chapter 1

The Captive

Twig’s furry paws were sore. Gripping the spokes of the Captive’s wheel for three days had turned his pads from pink and tender to tough and calloused.

His body was sore, too. The Captive had sailed through a maze of floating debris and an endless series of rapids, with Twig guiding her every mile. His arms twitched from exhaustion.

His legs were tired from balancing. Tiny scratches marked where his toes had gripped the wooden planks of the deck.

But Twig’s confidence had grown, as well as his muscles.

He gazed ahead, alert, looking for floating hazards and telltale signs of ripples and rapids. Things that had seemed so foreign just a few days ago were now a part of him: the patterns of water currents, the shadows of the clouds, even the smell of the river was like a friend.

A shout came from the crow’s nest above him. “Looks like a log up ahead, on the right!” Basil was at his usual perch.

“Yep, I see it!” Twig shouted back. “Thanks, Basil!” “When do we get to wherever we’re going?” the weasel called down. “Can’t we pull ashore somewhere?”

Lily stepped beside Twig, grinning. “How about it, Twig?” she said. “Want me to relieve you at the wheel? Then you can take the crow’s nest and Basil can rest. He’s still looking a little woozy.”

Twig and Lily were quite adept at life on the water, but Basil had had a tougher time finding his sea legs. The swaying of the mast as the wind rippled the sails didn’t help.

Lily glanced toward the rear of the ship. “And Char could use some attention,” she added.

Char lay draped and drooping across the deck of the ship, eyes half-lidded, and his scaly skin grayish and dull.

Twig looked at the dragon. “I thought the fresh air was doing him good, but now I’m not so sure. He looked better three days ago.”

“I know,” Lily replied. “I keep hoping we’ll see some signs that we’re close . . . close to finding Char’s home.”

Twig nodded, then shouted up to the crow’s nest. “Come on down, Basil. We’re switching off!”

Basil made his shaky way down the rope ladder from the crow’s nest. He looked green.

“Can’t you make the Captive stand still?” he moaned. “I feel like I’ve been swinging on a vine for three days.”

Lily handed Basil a rose hip. “Here. Chew on this. It may help settle your stomach.”

Basil, looking queasy, munched halfheartedly on the rose hip, and Twig sat beside Char. He stroked the dragon’s smooth scales and scratched under his chin. Char seemed to barely notice. “Lily, he’s not doing so great. I hope we’re going in the right direction . . . for Char’s sake!”

Lily nodded solemnly. “Let’s get him home.” She took her position at the ship’s wheel.

Twig thought, for the hundredth time, of home. He missed the delicious meals prepared by his mother, Olive, and the cozy comfort of his cottony bed.

He missed his conversations with Beau and wondered what Beau would think of him now. Would he approve of sailing off to an unknown destination, just to deliver a baby dragon to his home? “Beau would be proud of me . . . I know he would,” Twig said to himself.

Even though their days had been busy, Twig knew that in between learning to sail and exploring the river, Lily was missing home, too. A pang of guilt passed through his thoughts. If it weren’t for him, and his discovery of Char, they’d both be safe at home, not on the Captive, in the middle of the river.

He scampered up to the crow’s nest and tipped his nose into the breeze. The scent of the river made his spine tingle with pleasure. Water gushing over stones and swirling between rocks was like music to him. Dozens of bright-blue damselflies came to rest on the railing of the Captive, and jittery water striders skittered out of the way as the ship plowed past.

The view from atop the mast was exhilarating. The river had widened, opening up their view. He’d never seen such an expanse of sky before, with only a few distant trees obstructing the panorama. The evening before they had sat on the deck of the ship and watched, enraptured: the setting sun turned a scattering of clouds into a gold-and-orange necklace above the dark-purple horizon.

And the vegetation was different than it had been upriver. The tangle of vines along the cliffs and banks had given way to prickly shrubs and tall, rippling grasses.

Twig scanned the horizon ahead. “Keep her steady!” he shouted to Lily below.

“You got it!” Lily called back. “Twig, am I imagining things, or does the current seem slower? We seem to be slowing down!”

Twig watched the bow of the ship as it sliced through the water. A breeze was pushing at the sails, but the water was like glass. “You’re right, Lily. There is definitely less current.”

Far off in the distance he saw a hazy line stretching across the river. As the wind nudged them closer and closer, he began to make out the jagged shapes of sticks and branches jutting out of the water.

“Something . . . straight ahead!” he squeaked. “Not sure what it is, but”—he glanced left and right—“I don’t see a way around it. It’s like a wall!”

Basil seemed to stir from his woozy lethargy. He scampered to the bow. “A wall? Are we going to crash?”

“At the rate we’re going, we will,” Twig shouted back. “Sails down! We have to slow down! Everybody, grab a rope quickly!”

In a rush the three friends pulled at the series of ropes, working together and rolling the sails up to the masts, then lashing them down. As they worked, the Captive slowed some, but still drifted toward the dangerous line of branches.

“Oh my gosh!” Lily squeaked. Her ears cocked forward in alarm. “We’re heading right into it!”

“Keep working at the sails, Lily. We’re slowing down. . . . I think we may stop in time!”

Little by little, the ship slowed, and the last sail was tied to its mast. Finally the Captive sat still in the water.

The evening breeze had died. Twig raced to the bow of the ship, gripping the railing. “It’s a wall!” he murmured as Lily and Basil joined him. They stared at the massive tangle of limbs. “A wall of trees!”