In the village, under a steep rock, the Cave of the Dragons awaited. Adults avoided it by a wide margin, even in hot weather. Lena knew her grandmother's stories of fiery throats and treasures, but curiosity was stronger. Today was a full moon and the wind carried a strange whisper: come back. Kacper snorted a laugh and only shrugged his shoulders at it. - 'The whispers are just echoes,' he said as Lena picked up the torch. - 'We'll check it out and be back before dawn, right away, I promise. The stones at the entrance were smooth as bones, and it was warmer inside than outside; you could smell smoke and salt. Drops dripped in an even rhythm, as if counting steps. Lena glowered at the walls and suddenly saw a drawing: a dragon's wing scraped with a claw, fresh and sharp. - 'Who did that? - whispered Kacper. - Maybe he himself - she replied calmly. Further away lay a cracked stone, and beneath it a yellow shell. It was warm, as if it breathed under the skin of her hand. The air rustled, like a furnace before a storm. - 'Do you hear that, Lena? - Kacper squeezed Lena's sleeve. A metallic sound came from the darkness, like a rope being stretched. Then a second, lower, sounding like a lazy heartbeat. A glittering sheet of water could be seen at the bottom of the cave. A circular shadow moved below the surface and disappeared. Lena raised her scales and the torchlight crackled and went out. Darkness rippled along with the heavy breath of the cave. Something moved the pebbles right next to their shoes. Out of the gloom shimmered one large eye, green as a pond after rain. - 'Don't run,' said a voice, out of nowhere.