Despite just hatching and having rather weak limbs, I swam to the edge of the magma river flowing downward and clambered out. A shake of my body dispelled the molten rock before it could harden. My inherited memories let me know this would have been unpleasant.

The air smelled of sulfur and smoke and I inhaled deeply. My first breaths. How marvelous. While the area around the volcano had a distinct lack of anything edible—only charred stumps, for the most part—in the distance, I spotted greenery. Trees! Where there was foliage there would be life. The crunchy, yummy, belly-filling kind.

I waddled as fast as my short legs would go—the only choice being walking, as my kind didn’t hatch with wings—and tired quickly as my newly-hatched muscles protested. It would take time and food to build my strength. The latter being the simplest thing to accomplish quickly.

The jungle canopy filtered some of the smoke and ash from the air. Pity, as I quite enjoyed the aroma. I trudged through the foliage, listening for movement, sniffing and looking for a sign of something edible nearby.

None of the animal traces were recent, leaving me to grab what fruit I could find lying on the ground and flourishing in bushes. Nutritious, but lacking the muscle-building benefit of meat.

I hunted, moving further into the jungle, and my senses became more attuned as I digested my first meal. When my hearing sharpened, I realized something was following me.

Who would dare hunt a dragon?

Probably something looking to destroy me before I became too strong. It was ever a weakness of our kind to be hatched so small and ineffectual.

A glance at a tree showed a branch suitable for watching. I clambered upwards, my claws short but still enough to give me purchase. Perched upon a limb, I waited.

Crack. Murmur. Not an animal tracking me, but humans; the question being, were they the kind that worshipped dragons or those that sought to murder us?

A cluster of people paused under my tree. Two females and five males wearing strange garments. What country had I landed in that women wore trousers? My memories had females usually dressed in gowns of some sort.

The women, their heads encased in strange hats and veils, chattered. The males huddled in a group to converse. The language they used resembled nothing from my inherited collective. That would make giving them orders difficult. Hard to make a servant obey if they didn’t understand.

Then again, these most likely weren’t the serving type. I noticed one of the males had a metallic cage strapped to his back while the others held strange devices in their hands.

A thickset male pulled out a finger-sized white stick and put a flame to the end. This caused the smaller woman to go into a harangue. The male sucked on the white tube and blew smoke in her face. The petite one grew even more irate. She gesticulated and became quite strident. Surprisingly, the men didn’t slap her or make her stop, and of more interest, the one smoking extinguished his white stick. Fascinating. Had I hatched near a matriarchal society? Not very common, but encouraging, given my sex.

The curvier female took a turn speaking and pointing in the direction from which they’d arrived. That led to much head shaking. A male grabbed his groin and thrust his hips, which in turn resulted in the woman huffing and turning her back on him.

The comedy of it had me snickering.

And they heard.

The petite female glanced upward and spotted me despite the veil she wore over her face and eyes. She pointed and yelled in that unfamiliar language leading everyone to stare at me, but did they gape in admiration? Nope. I quickly discovered the strange objects the males held could fire missiles! Not very well, as it turned out, since the small, tufted arrows missed me. Still, I did not wait to see if they would get better. I leapt to another limb and raced across it, jumping again at its tip to grab at the next branch on another tree.

The humans followed.

Perhaps if I’d not been newly hatched, or had properly fed, I’d have had the stamina to outpace them. Alas, I tired too quickly. I encountered even more ill luck as the line of trees ended. As did the ground. I scampered down the trunk and raced to the edge of the cliff and peered down.

So far down.

A river ran below, dotted with rocks. The sheer face of the bluff showed few handholds, the rock not permeable enough for me to grip with my small claws.

The noise of my enemy crashing through brush alerted me to their imminent arrival. A glance showed them emerging from the jungle, spread out in a line.

Two of them held out the tiny arrow launchers while another unstrapped the cage. The tallest of the males crouched and walked towards me, crooning, as if I’d suddenly meekly allow myself to be captured.

The curvy female inserted herself in front of him, her hand waving, her tone angry.

He yelled back and took a menacing step towards her.

Perhaps the women didn’t have power over the males after all.

When the man would have stalked past her to reach me, the female grabbed hold of his arm. The male, his expression twisted in anger, grabbed hold of her and shoved. Shoved hard enough the woman stumbled and kept reeling right over the edge of the cliff.

This predictably led to the other female wailing as she tore at her veil, screaming as she hit her knees.

In my distraction, I’d not been paying the other males any mind.

An arrow launched and as I jerked to avoid it, my foot slipped and I lost my balance. For a second I teetered, then I fell. Plummeted fast. If I had my wings, I would have swooped to safety.

But I was but newly hatched. Not even a day old. Unfed. Weak. Undeniably unlucky.

I hit the water hard and knew no more.

Chapter 1

It had been a good day’s hike, and I dropped my knapsack on the ground as I surveyed the shore of the river snaking through Charcani Chico. The view never failed to calm. Just what I’d needed after the insane hours I’d been putting in at work.

When I’d gone to study dentistry at Cayetano Heredia Peruvian University in the city of Lima—a sixteen-hour drive that meant not visiting home often during those years, breaking Mama’s heart—I’d been excited to open my practice in Villa de Cayma where I’d been born and raised. I’d understood I’d probably be busy, I just never realized how insane it would get, especially since I did my best to keep costs reasonable, and in some cases, didn’t charge at all. For the families who couldn’t afford it, I usually provided care in exchange for a service. Like Luis, in pain because of a rotten root. He handled my garden. Or Maria, who’d needed several cavities filled. She repaid me by keeping my home clean—mine not Mama’s who’d been greatly offended when I made the offer.

But being so busy and trying to find ways to pay the bills when many of my clients provided food, goods, or service instead did take a toll. It was Mama who took one look at me and said, “You need a vacation.”

“I can’t,” I’d replied, already thinking of the long hours I’d have to put in the next week.

“You will, because if you don’t, you’ll be useless like your papa.”

It should be known my father was dead. Died of a heart attack at forty-nine because, as Mama lamented, “He wouldn’t listen and worked himself into an early grave.” Actually, his bad heart had been the true cause, but Mama did have a point. Burnout did happen, so I cleared my calendar for a week. A week where I’d have no one to answer to but myself. Seven days of hiking and reconnecting with nature, something I’d not done in years. I’d almost cancelled when Misti erupted. However, the volcano quickly settled and the winds kept the ash clouds away.

The emergency alert for the area didn’t last long. The government wasn’t eager to lose the tourism dollars they raked in from the Andes, which drew even more visitors with the eruption.

While environmental scientists claimed the area and waters safe, I’d been warned by Papa’s sister, Tía Carmelita, not to eat any fish as they could be contaminated with evil spirits. She claimed the volcano god Solimana was showing his displeasure at all the sinning happening in the world. The older members of my family tended to believe in the old legends. Me, not so much.

I chose to hike along the Rio Chili, the route popular with those looking for outdoor adventure. It ran through Charcani Chico, a canyon with breathtaking views that did much to reenergize my tired spirit as I spent days trekking its length.

Late afternoon, two days before I had to return to reality, I set up camp, knowing that this time of year dusk would arrive shortly, and I wanted to bathe before then so I could enjoy the sunset. I cleared an area of debris, using the rocks to form a ring to build a fire. It took me a bit longer to scrounge out some branches for kindling, not that I worried about getting cold. It was more about keeping the wildlife at bay. With that set up, I laid out my oversized sleeping bag—which I’d likely have to shake before I crawled in, in case any insects decided it looked comfy.

I’d heard my lack of tent and other amenities was called “wild camping.” I preferred it to the commercialized excursions offered to tourists that involved fancy tents with bendable poles that exploded into mini houses. Portable stoves. Inflatable mattresses. They even toted around composting toilets!

Personally, I preferred to interact with nature on a more basic level, hence I slept on the ground under the stars and did my business in the bushes or dug a hole.

I stripped out of my damp, sweat-drenched shirt and shorts but kept on my tight-fitting briefs and boots. Only an idiot—or someone who enjoyed leeches between their toes—went barefoot in Peruvian waters.

As I neared the shoreline with my shirt, which I’d decided to rinse and hang to dry overnight, my attention was caught by a lump splayed over the pebbles. A lizard-like creature had washed ashore, limp and unmoving. Most likely dead. I could have left it alone, but who knew what kind of carrion feeder it would draw. Skunk spray had nothing on vulture vomit.

Rather than touch it barehanded, I returned to my pack for some gloves. Nothing worse than digging your fingers into rotting flesh. I might have a stomach of steel, but some things made even a grown man’s gorge rise.

I returned to the small lizard, a type I’d never seen before, its skin a grayish hue. As I went to push the body into the water so it could continue downstream, it twitched. I withdrew my hand. Not dead after all but definitely injured.

What to do? Tío Santiago would claim I should leave it to the circle of life and allow it to die either of its injuries or because something would come along and eat it. However, to Mama’s annoyance, I’d been the kid who brought home all kinds of injured creatures growing up. A bird with a broken wing that I splinted and set free only to see it eaten by a condor. The mangy dog Bruno who’d been my companion for four years. The toad who’d lasted a whole summer before he mysteriously disappeared, coincidentally before Tía Consuela’s frog leg bake.

It had been a long time, though, since I’d taken in a stray. My life didn’t have room or time for a pet. A wild lizard wasn’t a domesticated animal, though, meaning it wouldn’t be a long-term commitment for me. Chances were, soon as it felt better it would scurry off. And if it didn’t, then on my way back I could drop it off at a wildlife sanctuary for them to handle.

I scooped up the reptile carefully, its body small and frail, but warm. I cradled it to my chest and brought it to my sleeping bag where I sat with it in my lap. I took a moment to carefully examine its limbs for any breakage or wounds. It seemed intact, and despite my lack of knowledge about lizard genitalia, most likely female.

Given her location by the shore, I concluded she must have fallen in the water and almost drowned. While she did seem to be breathing, I held her chest to my ear to see if I heard any gurgling in her lungs. Seemed okay, but just in case, I draped her over my shoulder, head hanging down so that gravity could pull out any moisture that might be trapped in her lungs. Right thing to do? No idea, but at least it felt logical.

I rubbed the lizard’s back much like you would a baby to get them to burp. In my case, it puked. Right down my bare spine. I grimaced. Good thing I hadn’t bathed or dressed yet. I strode with my little rescue back to the water and sank down to my haunches to submerge my lower half. I kept a hand on my rescue while the other scooped water and splashed the mess on my flesh. A few drops landed on the lizard, and she stirred, making a grunting noise.

Not wanting to be shredded by a waking and panicked wild reptile, I quickly waded to shore and gently placed her on the ground. I remained crouched and watched as she twitched and opened her eyes.

Two big, jewel-like orbs stared at me. Hunh. I’d never realized lizard eyes could be so pretty.

Since she kept looking at me, I smiled and softly said in Spanish, my native tongue, “Hello, pollita.” A word that meant little chickie.

She blinked.

“I hope you’re feeling better. You weren’t looking so good when I found you.”

The lizard sat up, obviously weak given how she wavered, the size of her barely more than my palm. She chattered in my direction, a surprise since I’d assumed lizards only ever hissed or flicked their tongues.

“I see you have much to say.” The corners of my eyes crinkled as I smiled. “Are you hungry?” I left her to dig into my pack, pulling forth a ripe lucuma. When I turned, I found the lizard only a pace behind me.

“Hold on while I cut it open.” I used my pocketknife to slice it in half before I crouched and held out the fruit. “Here.” I had no idea whether she’d even realized it could be eaten. I had little experience with lizards. Mama couldn’t abide reptiles or mice and had been known to chase them from the house with a broom while cursing them.

The dainty lizard grabbed the fruit and eyed it, then me.

I bit into the soft flesh. “Mmm. Good.”

Apparently, my action satisfied, for she stuck her face into it and took a bite. A bite that turned into a frenzy that left me open-mouthed as she finished it in seconds and held out her paws for the other half.

I handed it over, wondering how she could possibly eat any more given her size. Apparently, she must have been hungry, for the other half disappeared just as quickly. The lizard then stared at me and made a noise. A fanciful person would have imagined she asked for more.

“Let me see what else I have.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a bag of coconut chips. I sprinkled a bit on the ground and Pollita took one and sniffed it. Once more, I showed her it was edible by tossing a few in my mouth and crunching. That seemed to satisfy her, and the pile I’d given disappeared. Wouldn’t you know, she held out her paws, flexing the clawed fingers demandingly.

“Hungry girl,” I said with a laugh but I shook my head. “I think you’ve eaten enough for now. You don’t want to make yourself sick.” I tucked the snack away in my sack. “Let me get changed out of my wet bottoms and we’ll watch the sunset.”

The lizard crossed her arms and I’d swear she sulked. It made me curious as to what type of reptile she was. Tío Juan, my mother’s brother, who loved the outdoors, would have probably known.

I changed into dry shorts and then took my bottoms and shirt to the river to rinse them before hanging them on a bush to hopefully dry overnight. The lizard remained in my mini campsite, watching me. I’ll admit to being surprised she hadn’t run off. Could she be someone’s pet? It would explain why she had no fear of a human.

Given I didn’t want to scare her, I forwent lighting the fire and instead sat on my sleeping bag—after giving it a vigorous shake—in time for the sky’s change of color. The beauty of the sunset never failed to awe me. And this time I had someone watching it with me. To my surprise, the lizard crawled onto my legs and chose my lap to settle in. My hand lightly rested on her back, gently rubbing, noting a pair of strange lumps along her spine. She especially liked it when I rubbed the top of her head. The little pollita craned her head, uttering a sound that reminded me a of a purring cat.

When I slid into my sleeping bag, she crawled in with me, a warm bundle draped over my neck.

I woke at dawn, not because of the rising sun, but because of a lizard tapping my cheeks, chittering and shaking the empty bag of coconut chips.

Apparently, my little pollita was hungry again.

And she didn’t share.