by Jennifer Moore
Scans revealed two small dragons: one on the right lung and the other curled tight around his heart. It didn't look good. Ten to twelve weeks at the most, the doctors said.
"You're going to fight this," Ella told him when they got home from the hospital, tucking the kitchen calendar down the back of the fridge, out of sight. "We're going to fight it. Prove them all wrong."
By the end of the third month he was breathing better than he had in years, warm air gusting out of his chest in great steaming clouds. He looked a little green around the gills but that was only to be expected, given his new carnivorous diet. Vegetables made him queasy, so Ella barbecued great platefuls of steak for him every night--rain or shine--and pretended not to notice the hunger in his eyes as he stared out at the sheep in the next-door field.