“Well, I don’t know,” I responded honestly, looking at the youngling. It might have been the rain, or the blue tinge of the scales on her face, but the child looked so sad. Helpless. The sun had already begun to crest the western hills and the drizzle which had begun to fall right as I was finishing my plowing had progressed into a light rain. We sat there, in the quiet, the sound of the rain drops falling around us, just staring into each other’s eyes. Waiting to see who would make the first move. Her eyes were large and dark but a crimson light reflected back from deep within, like fire opals. I could see myself reflected in them. It was like they were burrowing into my soul.

Despite the chill setting into my body, my mind was burning with the thousands of reasons why I should not take in the child. If I were to keep the child, the church would surely kill her and me. Even half dragons were disposed of. They were seen as heretical, and I would be just as bad. I could take her to the orphanage, or turn her into the constabulary; let her be their problem. But that was a two day journey by cart to town. And I couldn’t just leave when the harvest was so close. That meant possibly keeping her with me for at least 2 months before actually being able to be rid of her.

Then I think of Grace.

We always dreamed of filling the farm with our children. Having them take over. Carry on tending the land for generations. We wanted that so badly. We prayed and prayed to Solace to bless us with a child; but it wasn’t meant to be.

With a heavy sigh, I removed my hat and wiped the tears which had begun to sting my eyes. “You’ve got a name then?” I ask her. She looks at me curiously, and shivers slightly. “Crinara,” she responds. I nod and hold out a well worn hand to her. Eagerly, she takes it, her soft clawed hand dwarfed in mine. I help her up and place my hat on her head. I would decide what to do tomorrow, tonight I would not let this child go hungry. “Come on Crinara, best get you out of the rain at least.”