Free The Bone Dragon by Alexia Casale

kills, I mean. Do you think one of them gives the other food if his web is unlucky?’
    The Dragon communicates the fact that spiders do not hunt together and so they do not share: at least not willingly.
    ‘Do dragons?’ I ask.
    Dragons are protectors , I am told, as if I should have known this without asking.
    I watch a bead of dew run down a length of cobweb and drip on to a soggy, hunched frond of bracken. ‘Are we going to go out every night now?’
    When it does not rain , the Dragon says, as if such things matter even in dreams.
    ‘So what are we going to do every night?’ I press.
    Tomorrow we will go to the mere and look at the birch trees in the moonlight. The stars will be very bright. And the night after .
    ‘Ten days till the new moon.’
    The next dark moon , the Dragon corrects me.
    ‘The dark moon,’ I say, testing out the words, feeling the weight of the power and portent in them.
    The dark moon is a time of waking visions , the Dragon tells me. Visions that show our deepest longings come to life. It is also a time for change: for beginnings. The dark moon marks the birth of the new moon, like a phoenix rising from the ashes .
    ‘Is there really such a thing as a phoenix?’
    You may answer that for yourself , the Dragon says shortly. Do not ask me about unicorns .
    ‘I don’t want to,’ I say. ‘They only go to the pure. Those who are chaste.’
    You have no need of a unicorn , the Dragon tells me firmly. It would be of no use to you. It is well that you wished for a dragon. You have need of me.
    And with that the Dragon rises, moving with sinuous grace, winding down my arm and settling on the back of my hand, tail curled around my little finger, possessive and warm.
    ‘I’m freezing. If you’re so much more useful than a unicorn, you could help me build a fire.’
    I will help , the Dragon says, when my help is needed .
    ‘But what’s the point of all this roaming about on the fens at night?’ I burst out, despite myself. ‘Am I meant to learn something? In books, when people have adventures with mystical creatures they have to learn something.’
    And then the adventure is over , the Dragon says. So although you are afraid to fail, you are also afraid to succeed. But you may learn what you will: that is your own affair. It is not my purpose, nor a part of our contract. I will only leave you if you wish me to .
    ‘Then what am I meant to do?’ I plead.
    The Dragon regards me steadily. You are meant to heal. There is beauty and wild magic in the night. Enough to make you ache with joy and grow strong. There is no lesson in that. There is just reward, waiting for you, that asks nothing and demands no payment. Look! the Dragon orders. Look and tell me what more is needed.
    So I look out at the night-time fields and the yellow glow of storm clouds to the east.
    Taste the stars and listen to the darkness , the Dragon commands and then we are silent.
    Is this not enough? asks the Dragon. 

     
     
    ‘“To be or not to be: that is the question”. Possibly the most famous line from any play in the English language,’ Ms Winters is saying. ‘Comic book away , Fred. Evie, could you read the next few lines for us?’ she asks, smiling at me as if we’re conspirators.
    In a way we are: I know now that it’s not just that Ms Winters is my favourite teacher, but I’m her favourite pupil too. Even now that she knows about Fiona and her parents.
    Somehow I can’t help thinking that maybe, after our sessions together, she even likes me a bit more than she did before and that makes me feel . . . warm. And strange. Because I’d never imagined anyone could possibly like me more for knowing. I always thought it would be ‘in spite of’. But not with Ms Winters. It’s not like that at all.
     
    ‘Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
    The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,’
     
    I recite.
     
    ‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
    And by opposing end them