Something like a rumble that vibrated in the base of her belly but then turned more like the hoot of an owl.

And her father … laughed.

The dragon raised a crest of scales behind its horns in a waving motion, and Emmie noticed one was missing.

She’d once asked Pa how he could tell Darwin’s Dragons apart when they all grew to the same size. He said Farthing always had a scale missing on the ruff at her neck.

Pa had told her—he had told Mr. Darwin and Ma too—that the miraculous golden eggs were the dragon’s eggs, that the green lizards Queen Victoria had loved would grow into giant golden beasts …

When he was a boy only a little older than she was now, he’d set them free.

All this time. All this time, and no one had believed him.

But Pa’s stories were the truth.

And now Emmie’s amazing Pa was beside Farthing—Farthing the dragon—and his hand was on the side of her muzzle, and he was talking to her, although Emmie could not hear what he said.

Her heart danced a jig in her throat, but she could not stop grinning as she watched Farthing gently butt her nose against Pa’s chest and hoot again.

She walked toward them, her fear buried under her fascination.

Emmie gripped Pa’s hand tight as the dragon swung her head back and arched to look down at her. Farthing’s eyes were impossibly beautiful, no longer copper as a new farthing but fiery rippling gold with a deep slit of darkness at the center. The dragon sniffed and she was so giant Emmie felt the suction on her clothing. Then Farthing released a gentle hoot, almost a whine, lowered her head, and tilted it to one side.

“Stay bricky. She can tell who you are,” said Pa.

Emmie shrugged out of his grip, and when she reached up, fingers trembling, the dragon tilted her head farther down to meet her. Farthing’s ruff rippled as Emmie’s hand rested beneath her eye. Her scales were warm and smooth, each one the size of her hand.

Emmie was touching a dragon. This was Pa’s Farthing, all grown up.

Emmie felt tears prickle her eyes, and when Farthing huffed and made that rumbling hooting sound, the sob in her throat turned into a laugh.

“Pa told me all about you, Farthing. You’re …” She faltered. “You’ve … grown.”

Pa chuckled and stroked Farthing’s scales next to Emmie’s hand.

Then Farthing raised her head and they both stepped back. She reared up on her hind legs and unfurled her wings. With a few almighty flaps, she took flight and hovered in the air above them, and then she was soaring, circling, releasing joyful hoots so loud they vibrated through the ground and up Emmie’s legs.

“She’s so happy to see you,” said Emmie.

Pa squeezed her hand tight. “All these years … and really she hasn’t changed at all.”