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cave. “I’ll get us some food. Wait here for me.”
    I nodded, and he spread his wings as wide as the chamber. With a powerful beat, he leaped into the art and took off through the open ceiling, leaving me in his lair alone. I drank some water from the pond and sat near the gold pile, staring at its majesty.
    Perhaps being a dragon’s sacrifice wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen. I picked up one of the golden goblets and held it close, looking at my reflection. There was a small mark of dirt on my face, and I tried to wipe it away. It didn’t come off, but it didn’t feel like dirt either. More like dried mud. I looked closer as I felt the mark on my cheek with my fingers. Rough like stone. Scales.
    I should have felt a bit of fear, but I didn’t. I only felt more powerful.

Satyr’s Lair by Simone Beatrix
    I t had been a couple of years since I had been home to Edinburgh. I hadn’t called ahead to let my parents know I was coming, so I was expecting them to be pleasantly surprised when I finally got there.
    I parked my car in their driveway and shrugged. Their lights were on, but their car wasn’t there. The front door was locked, which was unusual for them if they were home. I sighed as I slipped my key into the lock and pushed the door open.
    They weren’t home after all. I groaned loudly and finished unloading my overnight bags from my car, locking it after I was all done. While I shouldn’t have been very surprised, I was bit a upset because it was almost christmas. Shouldn’t they expect their own daughter to come home?
    I sprawled out on the couch and turned the television on, looking for something to watch. Nothing. I glanced out the back window across the yard and into the forested lot behind our house. I was happy to see it was still there, that no one had bought it out and built a ghastly house.
    I smiled to myself and thought about all the memories I had attached to that little wooded area. Almost my entire childhood. Granted, I was in my twenties now, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t too young to remember what it was like to be a kid. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to do a little exploring again, like when I was younger.
    It was only two in the afternoon, and unusually bright and clear for a winter day. I turned the television off and gathered a thick coat to wear over my long sleeve shirt and jeans. I didn’t know how long I would get caught up exploring out there, and I didn’t want to get in over my head. The days were cold, but the nights were even worse.
    I figured I had at least a good three hours to explore, kick around some stones, and walk on some logs before nightfall. I locked the front door and made my way out into the yard. Walking across the empty yard was invigorating, the chilled air frosting my breath already and tickling my cheeks.
    I folded my arms and squeezed myself to stay warm as I stepped from my parents’ yard into the forested lot.
    I ignored the no trespassing sign as I always did.
    ***
    T he woods were a lot thicker than I remembered. Despite autumn knocking most of the leaves down, a lot of the shrubs and plant life were overgrown. I navigated through some familiar trails and over a couple of downed trees before I reached a small clearing.
    Looking backward down the trail, I couldn’t see the house anymore. I grinned and rubbed my hands together to keep them from numbing. I went further into the forest and found a small treehouse hanging from one of the trees, limp and mostly torn down. I hoisted myself into it and sat on one of the remaining planks of wood, closing my eyes and just letting the wind and the cool air wash over me. The trees were covered in a kind of thin frost, which made them shimmer in the light. I ran my hand along the plank of wood I was sitting on and smiled. The old treehouse hadn’t been built for me, but I thought of it as mine. I still remember the day I found it, amazed at how anyone could leave it untouched for so long. Names were carved