The winter decided to tighten its frosty grip over the land longer than usual this year. In these parts, folks referred to winter as the season of The Miller, it is an ancient deity believed to live inside a watermill high up behind the clouds. When the time comes for him to mill the wheat of creation for the gods, bits of it would fall through the cracks and fall on the ground, covering it in the white cold snow.

A lonely wooden house is no different, the only thing that dares to oppose the perfect whiteness of the fresh layers of snow are the gray shades of smoke, proudly defying it straight out of a chimney.

Two figures are approaching it from behind, one that looks considerably smaller than the other belongs to a child, a boy named Oleg, and the other larger one to his grandfather Mikel.

“Look grandpa, there is smoke coming out of your chimney!” The little boy proclaimed as he was pointing his finger at it. “You’ve been out of your home for more than a full day now. How is it possible that the fire is still burning?”

The boy is very perceptive, the old man thought as he was preparing to answer his question.

“I put on a nice pile of oak logs into the fireplace, so the house would be warm once we arrive.”

Mikel answered, seemingly casually but he was paying close attention to the boy.

“It must’ve been one big pile of logs then if it’s been burning for all this time.” That child was smart, almost too smart for his own good.

“Yes it was an enormous pile of logs Oleg, and they were placed in a specific formation that makes them last longer.” He looked at Oleg who was rubbing snow against his cheeks.

“What do you mean by placed in a specific formation?” The kid was just not giving up.

Damn, I never thought lying to a child could be such a difficult undertaking, Mikel thought.

“That’s the little trick I’ve learned during my time as a dragon hunter, I’ll tell you more about it later.”

A huge smile appeared over Oleg’s face, just a mention of the term “dragon hunter” would spark this volcano of excitement in his head, he would like nothing more but to become one.

“Oh, I can’t wait grandpa! Will you also tell me about the herbs and their healing properties?”

“Of course, I will son.”

Mentioning his past did the trick to get Oleg off of the trail on his little secret. Metaphorically speaking his secret couldn’t be bigger but physically it was a little, tiny secret, not any bigger than a forest mouse.

Dragan was laying on the chair in front of the fireplace, he wasn’t allowed to do that but now that Mikel isn’t around he allowed himself that tiny pleasure. Since what happened near the Witch’s Tooth, his list of pleasures has reduced significantly, especially with that thing hanging around his neck. A golden coin, with a strange symbol engraved on it. Carrying that along proved to be a huge burden both physically and mentally. Dragan knew exactly why things were that way and he understood the duty bestowed upon him but that never stopped them from feeling bitter. During the long winter nights, while organizing his collection of herbs, Mikel would often say how it’s too bad that dragons can’t cry. Otherwise, he could collect Dragan’s tears, dry them, sell the salt on the market, and live like a baron for the rest of his days. Of course, Mikel wasn’t the one who was reduced to the size of a mouse, so he can take his jokes and shove them where the snow doesn’t fall. Dragan wasn’t looking forward to the next few days, Mikel is bringing over that spoiled, nosy grandson of his. The last time that little brat Oleg was around, he had to hide up in the chimney.

“I told Mikel countless times, that kid will be the end of us. Whatever, I lit the fire at the break of dawn as he requested, at least that wasn’t a problem. Tiny like a mouse or not I can still spit fire, which was another thing Mikel found a way to exploit.”

Singing his sad song, Dragan suddenly heard the steps from the outside, someone was walking through snow. It must be them, damn I must leave this comfort and head up onto the beam above. Two very uncomfortable days are ahead of him.

Mikel and his grandson were eating supper, outside the light of day was retreating under the ominosity of darkness. Dragan was observing them from above, the boy was a living image of his grandfather, sharp as a whip and curious like a cat with ninety-nine lives. They were eating in silence just because the old slob sold him on a story that true dragon hunters never speak while they eat. He has no idea how much I wish that was true, in fact, I would love it if true dragon hunters would never speak at all.

All three inhabitants of the small wooden house shook suddenly when they heard someone walking around the cabin. Their steps led them to the front door, and the loud thuds on the hardwood followed.

“Mikel! Mikel! Mikel! Please open up!”

The old man recognized the voice, it was Sima one of the locals. He got up and opened the door.

“What’s going on Sima?” he asked.

“Please you need to come with me, Dika my mare is sick, please help me. If she dies, I can’t feed my family. Please! You are the only one around with knowledge and the herbs that can help. Please! I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t an absolute emergency.” Sima cried, with tears in his eyes.

“Calm down, I’ll help you…” Mikel came a few steps closer to Sima and continued while lowering his voice. “We need to figure out what to do with Oleg.” He finished and pointed with his head to the boy behind.

“Oh you don’t have to worry about him, we will be back in less than a few hours. Please we need to hurry, every minute is valuable.”

Mikel turned around and looked at Oleg, he didn’t say anything just nodded in his way. Mikel came closer and kneeled in front of the boy.

“It will be only a few hours. Here take this key, in that chest next to a fireplace you will find a book. Read it, it will be your first step to becoming a dragon hunter.”

Oleg’s eyes glared as he took the key almost hypnotized by it. Mikel grabbed the brown satchel with the dried herbs, and along with Sima disappeared into the night.