Читать книгу: «The White Dragon of Windvale»

Chapter 1: The Whisper in the Mountain

In the quiet village of Windvale, nestled between two silver-capped mountains and surrounded by whispering pines, there lived children who believed in magic. Grown-ups did not. They said magic was only in stories and dreams. But the children of Windvale knew better. Especially a curious, freckle-faced girl named Elia.

Elia had heard the stories since she could walk. Her grandmother, who smelled of cinnamon and lavender, used to tell her about a dragon – not just any dragon, but a white dragon, whose wings could stir the wind and whose eyes held the shimmer of the moon. It was said that the White Dragon lived far above the clouds, in a hidden cave at the peak of Mount Solara, the tallest and quietest mountain in the land.

Every night before bed, Elia would sit by the window and whisper, “White Dragon of Windvale, are you real?” And sometimes, when the stars sparkled just right and the wind curled gently through the trees, it felt like something whispered back.

No one else in Windvale believed the White Dragon was real. Not her teacher, Miss Thomblin, who always rolled her eyes when Elia drew dragons instead of doing sums. Not even her best friend Ben, who liked maps and bugs more than fairy tales. But Elia believed. Deep in her heart, she believed. One morning, the village woke to a strange sight. A soft, white mist had rolled down from the mountain, blanketing Windvale in a fog so thick you couldn’t see your own boots. It was unlike any fog the village had seen before. It sparkled like snowflakes and smelled faintly of peppermint. The grown-ups grumbled. “Just weather,” they muttered.

But Elia felt something different. As she walked to school, she noticed the birds were quiet. The usual chatter of blue jays and crows had vanished. The trees didn’t rustle. Everything was hushed, as if the world was holding its breath.

Then she saw it.

High above, far beyond the rooftops and chimney smoke, a shadow moved in the sky. It wasn’t a bird – it was too big, and it didn’t flap. It glided like silk across the sky, then disappeared into the clouds. Her heart skipped. Her breath caught. She had seen it. She was sure of it.

“Elia!” Ben called, catching up to her. “Did you see that?”

She turned, eyes wide. “You saw it too?”

Ben nodded, unsure. “It looked like… wings?” They stood in silence for a moment. Then Ben shook his head. “It was probably just smoke. Or a big hawk. Or maybe your dragon stories are getting to me.”

But Elia knew better.

That night, Elia couldn’t sleep. The image of the shadow in the sky played again and again in her mind. So she did something she had never done before – she packed a small bag: her grandmother’s old compass, two apples, a notebook, a pencil, and a pair of warm mittens. She put on her boots, wrapped herself in her thickest scarf, and tiptoed out of the house.

The stars twinkled above, and the moon lit the path with silver light. The wind had picked up – a soft, steady breeze that seemed to push her gently toward the mountain.

She walked through the quiet village, past sleeping homes, over the old stone bridge, and into the woods that led to Mount Solara. The trees creaked softly in the wind, and once or twice she thought she heard something – a low hum, like distant singing.

Then, far ahead, just where the path began to climb steeply, Elia saw it again.

A flicker of white.

Not fog. Not snow. A tail.

Long, sleek, and gleaming like moonlight on water.

It vanished behind a cluster of trees, but not before Elia gasped aloud. Her legs moved on their own now. She ran up the path, heart thudding, scarf flapping behind her like a banner.

“Elia,” said a voice.

She froze.

It was not her name exactly, but it sounded like it. Soft and musical. The wind?

“Elia,” it came again. She turned in a slow circle.

Then she saw them: a pair of glowing, blue-white eyes staring at her from between two rocks.

And slowly, with grace that made her breath catch, the creature stepped into the moonlight.

Its scales shimmered like fresh snow. Its wings were folded against its back, but even so, they looked large enough to wrap around the entire village. Its horns curled like ice-etched branches. And its eyes – kind, ancient, and curious – looked straight into hers. “Elia,” the dragon said, this time not in words but in thought, clear and warm inside her mind. “You came.”

And though she was only a small girl standing in the cold night, Elia smiled.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I believe in you.”

Chapter 2: The Dragon’s Secret

Elia stood very still.

The dragon’s breath was a warm mist in the cool air, scented with something crisp – like pine trees after rain and the sweetness of frozen apples. Its scales shifted in the moonlight, catching the silver glow and scattering it across the snowy ground like stardust. Its eyes, as blue and deep as frozen lakes, watched her with a strange softness.