The Dragon Whisperer

Prologue

From inside the hut, he could hear it all: fireballs whizzing by, people screaming, dragons roaring. All he could do was hide under the small wooden table in his bedroom, hoping the raid would go by quickly. He knew his father was out there right now, battling against the beasts. He knew his father was behind great metal shields, that he would be safe. But he couldn’t help worrying. He had already lost his mother to the dragons, and he wouldn’t know what to do if he lost his father. 

He heard the front door burst open. Peeking through his keyhole, he could make out a tall, middle-aged man with long, brown hair and thick sideburns. His dragonhide boots stretched up to his knees, and heavy armor clunked

around as he walked further in. “Feron, are you there?” he called.

“Yes, father,” said the boy, emerging from his room. “Is… something wrong?”

“No, no, son. I just need to restock. Go back to your room please.”

“Okay,” said Feron, turning toward his room. He closed the door behind him and sat under the table. 

Suddenly, a voice screamed, “Watch out!” Feron could feel the heat coming to his skin. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

“Son, get out of the house!” shouted his father. But he was rooted to the spot, waiting for something to happen….

The world burst up in flames. Smoke billowed everywhere. He couldn’t see or move. He felt a smooth claw grip his right shoulder, then his left. His feet lifted off the ground. Then the world faded to black.