The pup was pleased—

No, he didn’t have a name.

Why not? Because he had not yet eaten thunder and swallowed lightning.

And that is all I will say on the matter.

The pup was pleased to have company. He would much rather have had his parents, looming huge and powerful on either side of him. But a minch-wiggin was better than nothing.

Especially a famous minch-wiggin with a sharp sword and a satchel that bulged with magic.

He sniffed the air. Like Flax, he found the World Below too big and too flat. But the smells were AMAZING.

If his parents had been there, he would have been dashing all over the place, sticking his nose into bushes and hollows. He would have chased the wind as it swept across the grass. He would have leapt and pranced and tumbled.

But his parents had been stolen. And he was going to find them.

Beside him, Flax said, ‘Well, there’s no sign of the dragon. We might as well turn back.’

The pup ignored her. The ground under his paws was soft and marshy and there were plenty of puddles, so he dipped his head and drank as he walked. Flax looked around nervously, and startled at every sound.

Once, they saw a dozen whitish creatures in the distance, and he shouted to them, ‘Excuse me, have you seen my parents?’

Their heads shot up, and they raced away, bleating.

‘Not so loud!’ hissed Flax. ‘What if there are sketters about? Or mor-kits?’

‘What if there are?’ asked the pup.

Flax’s ears flattened. ‘Sketters are particularly fond of soup. Minch-wiggin soup. Whereas mor-kits prefer us in sandwiches.’

The pup didn’t understand why someone with a satchel full of magic was worried about sketters and mor-kits.

But Flax was the only familiar thing in a very strange world. So he said, ‘You can ride on my back if you like. No one has ever made Spellhound soup.’

He dropped to his haunches. Flax hesitated, looking back the way they had come, then scrambled up.

‘Hold tight,’ said the pup.

They crossed a stream and circled around a particularly soggy bit of ground. On the other side of it was a long black strip that ran in a straight line from east to west.

The pup lowered his head and sniffed. Heat. Strangeness. Other smells that he didn’t understand.

‘What is it?’ asked Flax.

‘I don’t know,’ replied the pup.

Flax slipped down from his back and touched the black strip with a cautious finger. ‘It’s some sort of stone.’

She put her ear to it and listened. She flinched. ‘What’s that sound?’

Whatever it was, it was coming closer. And the stone under the pup’s paws was vibrating!

He leapt off the black strip and cowered in the grass with Flax beside him.

Just in time. Something raced towards them, roaring at the top of its voice. The sound grew louder and LOUDER—

And then it was past them, tearing into the distance, leaving nothing behind but an impression of two enormous eyes and a long green snout.

In the awful silence that followed when it was gone, Flax rolled onto her back, panting with terror. ‘The dragon!’

What’s that you say?

No, of course it wasn’t a dragon.

You know that. But you are human, and have seen towns and cities.

You have seen automobiles.

If your family is very rich, you might even have ridden in one.

But imagine for a moment that you are a minch-wiggin. Imagine that you have lived your whole life in the Floating Forest, where no one has even heard of automobiles.

Now imagine seeing and hearing, for the very first time, what Flax saw and heard.

You would call it a monster. And if your mind was already on dragons, its bonnet would be a snout. Its headlamps would be eyes.

You would be terrified.

Yes, you would. Stop arguing with me.