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“Up ahead,” I say to Ukar abruptly, “we’ll find the herbs we need.” Without waiting for him, I run.

* * *

Camphor and gingerroot I find easily beside the pond. Lizards and frogs enjoy a morning swim, and Ukar eyes them hungrily. There’s a telling bulge in his neck when I find him minutes later, after collecting my herbs, and I loop him over my arm before he gets greedy.

Spindlebeard is trickier to locate. It’s a thorny bush of drooping white flowers that grows like a weed back home, but birds adore feasting on its buds and roots, which makes it near impossible to find a mature plant.

It takes me over an hour to track down a clump, hidden behind a fallen tree. I pluck as much as is respectful and tie the stalks together with a thin vine.

Most know spindlebeard for its thorns. They’re poisonous. One prick, and your muscles go soft. One taste, and your mind goes numb, falling into a deep sleep. Sometimes for days.

What most don’t know is that when you crush the thorns with the flowers in a certain way, their respective poisons blend into a paste that speeds up healing. The snakes taught me that.

Sometimes, poison is a medicine in disguise.

“That should be enough,” I say, tucking the spindlebeard into a pouch I’ve fashioned from ripping my skirt.

Take some extra thorns, says Ukar dryly. In case you need to subdue the dragon.

“Ukar, if you really don’t trust him, you could bite him.”

That would be a waste of venom.

Ukar stifles a yawn. He always gets sleepy after he bites; he just doesn’t like to admit it.

I still think you should leave the dragon behind, he goes on. We can steal a boat, sail to Tai’yanan on our own.

“I get why you might not trust Hokzuh. But every dragon?”

It’s a long story. An old story.

“We have time before we get back to the beach. Tell me.”

You remember I told you that Hanum’anya betrayed my kind?

“I do.”

That’s all you need to know.

I glare at my friend. We’ve arrived at a small clearing, and I leap up on a rock. “Look,” I say, gesturing at the sea. “I can see Hanum’anya’s snout from here.” I lift Ukar so he too can see the scrap of faraway mountain.

“Tell me the story or I’ll knot you over this branch.” I hoist him onto a tree. “You’ll have to look at Hanum’anya all day until you set yourself free.”

Ukar hisses with deep displeasure. You know how he came to be that rock?

“Yes.” Since the snakes rarely speak of Hanum’anya, I had to learn from other humans. Long ago, he tried to overthrow the creator god Niur and failed. As punishment, Niur seized his dragon pearl, banished him from Heaven, and turned him into a mountain.

While Hanum’anya’s scales hardened into stone, he saw his pearl hanging from the heavens—a taunt from Niur. He reached for it, so that its magic might guide him home. But his pearl was too far, and it was too late.

A mountain he became, with smoke and fire spitting from his jaws—his final struggle immortalized for all eternity in the middle of the Kumala Sea.

Usually I don’t believe the legends, but the shape of the dragon’s head glowering at the sky is indisputable.

“Tell me why the snakes despise him so,” I say. “Please.”

Ukar relents with a sigh, and I settle him back on my shoulder.

In the ancient times, we snakes had wings, he begins. We glided through the clouds with the gulls and the sparrows, and in the water, we used our wings to swim among the turtles and the sea maids.