The huntress climbed upward. A knuckle grazed sharp rock and she suspected it had broken the skin, drawn blood. But dangling on a sheer cliff wall over a chasm didn’t seem the time to worry about it.

She located and slipped her fingers into a groove, breathed out deep and steady, then curved her body, brought one leg up to seek out another foothold, another secure furrow just a little bit higher. Graying hair wisped into her face, spiraled wildly around her as cool winds slid down the mountain to clatter and dance between cliff walls.

After an hour’s climb, she reached a promontory large enough to afford more than a crouching rest and she dragged herself forward until gray rock gave way to dark earth and then green grass and forest floor. Limbs heavy with exhaustion, she stood, her weight low and her hand poised at the bow on her back. She listened.

The shush of the wind, songbirds tittering in the leaves nearby, a hawk far away—the cry finding its way to her ears born upon echoes and reverberation—tree branches swaying lightly, leaf against leaf, and the low bass thrum of air between the massive peaks of the mountain range.

The huntress lowered her hand, allowed herself a long, weary sigh. She wiped her sweat-damp forehead, pushed wild gray out of her face and ventured further into the darkness of the wood.

Only a few hours on, she barely had the warning of a tremble under her feet before she heard it—a great terrible bellow like the shriek of metal on metal, spine-piercing, and the huntress clamped her hands over her ears. The sound leaked in just the same, set her inner ear vibrating hotly and made her want to check that the heat wasn’t the trickle of blood. When the roar ceased, a beastly huff followed it and the forest floor shuddered beneath the weight of some large, close by thing.

Then, silence came again, a thick, cottony silence, and the huntress lowered her hands. She moved swiftly toward the sound. In quiet steps, she flowed from tree to tree, vigilant and careful as she approached.

She secured her weapons on her back and at her waist, then put climbing fingers to work once more. Rock-raw skin against bark, she scaled a tall tree like a ladder, her body close to the trunk so she wouldn’t disturb the leaves, then, steady in a bent arm near the high top, she looked out through branches. At first, she saw only a glint of mahogany hair in the afternoon sun, so glossy it caused a glare. The huntress narrowed her eyes.

A glade—a clearing, there stretching out from the mouth of a mossy, fertile cave. Before it paced the mahogany hair, a radiant young woman with bare uncovered curves, her nakedness unhurried, neither hidden nor displayed. A chain clinked and between the woman and the forest, strode the heavy, hoary body of a dragon.

Where the woman was unblemished, the dragon’s skin appeared perpetually dry, save where it oozed with open, untended sores. The decaying stink of pus filled the glen, rose even in dissipated waves to the huntress’s keen, unhappy nose. With shuffling, grumbling steps, the dragon circled like an over-sized dog in front of a fireplace and brought its girth to rest before the cave, guarding the young woman, who glared at it with hurt, angry eyes. Great scars crossed the beast’s body and emaciated, skeletal wings lay folded on its back like exposed ribs. One monstrous front paw had lost a finger.

The huntress remembered this story. She’d heard of it long ago. The princess and the dragon. The beautiful princess held prisoner, trapped, alone, lonely, unloving and unloved in some far off place—here, this place—and she was guarded always by a creature, a monster, a dragon of terrible violence and cruelty, who struck to kill.

According to legend, the love of the princess came with treasures far beyond her striking beauty and desirable companionship. Riches perhaps, maybe fame, or land or wisdom—the huntress didn’t know; legends were always so vague. But one riddle was perfectly clear: To free the princess a hero must woo her. And to woo the princess, one had to woo the dragon.

The huntress looked about the clearing. She could see it now, the wreckage that lay about. The discarded trinkets, the rotting flowers, the empty armor and all the bones, so many bones.

The last of the sun hid behind the mountain peak, casting the glade in dim and the forest in darkness. The huntress made herself comfortable against the tree trunk and waited.

The first night, a farmer from the village appeared. He crept close through the bushes in the dark while the dragon slept, snuffling and wheezing.

“Pssst!” the farmer whispered. “Princess. Pssst, princess!”

The princess stirred from where she sat in the moonlight, appearing like a moonbeam in human form, all silver gloss and cool radiance. “Oh,” she gushed. “Oh, hello!”

“I’ve come for you,” the farmer said. He took an anxious step from the shadows and puffed out his chest proudly, even as he pulled his eyes from the naked princess to steal a wary glance at the dozing dragon. He spoke in a stage whisper that carried across the glade. “I’ve brought some, uh, I’ve brought corn. I know that doesn’t sound like much, but hear me out,” he whispered.

The farmer didn’t notice, but the huntress did—the dragon had stopped snuffling. From where she sat, she saw the dragon’s eyes crack open, black pupils peering through a slit in sallow gray eyelids. That, the farmer noticed. He trembled a moment, then stepped more boldly forward. “Ye-yes!” he projected. “I have brought corn, the harvest from my village.”

From the bushes he dragged forward a large wicker bushel full of ears of corn. Flies circled the basket, the corn rotten and black in spots.

“I know it’s not—it’s not much and it’s not good,” the farmer said, pulling the bushel nearer with one arm. “It was a trying season. I barely harvested enough to feed myself, so this is all I had left to bring.”

Panting with effort and earnestness, the farmer stood tall before the dragon, which raised its knobby head to look down at him. Its large front paws rested one crossed atop the other like a genteel lady with her hands in her lap.

“It’s the relative cost of the gift that should count, shouldn’t it?” the farmer entreated. Behind the dragon, the princess listened with hands clasped at her heart and loving eyes blown wide in the dim. “I have nothing, nothing. No food, no house, no money—nothing but this corn. I know it’s not much, but it’s everything I have.”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” the princess gasped.

“I know it won’t feed you much—”

“Oh, I barely eat. I don’t need food,” the princess said. “I don’t need food if I have love.”

“Of course,” said the farmer, stepping nearer, drawn by the princess’s shining eyes and graceful limbs. “I can give you love. You’ll be loved as much as I can manage and we’ll—”

With a snort, the dragon shot a flame from one nostril and set the farmer on fire.

“Oh!” The princess screamed, slender hands clapped to her gaping mouth. “Didn’t you hear what he said? Didn’t you hear?! That was all he had,” she yelled. “He wanted to give me everything he had. Why isn’t that good enough for you? Why isn’t anything good enough for you?”

A thick chain clinked as the princess retreated, sobbing, into the cave and the dragon settled back down on the ground with a sigh. In a few moments, it was snoring peacefully again. The scent of the farmer’s crackling skin joined the stink of rotten corn and oozing sores in the air.

The second night, the huntress peered through the leaves to see a bold miner from the quarries stride into the glen.

“Princess,” he called, and then with a nod, “dragon.” In reply, the dragon’s sickly wings twitched like an angry cat’s tail.

“I bring to you a jewel from my people,” the miner said. With an underhand throw, he tossed a tiny bauble to the princess, who caught it with one gentle, delicate hand. She gazed at the tiny stone in her palm. The dragon’s narrowed eyes watched the miner.

“It’s a little beat up,” he said, “and a little small. The big ones fetch a big price, you see.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” the princess breathed. “It’s hard to want even a little gem with all that awful bloodshed in the mines.”

The miner lifted his chin. “I own the mine.”

“Oh,” the princess said, looking up from the jewel in her hand. In her perch, the huntress stifled a snicker. “That’s … wonderful. Really. It’s so good that all those villagers are … employed. It’s good to have work to do.”

“I support the community.”

“I know.” The princess smiled, all warmth and sincerity. “I know you do. The world is never black and white, is it? So much gray.”

The miner smiled back, enchanted. “Yes, and when you come live with me, eventually I’ll be able to spare a larger jewel. That is only a token of all the riches to come. The land is very promising and I have a new batch of villagers who are strong boys, hard workers.”

“That sounds just lovely,” the princess sighed, her eyes gazing dreamily at the miner—until one mighty thwack of the dragon’s tail slapped him right off the mountain. His shriek carried all the way to the bottom of the chasm.

“Oh, how could you? Didn’t you see the warmth in his eyes?” the princess screamed. She kicked the dragon with her dainty foot. “He wouldn’t have run that horrible mine forever—that wasn’t the life he was really offering me. He would have listened to reason one day and we would have started rebuilding that village instead of stripping it bare and working the people to death.”

“God!” The princess stomped in frustration and hurled the tiny gem into the piles of discarded offerings. “You don’t see these things,” she yelled. “You never see these things! You never see a person’s heart. You just judge and give up…” The princess settled on the ground and gave up herself, curling up on her side and crying. The dragon watched her a moment, then moved gingerly on old, aching limbs to curl up in the dirt and rest.

The third night, a man from the city came with a love letter in his hands. Half of the lines had been redacted and the original recipient’s name blacked out, but “it’s such good poetry, you know?” The princess loved him for his alliterations. The dragon’s roar alone was enough to end his wooing.

The fourth night, a prince from the kingdom came in a royal convoy with a marching band, dancing girls and an acapella quartet that doo-wopped all the princess’s glorious virtues, mostly her beauty and bare breasts. The princess loved him for his willingness to delegate tasks. The dragon caught the singing foursome with one spine each on its thunderous tale and shot the prince with a tongue of flame. It let the marching band and dancing girls go, instruments and castanets clanging, banging, jingling, jangling and clattering off into the night.

The fifth night, a warrior came and didn’t bother to speak at all. He sprang at the dragon from the shrubbery, his sword raised high for a death strike, but the blade broke off in the beast’s thick, scarred hide. The princess loved him for his boldness. Later, the dragon belched up an anklebone and fretted with an upset stomach until dawn.

The sixth night, when the moon reached its zenith, a widower dressed in black stepped from the forest. He carried a fold of fabric in robin’s egg blue. When he cleared his throat, princess and dragon—and in the tree, the huntress—looked up.

“Excuse me, princess,” he said in a voice that was deep and kind. “May I speak with you?”

“Of course,” the princess said, climbing eagerly to her feet in one effortless motion. She moved as near as she could, her footsteps coming to stop behind the long, fleshy line of the dragon’s powerful tail.

The widower gave the dragon a respectful nod. “Is it all right?” he asked.

The dragon lowered its head in agreement and the widower stepped closer, standing just on the other side of the spiked and dangerous dividing line.

“I’m so happy you’re real,” he said, then handed the princess the bundle of fabric in his arms.

The princess’s eyes held on the man’s gentle face as she accepted the gift and unfurled it. Down over the jagged spikes of the dragon’s tail unrolled a simple, elegant dress of soft blue. Lace decorated the throat and around the waist extended one line of pearl-white ribbon.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” breathed the princess, and she held it up, pressing the earthy blue to her bare flesh. From her shoulders, the dress flowed down her body to end awkwardly high above her ankles.

“It might be a bit small,” the widower said. “It was my wife’s.”

The princess stroked her hands along smooth, lovingly worn fabric. “That makes it even more beautiful,” she said.

“Always said she was never prettier than when she wore that dress. It was her favorite,” the man said, and then tears choked out the rest of his words. When the princess offered him her hand, he clutched it to his chest and wept until the dragon’s mouth closed around him, swallowing him in a single gulp.

The princess glared at the dragon with eyes still wet with tears. She gripped tender robin’s egg fabric in a tight, heartbroken grip. “Why did you do that?” she bit out the question. “Even you had to see how sad he was. He missed her so much. I could have made him happy. I could have helped him. You’re a monster.”

She tossed the dress aside, and chain clanking, the dragon shifted its mighty weight to sleep while the princess curled up in the dark cave to weep.

On the seventh day, when the sun spilled over the top of the forest and poured into the glen, the huntress climbed down from the tree and walked out of the forest. Both princess and dragon raised their heads at her approach.

As she stood, the princess’s bright eyes darkened in recognition. “Why are you here?” she asked.

In answer, the huntress raised her bow and shot the princess through the heart.

The princess fell to the ground in a flutter of mahogany hair and perfect limbs and the huntress leapt over the dragon’s hefty tail to crouch at her side. Wide wet eyes looked up at hers and the huntress pressed her hand to the princess’s smooth cheek. As her dying body struggled, the princess exerted herself to touch an elegant hand to the scarred and calloused one upon her face. Then, she let out one final breath.

Songbirds tittered in trees nearby, the wind whispered down the mountain, a hawk cried far in the distance and the huntress pressed a kiss to the princess’s unblemished forehead, the turned to the dragon, to its aching sores and sickly skin. As she stood, so did the hulking beast, on weak and wounded limbs. Frail wings fluttered. The chain clinked and it was as the huntress had suspected—only the dragon had been chained.

“Hey there, old girl,” she said, and slid a hand along one weathered haunch. “Let’s go.”

The huntress released the chain and they walked together, slowly, into the forest. First to the river, to let the dragon slake its thirst and fill its belly with fish and fowl. After fuel for its body, then they would care and clean its wounds. Soon, it would be happy and running again, the huntress knew.

Soon, they would be flying.