Free The Dragon of Avalon by T. A. Barron Page A

last week. He looked a bit confused . . . especially when he realized his legs had gone to Fireroot. And right after I came here, a pile of orange scales came through—but without the snake they used to cover."
    Basil groaned, missing a whole wingbeat, at such a gruesome thought. But he glanced again at the fire, rising so mysteriously between the stones, and the temptation returned. Just a closer look , he promised himself. No harm in that.
    Without even willing himself to do it, he started drifting closer. The flames seemed to tug on him, pulling him nearer, as a fire swallows a hapless moth. The green light burned in his eyes, glowing deeper than any reflection.
    "Wait, greenie!" called the flower behind him. "Didn't you hear what I said? Or is your head made of solid stone?"
    Basil only half heard, so captivated was he by the enticing flames. The words solid stone echoed inside his mind. Stone . . . solid stone . . .
    At that instant an arc of green flames leaped out and grabbed hold of him—snout, tail, wings, everything. Frantically, he beat his wings, suddenly aware of his peril. The flames' enchantment vanished, leaving him only with terror—and the dim echo of the flower's voice.
    How could he know that the voice, and the image it gave him in those final seconds, would save his life? He couldn't. Just as he couldn't guess, as the flames gathered more densely around him, drawing him into the portal, that he would soon be sent—body, mind, and spirit—to the distant realm of Stoneroot.
    Despite his fear, Basil suddenly realized that the flames surrounding him made him feel warm, but not burned. Swallowed, but not destroyed. He felt strangely lighter, as if he were disintegrating, floating away from himself.
    In that moment, he plunged into the veins of the living Tree of Avalon. He merged with its brightest fires; he rode on its purest rivers. Deeper into the Tree he traveled, and still deeper, through realms without names, regions beyond count.
    He wasn't merely borne by the fire of élano. He was that fire. He had become a spark of light, surrounded by millions more sparks of light, distinct from each of them yet connected to all of them. A rich, resinous smell overwhelmed him—the smell of a thriving woodland, a sprouting seed, a rippling stream: the smell of life, with all its magic and mystery. He felt at peace, at home, as never before! Infinitely small, yet infinitely large.
    He tumbled out of another portal, landing on a flat, lichen-covered rock. The impact caused the rock, precariously balanced on a mountainside of jumbled boulders, to teeter. Dazed, Basil rolled weakly to one side. With a grinding crunch, the rock slid off its perch, taking its passenger.
    That rock hit other rocks, jarring them loose. Those rocks smashed into others. In seconds, the entire slope roared with cascading boulders. A violent landslide had begun—with Basil in the middle of it.

10: R UDE AND S ASSY
    Wisdom, like those who possess it, comes in all shapes and sizes. That much I've learned, often the hard way. Yet despite all their differences, truly wise people share this same understanding:
    No matter how much you know, you still have a lot to learn.
    Falling!
    Basil tumbled down the mountain slope, rolling and twirling so fast he felt dizzy and nauseous, unable to make himself think, let alone fly. All around him, rocks slid loose and boulders bounced, crashing into each other with explosive impact, sending up sprays of smashed rocks, shredded lichen, and pulverized stone. The entire mountain roared with the landslide.
    One flying rock grazed his side, scraping against his scales. Then another rock, the size of a sparrow, struck him hard under the jaw and sent him reeling backward. Hopelessly out of control, he spun wildly, bouncing down the mountain as if he were just another pebble in this cascade of stones.
    Splat. He landed on a broad, flat ledge. Head spinning, he weakly focused his eyes and gazed around. Suddenly he