The dream continued.
The dragon carried the little princess away from the lair, heading for a place no one could ever find them.
By chance, the sun shone gently that day—warm but not hot, wrapping them in soft comfort… So perhaps this could be called a grand escape bathed in sunlight.
At last, they reached the farthest edge of the Fairy Tale Kingdom: a remote forest seldom touched by human footsteps.
The dragon set the princess down, cleared a wide space with its breath, and solidified the ground with draconic magic. Then the princess summoned her power. The buried tree stump sprouted tender shoots, swiftly shooting upward, thickening into a towering giant no dozen arms could encircle.
Nestled within the trunk, a natural hollow had already formed—a new home for dragon and princess.
The little princess ducked joyfully into the tree hollow, spread her arms inside the nest, and cheered:
“What a huge house!”
Then, as if remembering something, she clumsily scrambled back out, stood before the dragon, and frowned with worry.
“What should we do?” she asked softly. “I forgot… you’re this big.”
The dragon almost laughed, but only shook its head gently.
“It’s fine. We dragons aren’t fragile like humans. We don’t need shelter. I’ll stay beneath the tree—keep watch, so no hero can… take you away.”
It hesitated on the last words. After all, she was human; it was the “villainous dragon” in their eyes. To those so-called heroes, they were the righteous rescuers.
But the princess didn’t seem to care.
Her heart was simple: human, dragon, witch—anyone kind to her, she liked.
So she ignored the dragon’s unease. She only worried it would catch cold or get wet sleeping outside.
Helpless, the dragon built a stone nest beside the treehouse with magic. The princess softened it with a grass mat woven by her power.
Still, she wasn’t satisfied. “It looks like a doghouse,” she murmured. “You shouldn’t sleep there. You should be with me, like before.”
But the treehouse was set. Altering it might kill the tree. And the space inside was too tight.
Patiently, the dragon explained. Reluctantly, she accepted.
Thus, shelter was settled.
Next: food and clothes.
Food was easy—berries, wild boar, rabbits, pheasants, stream fish. Plus, the princess could grow more.
Clothes were trickier.
Girls prefer cleanliness. Daily baths meant daily outfit changes… though her body always stayed miraculously pure.
The dragon hunted well but couldn’t sew. So it turned to the nearby town.
Normally, it would’ve fetched the tailor. But they were fugitives. Under cover of night, it slipped into the tailor’s shop, took a few dresses—and left silver coins, as the princess insisted.
Whether the tailor felt compensated didn’t matter. The princess no longer worried about clothes.
Just as she nurtured plants with care, the dragon clumsily, earnestly met every need.
And their life had only just begun.
…
On rainy days, they sheltered in the stone nest, not the treehouse.
At first, the dragon wondered why she chose the drafty stone over the dry tree.
Softly, she explained: “Alone in the treehouse… I feel lonely. Can’t sleep. It’s cold when it rains. But here—”
“Your belly is soft and warm. Your wings make me feel safe.”
The dragon nodded. Silently, it shook its wings, cast a drying spell, lowered its head, and nudged her gently closer.
It dared not press hard.
Her frame was slender, fragile—like precious porcelain from the East. One misstep could break her.
So in the drizzle, they lay side by side in the stone nest: she swinging her legs, it swaying its tail, listening to rain rustle through the forest.
When sun returned, she hung washed clothes to dry.
Sunlight warmed the clearing. She removed her crown, letting down hair that glowed faintly. No longer the missing princess of the Fairy Tale Kingdom—still lovely, but now like a forest elf.
“Crouch. Spread your wings,” she said.
Confused but obedient, the dragon stretched its wings straight. She climbed from tail to back, draping damp clothes across them.
Using the dragon as a clothesline.
“Why not dry them with magic?” it grumbled.
She whispered, as if sharing a secret: “Only sun-dried clothes carry the scent of sunlight.”
*Sunlight has no scent,* it thought—but stayed still, eyes closed, wings spread, waiting.
She leaned against its neck, dozing.
Warmth lulled them. Wind carried leaf-rustle and fresh grass. Birds hopped near, one pecking her palm—*ticklish*.
She woke, smiled purely, stroked its head.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s alright.”
The bird chirped happily.
Then squirrels, elk, even two lions gathered—circling her like bees around a queen. Birds chirped on her head; elk licked her hand; lions nuzzled her cheek; squirrels darted playfully.
The dragon slept on, eyes shut, unmoving as stone.
Later, as animals left, she waved goodbye and returned.
The dragon’s eyes were open now, vertical pupils sharp.
“You were awake just now, weren’t you?” she asked, smiling.
It huffed, almost snorted dragonfire—but held back.
“Mm.”
She hugged its snout. “If you hadn’t pretended… they’d have fled.”
It snorted softly through its nose, making her giggle.
“Are you shy?” She patted its snout. “Can dragons be shy?”
“Of course,” it rumbled. “Why can humans be shy… but not dragons?”
She didn’t press. Instead, she stood on tiptoe, patted its head.
“Thank you.”
It closed its eyes, rumbled quietly, then muttered:
“…You’re welcome.”
Her smile widened.
The dragon found it annoying—huffed, ready to turn away—then froze.
Blood. Horse cries. Steel.
The earth trembled. Danger pressed inward from the forest’s edge.
It lifted its head. Lazy ease vanished. Dragon’s might reignited.
“Go back,” it said. “They’re here.”
Her smile vanished. Lips trembled. She swallowed words.
“Mm.”
She gathered clothes and berries, ran toward the treehouse—then paused at the hollow’s edge.
“Xiao Kun… be careful. I’ll wait quietly in the treehouse. For you.”
Sunlight dimmed. Clouds swallowed the sky. Rain threatened.
The dragon cast silent buffs upon itself, then nodded.
“As you command, my princess.”
Wings beat—hurricane winds tore earth, snapped trees.
Vertical pupils icy. Scales gleaming fierce.
It soared from the nest.
To fight. For her.
[To be continued]
—
