Hibernating Snakes Are Easy to Provoke

I found a dragon in Alderwash Creek on the morning I meant to find a heater. The creek cut through the birch woods in a silver ribbon, its banks slick with fallen leaves. I had slithered there with a list of candidates in mind: a badger with a heated nest, perhaps, or a pair of foxes who might share their den in exchange for acorns. I had even considered the miller's old sheepdog, though the dog had once tried to carry me home in his mouth. The first frost was due within the week. I was not built for a long, cold winter alone. I smelled smoke before I saw the dragon. It wasn't the sharp, panicked smell of a forest fire. It was warm and clean, like woodsmoke from a hearth. Then I heard the splash. A broad copper tail swept through the shallows. I stopped beneath a willow and lifted my head above the bank. The dragon had his forelegs planted against a rock, wings folded tight against his back. His scales were a deep red-brown, darkened by the water. A thin curl of steam rose from his shoulders. He had to be the warmest creature in the whole valley. I had rehearsed several opening lines on the walk over. The best one, I had decided, was direct but not desperate. "Would you consider living in my house?" The dragon turned. His eyes were gold, with narrow black pupils. He looked at me, then at the empty creek bank behind me, as though checking for the rest of the invitation. "Is there a reason?" he asked. "Your body is radiating heat." "That's because I'm a fire dragon." "I noticed." "And you're a snake." "I noticed that, too." A smile moved over his muzzle, but it didn't last. "Do you invite every warm animal you meet to move in?" "Only the ones who seem likely to fit through my door." "I'm not certain that's a compliment." "It wasn't meant to be." His expression shifted. The humor went out of it, leaving a guarded stillness that made me wish I had chosen a gentler opening. "I'm Silas," I said. "I have a burrow north of here. It's dry, sheltered, and has a good stone floor. I need a companion to keep me warm during the winter." "Then you need a hearth." "I have a hearth." "Then you need firewood." "I can't coil around firewood." The dragon looked down at the creek. The water trembled where his claws rested against the rock. "I can't promise to be safe," he said. The warning was serious enough to take the shine off my clever plan. "You're dangerous?" "I'm hot." "So am I, on a summer afternoon." "Not like this." He lifted one foreclaw from the water. A faint orange glow pulsed between his scales, then vanished. "Sometimes I can control it. Sometimes I can't." I studied his face. "And you're bathing because you can't control it right now?" "I'm bathing because the creek is cold." That made him look less like a convenient solution and more like someone with a problem. I knew what it was to have your body make decisions for you. When the weather changed, my muscles slowed. When winter settled in, hunger and ambition both became distant things. My burrow could be perfectly prepared and I could still go cold if I didn't find the right place to rest. "I can offer you shade," I said. "And stone. The inner chamber stays cool." "You just said you needed me to keep you warm." "I did." "Those are opposite requests." "Not if we make rules." The dragon watched me for a long moment. "What kind of rules?" "Separate sleeping spaces. You keep the back chamber cool when you need to. I get the warm side when I need to. And if you start smoking, I can ask you to leave." "What if I don't want to?" "Then I'll be very persuasive." A rumble that might have been a laugh moved through his chest. "You're a small snake." "I'm a very determined snake." He climbed out of the creek, water sliding from his scales. He was larger than I had guessed, with a broad chest and a heavy, scarred wing. The sight of him on the bank made me rethink my door measurements. "Rowan," he said. "My name is Rowan." "Pleased to meet you." "I didn't agree to move in." "I didn't expect you to agree before seeing the place." "Do you always assume the answer will be yes?" "No. I assume the answer might be yes if I make the offer well enough." His gaze flicked to my face. I felt the heat of him from several feet away. It settled over my scales like a blanket I hadn't known I was missing. Rowan shook the water from his wings. "I'll look at the burrow." "That's all I ask." "Your list of candidates must be very short." "It has one name on it now." He gave me a look I couldn't read, then followed me into the trees. ***** My burrow was tucked into a low rise above the creek, hidden under a tangle of roots and moss. It had taken me three summers to shape the chambers the way I wanted them. The entrance was narrow, but the tunnels widened after the first bend. I had a dry sleeping hollow, a pantry, and a second chamber with a flat stone floor that stayed cool even in August. Rowan paused at the entrance. "Can you fit?" I asked. He lowered his head and examined the opening. "Not as I am." "That's a problem." "I can fold down." "You can what?" His scales shimmered. The dragon's body shrank in a blur of copper light until he was no bigger than a large hound. His wings folded against his sides; his horns shortened but did not disappear. I blinked. "That's convenient." "It's not comfortable." "Neither is winter." He ducked into the passage. I led him through the first tunnel, taking care not to move too quickly. The burrow smelled of dry grass, earth, and the mint leaves I'd laid near the entrance to discourage mice. Rowan sniffed as he went. "Your home smells like a garden shed." "Thank you." "I didn't say it was a bad thing." "I know." The cool chamber had a ceiling of packed clay and a floor of smooth gray stone. Rowan crossed it, then crouched against the far wall. The stone gave a faint, satisfied c***k beneath his claws. "This is a good place," he said. "I made it myself." "Did you make the walls?" "The walls were here. I improved them." "That sounds like a snake's idea of construction." "It's an excellent idea." He stayed for a little while, asking about the second tunnel and the small vent near the ceiling. I told him the vent led to the hollow above the bank and was too narrow for anything larger than a rabbit. He seemed to like that. When he stood again, the inner chamber remained cool. "So," I said, "would you like to stay until spring?" Rowan glanced at me. "I'll stay through the first frost." "That's hardly a winter." "It's long enough to find out if we can stand each other." I pretended the words didn't disappoint me. "That seems fair." "And I'm not promising to be your heater." "I'll settle for you being warm." "That's not the same thing." "I know." His gaze held mine. It was the first time I had meant that answer without planning what to say next. "Then we have a deal," he said. I led him toward the entrance. "Good. I'll make up the second sleeping hollow." "Make it comfortable." "You'll be in the cool chamber." "I mean it." "So do I." He lowered his head to pass beneath the roots. "Silas?" "Yes?" "If I tell you to stay back, stay back." I watched him slip out into the autumn light. "And if I tell you to leave?" He paused, looking over one shoulder. "I'll listen." It was a small promise, and not the one I had wanted. But as he walked beside me toward the creek, his warmth brushing my scales, I found myself hoping for much more than a warm place to sleep.