The dragon’s tongue lolled out, steam rising from it. “Come, then,” said the dragon. “I know you to be valiant, Half-Song: touch your tongue to mine.”

“My horse,” Arian said.

“Quiet him with your taig,” the dragon said.

Arian held her horse’s head and murmured the foal chant; the horse relaxed, its head drooping, its lower lip sagging. Arian looked back at the dragon. “Whatever you do to me, do no harm to the horse.”

One eye opened wider. “Valiant, indeed, to give orders to a dragon.”

“The horse did you no harm,” Arian said. “Let it be.”

“Then remove your things from its body,” the dragon said. “Then should … something … happen, it will have no hindrance in its flight.”

Arian wanted to ask if something would happen but instead untacked the borrowed horse and stacked her gear neatly as if she were camping for the night.

The dragon waited, silent and motionless, its light almost withdrawn, only the tongue laid out on the ground glowing dull red, steaming.

The nearer she came, the hotter it felt; the tongue, close up, glowed like red iron. She looked up; the dragon’s eyes stared beside its snout, straight into her face.

Then she bent and forced herself to put out her tongue and touch the dragon’s, against all instinct and reason.

It felt cold and tasted of mint.

Startled, Arian pulled back; the dragon reeled in its tongue and said nothing for a moment. Then it sighed, a warm gusty breath that smelled less of hot metal and somewhat of summer.

“Half-Song, you have surprised me, and I am not often surprised. You have done well and you please me, but there is work to do. Will the horse I promised not to harm live if turned loose here?”

“Maybe,” Arian said. “But it is winter; it needs shelter and feed, and the place I planned to spend the night is no more.”

The dragon sighed again. “I do not break promises; the horse must be taken where it can live. And yet I need you, Half-Song. Can it live here through a day?”

“Yes, but not many days.”

“I do not need many days. Pick up that bow and quiver, and stand on my tongue.”

Arian picked up bow and quiver, and stepped onto the tongue: it felt solid as stone beneath her even as she realized she was being drawn into the dragon’s mouth, past teeth more than half her height.

“Do not be surprised at anything,” the dragon said. She realized it was not speaking with its mouth, but in her mind. “There will be strangeness, for one of your nature.”

Then the dragon gulped, and Arian felt herself sliding, sliding … and landed in something soft and springy. So, she thought, I’ve been swallowed. She felt around—whatever the space, it was warm, dry, and surprisingly comfortable. She settled down, her back against a lump soft as a pillow, and laid her bow across her knees. She dozed off, waking some unguessable time later when the dragon spoke to her again.