“Step lively, now! And be watchin’ yer footin’. There be lotsa loose rocks here aboot what ye can be turnin’ a foot on.” The dwarf looked Dragon up and down. “An’ mayhap ye oughta be shrinkin’ or changin’ yer shape or summat, causin the paths do na be very wide.” Then the dwarf turned and scurried off down the rock-strewn path along the escarpment.
Dragon blinked. The compact figure scooting along the path, beckoning her to follow, seemed exceedingly familiar and more than a bit annoying. She reached out and plucked him from the ground and brought him back next to her.
“Why ye consarned beastie! Ye overgrown lizard! Ye best be lettin’ go o me right quick like!” The dwarf struggled in Dragon’s grasp, squirming and sputtering like a wet hen.
Dragon frowned. “Oh, be still! You have not been harmed.” She blew a small cloud of smoke at him as she released him, sending him into a fit of coughing and cussing.
A smirk tugged at Dragon’s reptilian lips as she watched the rotund figure. He seemed so like her companion, the Old Dwarf, whom she last saw back in the real world – the world in which she and eight other fictional characters who had fallen from the pages of some manuscripts now resided with Mistress Writer and Master Miles. I wonder what they are all doing right now. She sighed deeply, then gave herself a mental shake. No time for wool gathering! I must find and eliminate the cause of the hostility among all of us characters, before we do irreparable damage to each other, or to Mistress Writer and her husband.
She waited until the dwarf stopped choking on the smoke. “Be still, small one! Now tell me, do you know this apprentice historian whom I seek, or no?”
The dwarf rubbed his eyes and sneezed twice, then glared at Dragon. “As I be sayin’, beastie, I would na be at all surprised.”
Dragon growled and smoke curled from her nostrils. “That is not an answer.”
The dwarf jutted his chin and folded his arms across his chest. “O course it be an answer! It be the onlyest answer ye be gittin’ iffin ye be maulin’ me and blowin’ smoke in me face!”
Dragon narrowed her eyes. “Do not vex me! I have not the time for this. Either you know the person I seek or you do not. Which is it?”
The dwarf shrugged. “I be thinkin’ mebbe I be knowin’ ’em, but I also be thinkin’ thet mebbe there be more’n one renowned historian in this world, and more’n one apprentice.” He eyed Dragon defiantly. “Why do na we just go see the apprentice I be thinkin’ ye be talkin’ aboot? Iffin he do na be the right one, mebbe he kin be tellin’ ye where ye can be findin’ others.”
Dragon scratched her head and thought. Seeing no other solution, she nodded. “What race is this apprentice?”
“What nevermind do thet be makin’?”
“Well, I thought to shapeshift, as you suggested, to better fit between the boulders lining the trail. I thought to shapeshift into a form that would be familiar to this apprentice, not intimidating or offensive.” Dragon frowned and tapped her foot impatiently.
“It do na matter what race ye be lookin’ like. The apprentice be used to visitors o many races. What be ye most comfortable changin’ inta?”
“I usually assume the form of an elf.”
The dwarf giggled. “Then, be an elfie!”
Dragon fumed. “I do not see the humor in being an elf.”
“Never said it be funny. Be ye comin’?” The last part of that, he called back over his shoulder as he took off down the trail again.
Dragon growled, but quickly changed into her elven persona and hurried off after the dwarf. The rotund figure scampered nimbly through the rocks, and the ersatz elf maiden had to work hard to catch up. For someone with such short legs, he certainly can move quickly!
As Dragon rounded a sharp bend in the trail, she almost fell over the dwarf, who was waiting for her in the middle of the path. “I be thinkin’ I losted ye there!” The dwarf’s eyes twinkled with merriment, and elf maiden Dragon studied him with curiosity as she caught her breath.
“I do not believe we have been properly introduced. My name is . . .”
“Eh, do na bother ta be tellin’ me yer name, beastie. I probably couldna be wrappin’ me mouth around it anywho.”
A frown marred Dragon’s delicate elven features. “So you plan to just continue calling me beastie?”
“Aye.” The dwarf jutted his chin and looked at her defiantly. “Lessens ye be havin’ a preference fer elfie. An’ ye can jest be callin’ me dwarf.”
Dragon arched an eyebrow and regarded the burly figure. “So, dwarf, do you always offer to help strange dragons?”
“Eh, ye do na be so strange. I seed ye with the Great Beastie, and she dinna be battlin’ ye, so’s I be figurin’ ye must be okay.” He started down the trail again at a good trot. “We best be movin’ out. We be havin’ a goodly piece ta go.” He looked back over his shoulder at Dragon. “An’ do be tryin’ ta be keepin’ pace now, beastie. I do na be wantin’ ye ta be gittin’ yerself losted.”
Dragon swiftly followed the dwarf, not allowing him to get too far ahead this time. “How far is it?”
* * *
“How far is it?”
“It’s not far.” I gave my Foreman a sharp look. “Why? Did you have something better planned for today?”
He glared at me. “I do not care to spend a long trip in your undersized vehicle with that pompous elf and his smug cohort.”
“And I’m sure my Arrogant One and my Bounty Hunter don’t relish the idea of being cooped up in a car with you for any longer than necessary, either.” I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “But we are going. All of us.” I looked at my other characters, all standing around muttering. “We leave in fifteen minutes. Be sure you’re in modern attire, and leave all weapons, staffs, wands, and spell components here.” I turned to Sorceress and Cleric. “And I’m sorry, but this time, you will be unable to collect botanicals for your spell components. The place we are going today does not allow visitors to collect any specimens.”
Cleric nodded glumly. “Then I suppose our only purpose in going is to assist you in your wildlife photography.” She sounded resentful.
“No, that is not your only purpose, although I would appreciate any help you care to offer. I just thought everyone enjoyed these outings. We can all relax, and not be on each other’s nerves.”
“An’ there be food, lassies!” My Old Dwarf grinned.
I returned the old reprobate’s smile. “Speaking of which, why don’t you go help Miles pack the food and beverages into the car, so we can leave as soon as possible?”
For someone with such short legs, he certainly can move quickly!
The trip got off to a rocky start, with tempers flaring and unpleasant words being exchanged. Within the first two blocks, Miles had to pull over twice so my characters could switch seats before the verbal bouts could turn physical. But by the time my husband maneuvered the car into a parking space at the nature preserve everyone was relaxed and exchanging friendly banter.
“Where be we settin’ up lunch?”
As soon as Miles pointed to the picnic grove on top of a small rise, my Old Dwarf grabbed one of the coolers from the trunk and scooted away. My Foreman and the two lads took the other coolers and picnic hamper, and Miles grabbed a cardboard box.
Lunch was a relaxed affair. Everyone enjoyed the sandwiches and soft drinks, and the friendly banter that had started in the car continued. Even my Arrogant One and my Bounty Hunter were joining in the conversations. When everyone had eaten their fill, Miles suggested we enjoy some activities.
“Anyone up for tossing the old pigskin around?”
“Pigskin?” My Young Hero looked intrigued.
“That’s a slang term for a football.” Miles opened the cardboard box he had carried from the car, and took out a football. “We also have a baseball, a volleyball, and some other things.”
“The feetsball be a good one ta toss aboot.” My Old Dwarf picked it up and tried to throw it to my Foreman, but the ball fell way short.
“Here, I’ll show you how to do it.”
As Miles showed my Old Dwarf how to throw a football, some of the other characters grabbed the rest of the equipment. Soon, most of then were engaged in tossing around a ball of some sort.
“Come on, Mistress!” My Gypsy had picked up an old tennis ball and was going to throw it.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll skip the ball games.” I picked up my camera. “I’d like to explore and see what I can photograph today.”
“I think I would like to accompany you.” Cleric blushed. “I always enjoy helping you with the wildlife photos.”
“As do I.” Sorceress joined us.
I smiled and nodded. We waved to the others, and went in search of cooperative wildlife. We didn’t have to look far.
As we followed a well-worn path from the picnic grove, we saw a chipmunk on a small retaining wall, and another one in the field, munching on some berries, and I took a few quick shots.
“Look! There is a tiny bird on that limb.” Cleric pointed.
“It’s a Ruby-throated Hummingbird.”
“I do not see any ruby coloring on its throat.” Cleric’s brow furrowed.
I smiled. “Only the adult males have the red throats.”
“There is another one over there.” Sorceress pointed to a nearby tree.
Cleric used her affinity with the birds to convince both of the hummers to come closer for me to get good images.
“There is another small bird in that tree.” Sorceress pointed at a bird flitting through the branches. “I do not think that one is a hummingbird, though.”
“You’re right. It’s a Blue-gray Gnatcatcher. It will never stay still long enough for me to get a photo!”
Cleric smiled. “Of course it will.” But even with Cleric coaxing the bird to sit still, I had but a fraction of a second to snap a picture.
Two flashes of yellow through the leaves caught our attention. I quickly focused my camera. “The larger one is a Yellow Warbler. The smaller one, with the black mask, is a Common Yellowthroat.”
We walked a bit further and Cleric found a Black-capped Chickadee and an Eastern Phoebe. She persuaded both birds to pose nicely for me.
We continued to follow the path toward a small pond.
“Oh, look! There are frogs here.” Sorceress bent down to examine a large, warty, gray and cream amphibian.
I corrected her as I quickly snapped a picture. “That’s a toad. I think it is known as an American Toad.”
“And this one?” Cleric kept her distance as she pointed to a bright green critter with black spots.
“I believe that is a Leopard Frog.”
“What is that slime all over that section of the pond . . . and all over the turtles?” Sorceress wrinkled her nose as she pointed to the other side of the pond.
“That’s not slime. It’s actually vegetation. It’s most likely duckweed, a rather common aquatic vegetation.”
I took a few photos of the turtles and showed Sorceress and Cleric a close-up of the vegetation that covered them.
“Do the turtles eat this?” Sorceress was still wrinkling her nose.
“Yup.”
“Oh, look!” Cleric sounded delighted. “Dragonflies and butterflies!”
Sorceress and I laughed as Cleric ran over to the meadow and danced with the insects. When she finished, Cleric helped me get a few pictures, as I tried to identify the creatures for her and Sorceress.
“I believe the small white one is a Summer Azure. I think the yellow butterflies are Eastern Tiger Swallowtails, and the orange one is a Monarch.” I turned my camera toward the dragonflies. “I’m afraid I don’t know the names of these beauties.”
By the time we returned to the picnic grove, Miles and the others had gathered everything up and loaded it back in the car. On the drive home, one by one my characters fell asleep, tired out by a day of fun activity.
“You know this won’t last.” I kept my voice low, so I wouldn’t wake any of my characters. “As soon as we get home, the fighting will start again.”
Miles nodded. “We need to find the root of the problem. It has to be something around the house.”
I heaved a huge sigh. “Dragon is the one who could solve this mystery. I wonder where she is.”
* * *
I wonder where we are. Dragon, still in her guise of an elven maiden, looked around curiously.
As if reading her mind, her dwarven guide spoke. “Wale, we be almost there, beastie.” He grinned broadly.
“Oh? And where, exactly is there?”
Where is Dragon? Is the strange dwarf really taking her to see the historian’s apprentice? And will she find the solution to the problem? Join us next week as we continue this adventure. We’ll leave the porch light on for you.
I started to speak, but my Old Dwarf pushed me aside and elbowed his way through the others to stand facing my Arrogant One. “What be the trouble?” His voice was gruff, and he glared at the elf.
“Your Foreman was about to deck him, and he got all dramatic, screeching and acting like he was dying.” My Gypsy snickered. “The big sissy!”
Sorceress snorted. She folded her arms over her chest and looked down her nose at the elf. “You are mad.”
“And if the bickering and the fighting do not stop?” My Young Hero glared at me through narrowed eyes, and he clenched his hands into fists.
“Then the ones what be doin’ the bickerin’ an’ the fightin’ will be answerin’ ta me.” My Old Dwarf stepped between me and my Young Hero. He glared at the youth and slapped the flat of his axe against the palm of his hand.
I felt my mouth fall open and my eyes grow as big as saucers. “I . . . I had never considered that.”
Before Dragon could take another breath, she found herself alone in the clearing. She blinked and looked around. Where did she go?
I . . . can . . . not . . . move.
“The outing went very well, don’t you agree?” Miles handed me a cup of tea.
Dragon gradually awoke. As her awareness increased, she realized her breathing had become less labored, and she found she could move unrestrained. She slowly opened her eyes and cautiously looked about. As the world around her came into focus, she saw she was still in the desert, still within the sheltering copse of trees in a large oasis. She frowned. A low growl rumbled deep in her throat, and a wisp of smoke drifted from her nostrils.
“Testy, testy!” The Wrym chuckled again. Then, before Dragon could even blink, the Wyrm had her by the throat. “I would not advise doing that again.” The beast’s eyes narrowed, and its voice invited no discussion. “You remain a young wyrm, while I have aged, growing in both strength and wisdom. I am your superior in every respect. Take care, lest you annoy me beyond my tolerance.”
Dragon frowned, the smoke drifting from her nostrils growing increasingly black as she pondered her predicament. She steepled her clawed fingers and concentrated on finding a way to achieve her goal.
So Dragon had devised a way to enter one of the manuscripts; however, she had not realized the full implications of the distinction between her own world and the world of the manuscripts. Here, within the pages of the manuscript, she had no way of examining the items thoroughly, or communicating with anyone who might have knowledge of the items, as nothing was truly present here. Everything here was merely images, shadows, echoes, and memories of the things and people about whom Mistress Writer had penned her stories.
Ninety minutes later, we arrived at a beautiful lakeside venue. My characters breathed a collective sigh of relief, and almost fell out of the car the moment Miles had it parked. Their rubbery legs hardly supported them, so Miles and I took our time getting our supplies unloaded. When we were all fit and ready, we headed off down the trail toward the lake. My characters willingly helped us carry everything to the picnic table.
Everyone pitched in and helped my husband to prepare the food. After a huge lunch, accompanied by much friendly banter and laughter, I suggested we go exploring. “I brought my camera, so I thought I’d check out the resident wildlife. You’re all welcome to join me, if you wish.”
“I’m beat!” Miles looked at me apologetically. “I think I’ll just clean up everything here and then take a nap under those trees.”
“Iffin ye do na be mindin a wee bit o company, laddie, methinks thet be soundin’ like a real comfy way ta be spendin’ the afternoon.”
“Listen.” My Gypsy held up his hand. “A Yellow Warbler!”
Dragon was back in the desert, within a sheltering copse of trees in a large oasis. She was thirsty and her belly rumbled with hunger, but the water and food in the world of the manuscript was as insubstantial as everything else.
Dragon sat with her back against the rough bark of a date palm. She concentrated as hard as a dragon can, putting every ounce of her considerable mental prowess and supernatural power into her endeavor. She intoned an ancient incantation in an archaic language. Slowly, she began to shimmer. Bit by bit, her great bulk faded from the shadow world of the manuscript until, finally, she disappeared altogether.
Pen in hand, I desperately tried to find the words. As my Old Dwarf lay, his lifeforce oozing red onto the floor . . . No, that wouldn’t do it. My Old Dwarf grew still, his face a sickly gray, his breath rattling . . . No, that was no good, either. Wait! Color slowly returned to my Old Dwarf’s face, as Cleric knelt next to him, tenderly holding his hand, administering her healing herbs . . .
Sorceress smirked. “Do not feign such indignation! You know the real reason you do not want to use your herbs is because you know you have no skill as a healer. You would do the dwarf more harm than good.”
“Ignore them!” Miles placed his hand on my shoulder. “You had better get writing. You’ll never save your Old Dwarf if you don’t get writing.”
As I searched again for the right words, the window flew open and the milky-eyed grackle, the familiar of the evil wizard Morcant, flew in. It circled overhead, cawing and screeching. Morcant’s voice, high-pitched and grating, spewed from the bird’s beak. “You had no trouble finding the words to imprison me, witch! Are you saying you can not now find the words to save your dwarf? You claim yourself to be The Writer? I say thou art naught but a fraud! A charlatan! A cozener! A fake! An imposter!”
Dragon turned to follow the Blacksmith as he left his workshop. The beast stopped when she spotted a solitary horseshoe nailed to the wall of the shop, directly over the door. It was fastened with the open end downward, a custom thought to spill luck and good fortune on all who passed beneath it. Dragon reached up and touched the horseshoe. She could barely feel the tingle of its inherent magic. She frowned. She should have been able to feel the magic of this talisman practically pulsating.
Dragon jumped. She was abashed at having been startled, her extraordinary hearing failing to detect the approaching figure.
The Foreman poked his head in the door. “Blacksmith? Are you here?”
When the Blacksmith left, Dragon remained to observe the Innkeeper. As soon as he thought he was alone, the Innkeeper reached into his pouch and produced a small talisman. Dragon gasped. It was identical to the talisman that had appeared in the house of Mistress Writer and Master Miles, back in what the two of them termed the real world. Now she understood why she had been drawn to the barrel of horseshoes in the Blacksmith’s workshop. A horseshoe had also appeared in Mistress Writer’s home. In all, four objects – a talisman, a horseshoe, a ruby ring, and the royal seal – along with a collection of books had traveled through a magic conduit between her world and the real world. Can those items somehow be responsible for the tension and violence amongst my fellow characters there?
A few days past, back in the real world, when Dragon had entered Mistress Writer’s manuscript, the one from which she and her companions had fallen, she knew she was not truly entering the world she and the others had always referred to as their world. Many weeks ago, Dragon had discovered that she and the others did not come from their world at all. She remembered explaining to Mistress Writer: “We – the nine characters who fell out of your manuscripts and into this world – did not come from the world we refer to as our world, the world about which you wrote. We came from your manuscripts. We do not exist simultaneously in both worlds – the world we refer to as our world and this world that you call the real world – because we are not the same beings that exist in the world we refer to as our world. We are merely shadows, or memories, of those beings.” 
“Lass, do ye be knowin’ where the great beastie be?”
“Can you really understand the incoherent blathering of that inarticulate ignoramus?” My Bounty Hunter was leaning against the wall, smirking.
It was after midnight. Dragon crept silently around the house, moving like a shadow from room to room. This house, a modest suburban bi-level in a small town in the Midwestern United States, had been her home now for longer than she could rightly remember. Dragon shared it with eight other fictional characters who, like herself, had fallen from the pages of some manuscripts; Mistress Writer, the creator of those manuscripts; and Master Miles, Mistress Writer’s spouse.
“Oh, no! Don’t be throwing those fireballs around outside, either!” My Gypsy’s voice was almost a snarl as he addressed Cleric and Sorceress. “The three of us are going to be riding our horses.”
“Do na be blamin’ yerself, lass.” My Old Dwarf lay on the kitchen floor, skewered by a carving knife. I tried, without much success, to stem the bleeding. The old rapscallion’s breathing was becoming labored. The light was leaving his eyes and his skin was growing gray and sweaty.
“I am here. But why should I waste my herbs and my skills on that saddle-goose?”
Dragon had been watching the manor house at the sprawling horse farm a few miles outside the city. It was easy to wander around in plain sight of the occupants, who paid her no more heed than had the other dragon, or the palace guards in the royal city. Dragon recognized many of the people who came and went throughout the day. There was the Young Hero, and the Foreman. The Gypsy, the Cleric, and the Old Dwarf were there, too. There were others, many others, whom Dragon did not know. One of them was a blacksmith. 
Dragon followed him to his workshop behind the barn and found a barrel of old horseshoes. Horseshoes . . . Dragon was drawn to them, yet wondered why on earth she would have any interest in old horseshoes.
“Mind if I join you? This looks like a good place to hide from all the fireworks.”
Miles’ hand went up again. “Then I went back to the living room and found Dragon scratching her back on the carpet again. When I asked her to stop, she threatened to scorch my shoes with me still in them!”
“Do you really think I’m prickly?”
“You didn’t?” Dragon feigned surprise. “I suppose I can be very stealthy when it serves my purpose.” The huge beast winked at Miles, then began to shrink. She entered the room and gracefully picked her way through my office, wrinkling her nose in disdain at the untidy conditions. As she approached Miles, she began to transform. By the time she reached his chair, she had shape-shifted into a very hefty porcupine. “Prickly, too.” She giggled.
“You don’t let me have any fun.” The ersatz porcupine shapeshifted into her familiar guise of an elf maiden. She conjured a chair and sat, facing Miles and me. She immediately turned serious.
Before we could discuss the matter further, my Old Dwarf came hotfooting it into the room. “Eh, be we havin’ a midday meal taday or no? I be starved!”
