - darker around her neck, lighter at the top of her head. He could see the spikes on her back and tail, and he could see the claws that rested upon the piles of jewels.
John knew he should get in and out as quickly as possible, but just for a moment – a few seconds, no more – he allowed himself to stop and stare. Yes, the dragon was dangerous, deadly, but at the same time, he could not help but be awestruck by how majestic and how beautiful she looked up close.
He did not allow himself to gaze at her for long. He looked around her pile of treasures, looking to see if there were any other eggs nearby. He had never taken the time to properly study dragons, and so he was not sure if they tended to lay multiple eggs at once, or just one. The latter explanation seemed likely – he could not see any other eggs in the cave – but it was possible that they were hidden. Perhaps she was sitting on them.
Regardless, John was not going to creep up close to her to put the egg near her body. If there were no eggs nearby that were easy for John to get to, then he would just leave the egg where he was and get out. He took two quiet steps towards the cave wall and crouched down slowly, delicately placing the egg among the treasures. He kept his eyes on the dragon as he did, but she did not stir, the rise and fall of her back constant with her slow breathing. John himself held his breath, not wanting to make a single sound if he could avoid it. He straightened slowly, the egg now safely returned to where it belonged. The dragon would wake when the sun rose, and she would find her egg safe within her reach. The dragon child would grow up with a mother to care for it.
John took a step backwards, and then another, backing towards the exit. He did not want to turn his back on the dragon, in case she stirred while he was not looking. Fortunately, she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. She looked calm, relaxed.
John took another step backwards, and something crunched beneath his foot.
John did not look down to see what pile of treasure he had carelessly stepped upon. His eyes remained locked on the dragon, just as one ice-blue eye opened.
Run.
John did not give himself a moment to think. He no longer needed to be quiet, he only needed to be fast. He spun around and bolted for the cave's entrance.
Behind him, he could hear the sound of clattering as coins and other gold treasures slid over each other, telling him that the dragon had gotten to her feet. The sound immediately wiped John's mind of any hope that maybe, just maybe, the dragon hadn't really seen him, or at least would not try to follow him. Apparently, his hope there was misplaced. He sprinted out of the cave and immediately made a beeline for where he had left the elf – who was still there, watching, waiting.
"Run!" he yelled, but he had reached Sherlock's side before the elf had time to react. John did not hesitate or slow down - he grabbed the elf's hand as he passed, forcing Sherlock to either run alongside him or trip over his own feet. Fortunately, Sherlock chose the former – he stumbled a little at first, but was quick to regain his footing. John released his hand as soon as he knew that he was not going to be leaving the elf behind, and then they were running side by side.
"You were supposed to be quiet!" Sherlock yelled.
"I tried!" John yelled back.
They followed the same path that they had taken to reach the cave in the first place. Behind them, John could hear the dragon roar – or screech, it was hard to define the exact sound that a dragon made. Whatever the sound, it told John one thing: they were being followed. It wasn't enough for the dragon to just make sure they left her cave, and her treasures, and whatever else she was protecting. She was chasing them away. Maybe she wouldn't stop until she had killed them.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, John wondered what Harry would think if he did not make it back alive.
John's mind was set only on getting home – if he could get home before the dragon caught up to them. He was prepared to follow the familiar route home, almost running as though he was on autopilot. However, as they approached the forest where John had found Sherlock, the elf grabbed his wrist and pulled them towards it.
"What—" John started, but Sherlock tugged at his wrist and forced John to stumble after him, into the forest.
All of John's instincts screamed to get out of there, because the forest was the only place more terrifying than the cave at this time of night, and because surely the dragon would see them running, surely she could just set fire to the entire forest, killing them along with anything else that got caught in the forest fire that would spread from tree to tree until it was too late to do anything. John opened his mouth, to speak, to protest and say that they should go somewhere else, but he managed to get out no more than the first syllable of Sherlock's name before Sherlock whirled around, the hand that was not on John's wrist covering his mouth to muffle the sound, and he yanked John over to a tree, pressing John's back against it where they would both be hidden from the line of sight of anything just outside the forest.
That was good, as long as the dragon had not seen them go in there.
John hoped the dragon had not seen them go in there.
Neither of them moved, for a moment. Sherlock's hand was still covering John's mouth, and his eyes were locked on John's, as though he was silently telling him to be quiet (not that John needed any extra incentive). Outside the forest, John heard footsteps, large footsteps, coming closer. He squeezed his eyes shut tight.
The footsteps came to a stop. The dragon was close enough for John to hear her huffing. John himself hardly dared to breathe.
She let out that half-roar, half-screech that John had heard her make earlier. He felt Sherlock's hand tighten on his wrist.
Then came the footsteps again, but this time, they were going in the opposite direction.
She was going back the way they came. Back to her cave.
They both stood perfectly still and silent for a good moment, until the sound of footsteps faded away, and then Sherlock released John's wrist and uncovered his mouth and John's legs gave way beneath him. He slid down the tree trunk into a crouch.
"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked, and John glanced up at him, and then let out a breathless laugh.
"That—" he gasped. "That was the most insane thing I've ever done in my life."
A grin broke over Sherlock's face. "Says the man who came to leave a dragon egg in the forest at sunset."
"Trust me, my life isn't usually this interesting." He looked around, and then looked back at Sherlock. "Speaking of forests, do you mind if we get out of here? This might be a decent home for you, but I'd rather not get torn to shreds."
"I'd hardly let that happen to you," Sherlock said, but he stretched out his arm, and John grabbed his wrist, taking Sherlock's help to get back to his feet.
John glanced towards the outskirts of the forest. "I won't ask you to walk me home," he said, "because I get the feeling that you hiding in here is why your species is still thought to be extinct." At Sherlock's nod of confirmation, John continued, "But if I come back tomorrow, when it's light and when this place isn't so creepy, will you still be around?"
"The forest is my home, John," Sherlock said. "You can always find me here."
John tipped his head to the side, and smiled. "I'll hold you to that."