The Return of the Dragon by Rebecca Rupp

Author:Rebecca Rupp [Rupp, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-7636-6413-8
Publisher: Candlewick Press
Published: 2005-09-08T04:00:00+00:00

“This is it,” Eleanor said. The lantern, with its single lighted candle, shone dimly on a narrow leafy trail. “The second path to the right off the south road. That’s what the minstrel said.”

“Are you sure?” Gawain asked. He peered doubtfully into the trees. “It doesn’t look as if anything has passed this way in years.”

“It’s exactly what he said,” Eleanor said firmly. “I have a very good memory.”

She lifted the lantern and stepped forward onto the trail, her cloak sweeping the branches. Gawain followed. The little path wandered endlessly through the forest, twisting between bushes and trees. They walked for what seemed like miles and miles. The night began to fade, from dark to dimness, from black to pale gray. Then the sun rose and a faint light began to glimmer through the leaves. Eleanor blew the stub of the candle out.

“My feet are tired,” she said.

“This trail is leading nowhere,” said Gawain. “I don’t think your minstrel knew what he was talking about. Him and his squirrel. And I’m thirsty. Do you hear running water?”

Just off the path to the left was a clear trickling stream. Both children bent to drink. The water was cold and sweet. The ends of Eleanor’s braids dipped in it and dripped on the grass.

Gawain sat back, dropping the sword at his side.

“Should we keep going?” he asked. “Or turn around and go back to the castle?”

Eleanor squeezed the water out of her hair. Then suddenly she caught her breath. “Look!” she said, pointing.

There, in the soft ground on the other side of the stream, was the print of a great clawed foot.

“A dragon footprint!” Gawain whispered. “And it’s fresh. It must be very near.”

They crossed the stream, balancing on a fallen tree trunk, and ran to the site of the footprint, crouching down to examine it more closely.

“It must have stopped for a drink,” Gawain said. “Just like we did.”

“There’s another print,” said Eleanor, pointing.

“Broken branches,” said Gawain. “It went this way. Come on. Stay behind me.”

They pushed their way through the underbrush, following the trail of tracks, crushed grass, and broken branches. Eleanor’s skirt tangled in the brambles, and Gawain’s sword kept banging against the trunks of trees. At last, almost between one step and another, they stumbled out of the woods and into a wide grassy clearing.

There before them, flashing gold in the morning sun, stood the dragon.

It was much larger and more frightening than Gawain or Eleanor had expected. It had a long heavy arrow-pointed tail, smooth golden wings folded over its gleaming back, and three heads. One head, angrily awake, was glaring directly at the children. Its eyes were a piercing blue. The other two heads were curled low on the dragon’s shoulders. They seemed to be fast asleep.

Gawain’s legs felt as if they were made out of soft putty. His mouth was dry with fear. But he wanted to win his knighthood, and he knew it was up to him to protect Eleanor. He drew his borrowed

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