Free Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology by Claudie Arseneault Page A

herself disappointed by sunsets, left only with bright spots behind her eyelids and a sense of something missing. As the last of the light faded, however, the stars that quietly made themselves known were more than worth it. She and Anabel laughed and talked, pointing out constellations, both traditional and invented on the spot.  
    As she scanned the sky, the breath caught in Elena's throat. Hesitantly, she pointed up. “There, do you see? Draco, the dragon.”
    Anabel was silent.  
    “Do you see it? That bright star there, and those make the tail.”
    “I see it.” She sighed. “I know what you're doing.”
    Elena bowed her head. “I just wanted to know. Everyone's seen the dragon, you know? I haven't seen it since I got here, but I thought maybe you could tell me about it.”
    “What is there to know? Yes, there's a dragon. As you say, everyone in town knows.” Anabel's voice was hushed to accommodate the quiet breathing of the desert night.
    “I don't know. Is it your familiar?”
    “Something like that.”
    Elena hesitated. “You … are a witch, right?”
    “Yes, Elena. I am.”  
    “Everyone thinks you're the reason for the drought.” She bit her lip. Yet another thing she shouldn't have said.
    “They do, do they? Well, I suppose that's no surprise.” Anabel closed her eyes for a long moment. “Let's go inside. I'll show you your room.”  
    Quietly, a little shamefully, Elena followed.  

    * * *

    By morning, all traces of their late-night conversation seemed forgotten. Elena woke to the rising sun outside her window, cleaned and dressed herself, then joined Anabel in the kitchen for breakfast.
    “I'm sorry I wasn't much help yesterday,” Elena said as she sat. “It must've taken you more time to teach me than it would have to do it yourself.”
    Anabel smiled, handing her a plate of toast. “You were plenty of help. And you'll learn to do things on your own. Just because it took a little instruction doesn't mean you won't learn in time.”
    “Well, thank you, then.”  
    They spent all day in the garden, returning to the house only for lunch. The sun beat down relentlessly, but Anabel merely handed Elena a wide-brimmed hat and insisted they continue.  
    “All of these rows need to be weeded today,” she'd said. “And the corn will be ready to pick soon. It needs some water in the meantime.”  
    “We all do,” Elena laughed. After two years of drought, it was hard to find the thought of water anything but wryly amusing. Sure, they got rain in bursts every now and then, maybe every week or two. But it was never enough. The soil swallowed the water as quickly as it fell, and the plants barely stayed alive between rainstorms.  
    “Yes, well.” Anabel adjusted her hat. “We do what we can.”
    Elena winced. Perhaps it was insensitive to talk the way she did about the drought. After only a day and a half, she was convinced Anabel couldn't be the reason for it. She was too kind, both to Elena and to the garden she tended. She couldn't possibly be keeping the rain away. But there was no way to ask without offending her yet again.  
    When dinnertime rolled around, Anabel untied her hat and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I'm going inside to clean up. Finish up this row and then come join me.”
    Grateful for the slowly-sinking sun, Elena pulled a few more handfuls of weeds, dumped them in a bucket, and headed straight for her bathroom. There was never enough water to shower, at least not without guilt, but she wiped her face and hands with a washcloth, reveling in the cool water and the cooler touch of air on her damp face.  
    She came out to the kitchen and found a pile of vegetables, some of which were freshly picked, sitting on the counter. Anabel was nowhere to be found. With a shrug, Elena began to chop the vegetables. There was leftover rice from the night before, which she fried up in a large pan with eggs and the vegetables. The scent wafting from the stove was