Dragons live off the edges of worlds, where space bends in on itself and creates a different reality. There are dragons for each element and corresponding direction: the Northern Stone Dragon, The Fire Dragon of the South, The Water Dragon of the Western Seas, and my favorite, the Mystical Dragon of the Wind, hailing from the East. Most dragons are not evil, despite their unfairly given reputations; they pride themselves on being good citizens in their communities. Curious by nature, they age into rich wisdom, gleaned from as many books as they have experiences. Reckless in youth, they mellow into tolerance and generosity. The loud, garrulous youngling becomes an adult who desires no more than a quiet spot to read and think. Dragons are philosophical. They are metaphysical. They love to sit in a meadow and ponder the meaning of grass and trees.

If their species has a dark side, it comes from their love of jewels. They cannot help themselves but they must gather into their dens all gold and silver coins and shiny objects. They are mesmerized by crystals and glittering gemstones. Sadly, some begin their collections as thieves, commiting deeds they wholly regret later in their lives, for dragons have a conscience as fully developed as any human being. Those who did ill often spend their last years making amends to the villages they plundered in their youth.

Most adult dragons are masters of trade, earning their glittery gifts by their wits. Developing warm and enduring relationships with their human and non human neighbors, they use their dragon gifts for the common good, creating a space where all creatures can thrive. Count yourself lucky if you live near an elder dragon, especially a dragon like Windrush Hugebellow.

Windrush, or Rush, as his friends call him, lives in the abyss off the edge of this world. It's flat, you know; and if you travel the ocean too far in any direction, over the edge you tumble, down a timeless waterfall where the water drops morph into stars. This happened to me! One moment I was falling through space; and the next I was sailing on a large pool of glass, lit by a rising moon.

The lake I found myself sailing shone silver beneath the full orb. I floated within a circle of silhouettes: soft round hills topped with a necklace of trees. Small insects flit over the water, through the warm night air, their bobbing bottoms glowing neon green. Fat little barrels lit from within, they swarmed around my lanterns buzzing off and on to a rhythm entirely their own making. There were cries and roars from the shore I did not recognize; but I couldn't be afraid. It was all too engaging and beautiful. I brought my blanket and pillow on deck and slept beneath a billion galaxies. In this world between worlds, I somehow felt safe and free.

At dawn, the sun rose from the eastern end of the lake. I woke refreshed. I could now see the trees covering the hills were ancient oaks, gnarled and twisted, broad and tall. A celebration of flowering vines adorned their trunks while fields of color rolled down the gentle slopes that held them. I steered my boat to shore and stepped on the land. My dragon friend's home was a quarter mile up the hill on the south side of the valley.

Windrush Hugebellow had a stone castle of nine rooms; the largest rose as an onion shaped dome in the center, surrounded by eight smaller ones arranged like petals on a flower. The center bulb flew a flag bearing his emblem: a green dragon clutching branch in his ivory claws. The large half-circle entryway was graced with a bower of vines that laced like celtic knot work and trailed away from his door in a tangle of yellows and pinks. A dozen stones evenly spaced led from the entrance to a stream that coiled downhill and emptied into the lake. The small stream ushered from the hills south of his home. It watered a rambling garden of herbs, roots and berries Rush found most delicious. When I met him in my youth, he was already a mature dragon, gentle and wise, who had renounced eating meat centuries earlier.

I stood beneath the bower of vines, and called to him. No answer. The door was slightly open; I walked inside. In every room, flows of sparkling minerals extended roof to floor, creating natural sconces for the tar and wicker torches providing evening light. Glass windows in the ceilings admitted light during the day and moonlight through the darker hours. I entered the center room and made myself comfortable on a pile of soft furs. A table groaned with fruit, cheeses, and breads before me. I helped myself to breakfast and some warm tea, waiting for my friend to come home.

I was a little nervous, not entirely certain he'd remember our encounter several years ago and his invitation to help me should I ever lose balance sailing the edge and fall into the abyss. Well, he did, and I have , I said to myself, and now I need his dragon skills.

…to be continued…by Sharon George