“They usually do.”
Barclay had foraged along the edge of the Woods before without ever spotting a Beast.
But Midwinter was only a few weeks away, and like Midsummer, the holiday was known to make Beasts behave strangely.
Barclay took a careful step away from the mouselike creature. He considered reaching into his pocket for the charm he kept to ward off Beasts. But it was already too late for that.
“Don’t panic,” he told Selby. “They’re blocking our way back to town. But if we just think of…”
Except Selby didn’t listen. Dropping his notebook and quill behind him, he turned around and shot off.
Into theWoods.
The hundreds of eyes in the grass seemed to blink all at once. Barclay glanced at Dullshire in the distance, his wholebody trembling. Selby was gone. Into the Woods. If Barclay could get around the terrible creatures, he could alert the sentries, who protected Dullshire from the Beasts. Selby had parents and a family, after all. The townspeople would grab their pitchforks and go after him.
But before Barclay could take off, one of the mice leaped out of the leaves and landed on Barclay’s boot.
It squeaked.
Barclay screamed.
He shook it off and sprinted after Selby. As soon as Barclay crossed into the trees, the daylight dimmed, swallowed by the knotted branches overhead. The already cold weather went colder, a fine, icy mist prickling against his skin.
Barclay was small for an eleven-year-old, which made him an easy target for older kids looking for trouble. They tore pages out of his library books or stole the coins he saved for apple pastries.
If they could catch him.
Because when Barclay ran, even the sheepdogs struggled to keep up. And so he barreled down the forest hills and soon caught up to Selby, who ducked between the gray trees.
The wind blew, and leaves tumbled farther into the Woods, as if dragged by a riptide. The trees bent low, as though pointing Selby deeper, deeper.
“Selby!” Barclay screamed.
His long hair whipped across his face as he ran, quicklygrowing wild and tangled. The wind seemed to push him forward, like it was trying to carry him off as well.
“Selby, stop!”
Behind him, Barclay had lost sight of the edge. There were only trees and mist in every direction.
We’ve broken the rules, and now we’re going to die,Barclay thought with panic. Even if they escaped the Woods without being eaten by a Beast, what would they tell everyone? Selby and Barclay were both terrible liars.
Then Selby suddenly stopped running. Barclay skidded to a halt and slammed into him, knocking both boys down a thorn-covered hill. They rolled in a tangle of leaves and legs and branches, mushrooms spilling out of their baskets and bouncing down after them. They each screamed until they collided with the base of a fallen tree.
“What were youthinking?” Barclay shouted, shoving Selby off him. “We could’ve broken our necks! And—”
Selby let out a strangled sound and scampered back up the hill.
“What…?” Barclay turned around to see what had scared Selby off, and froze.
On the fallen trunk of a massive tree, there stood a girl.
And on her shoulder, there sat a dragon.
TWO
Dullshire might have burned every last book about Beasts, but even Barclay knew stories about dragons. They dropped their screaming victims into the mouths of volcanoes. Or buried you alive in their hoards of gold. Or set you afire and fed your charred remains to their hatchlings.
Barclay didn’t want to be swallowed up by lava, treasures, or baby Beasts, so he did what any clever apprentice would do when confronted with danger—he grabbed a fallen mushroom beside him and threw it at the girl’s head.
