Anton and Rosa resided in a small, one-room house in the city of Dragonkeep, not far from the site of the terrifying blast that had shaken the ground and knocked all the crockery off the shelves. The time was early morning. Anton had just fired up the forge when the blast hit. He had joined his neighbors in running to the scene, and he had proven to be invaluable in the search for survivors, for his strong smith’s arms were needed to lift the fallen stones and move heavy wooden beams. Rosa had gone with her husband, bringing with her bolts of new-made woolen cloth to be used as bandages for the living and shrouds for the dead.

Both Rosa and Anton worked throughout the morning and into the late afternoon, doing what they could to help. There had been a great deal of confusion at first, as the people of Dragonkeep flocked to the site, either to help or to gawk or to conduct frantic searches for friends and relatives. Anton gave the Blessed credit for swiftly restoring order. The Blessed (as the monks were known) served as the dragon’s eyes and ears and enforcers of the law. This, and the fact that some of the Blessed were quite mad, caused the ordinary, “unblessed” citizens of Dragonkeep to go in healthy fear of the monks and to be quick to obey their commands.

The Blessed ordered the majority of the citizens home, keeping only those who had proven to be useful. Anton and Rosa were among these, comforting, bandaging, lifting and hauling, rejoicing when survivors were discovered, grieving when they came upon bodies of the dead. By sundown, both were exhausted. The Blessed concluded that there was not much more to be done, especially now that night was falling. Rosa went home to “have a good cry,” as she said, and to give thanks to the dragon that their dear daughter was safe from harm inside the palace beneath the mountain. One of the dead Rosa had so gently covered with a blanket had been a young woman near her daughter’s age.

Anton was also weary; his arms and his back and his heart ached. He could not bring himself to leave, however, not when there was the chance of finding someone still alive. He continued to search through the rubble and the last gleam of failing sunlight gave him a reward—he saw a child’s dusty hand protruding from beneath a pile of stones.