Peter Fane

The Blind Dragon Peter Fane

"There we are," Anna whispered. The dragon foal went still at her voice. Then it snorted and swiveled its snout towards her, its eyes still shut. Its tail quivered; its nostrils flared. A menacing growl rose from its chest. "Easy there," Anna said gently. "Easy." She placed her palm on its forehead, applying calm pressure between its eyes. The foal gave a satisfied snort, settled back against Nightlove's flank -- and then it opened its eyes. They were big, blank, and sightless. Like white, silvery moons. The baby dragon had been born blind . . . .