A stormy afternoon and a rock dragon in a cave...
Growing up, everyone called that pile of rocks in the cave a dragon. Kid imaginations, of course. For as long as I could remember, we visited the "dragon," played on the rocks, took refuge from the weather, hid from our parents. But once I grew up, the cave became a memory. A place I hadn't seen in years.
Until a freak rain storm forces me to take cover in that very cave deep in the woods. Waiting out a storm in the chilly cavern with the rock dragon brings back lots of memories. But... I don't remember the dragon's rocks feeling warm. I don't remember that hole in the side of the dragon.
I don't remember that smell.
Revisiting that place of childish imagination might have been a bad idea.
Author's Note: This story is also published in the collection HAUNTS AND HOWLS AND DRAGON TALES, under the title The Dragon Redistribution System.
