They were left in candlelight. The water looked darker now. Winter leaned over, holding the candle as low as she dared. It was hard to see, with the golden reflection bounc­ing off the surface. She pulled back and stuck the candle on a ledge, so they both had a clearer view of the eggs, sitting there in the pool.

Joe leaned over, his heart pounding. Was this what he’d dreamed of, or his worst nightmare?

Long moments slipped by in silence.

‘Look!’ He gave a yelp. ‘It’s cracking – it really is!’

His egg had a deep split on the surface. Something flick­ered in the gap, he was sure of it. ‘It’s moving. It’s alive!’

Painfully slowly, as if it took huge effort, the purple spotted egg was gradually pushed apart from the inside.

‘Come on, little one. Let me see you!’ He breathed on the water, leaning right over the pool in his excitement. Nothing else mattered, just this little creature, working its way out.

Finally, the egg cracked into three large pieces, rocking gently in the water, and Joe saw for the first time what had grown inside. There was a small shiny body, a blunt flat head and four skinny limbs, flailing around.

‘It needs to breathe!’ he gasped, not stopping to question how he knew. He shoved both hands in the hot water and took the wriggling creature in them, lifting it carefully to the surface. It was so slippery he almost dropped it, just managing to cup his hands and lift it up into the air. 175

The hatchling’s head was slick and dark. It took a deep, hoarse breath.

Joe laughed, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. It was so small. Like a baby bird. Like a little wren.

And just like that, he knew who she was.

‘Hello, Ren,’ he said, bending his head low to see better, to drink in every detail.

The baby dragon was about as big as his hand: her body was slender, with four sleek limbs and a long purple tail that twitched from side to side. Her wings were still folded, lumpen masses of darker plum on her back. She lay there, sides heaving, breathing in-out, in-out.

Joe waited, hope and fear swirling through every part of him. Was she more like a fish? Did she breathe in the air, or the water? Was this the right thing to do?

Then she opened her eyes. He forgot to breathe, lost in her beautiful, golden eyes. They were oval, full of intelli­gence, full of questions. He felt himself observed, weighed, judged. He waited, hoping, hoping, hoping she would find him worthy.

Finally the hatchling opened her mouth and gave a little croaking mew. She had tiny needle-sharp teeth, white as bone.

‘Hey, you.’ Joe grinned and let out the breath he’d been holding, as relief flooded through him. ‘Hungry yet?’ He twisted his head, hissing, ‘Winter? What do we have that they might eat?’

‘I’ll check.’

From the corner of his eye Joe could see her rummaging through the backpack.176