Ginger wasn't so sure. She had seen plenty of things grown-ups didn't notice. She knew where a family of rabbits lived beneath a clump of sagebrush. She had once watched a tarantula cross an entire dirt road without anyone else seeing it. And she knew that if you sat quietly enough beside an arroyo, creatures eventually appeared that hadn't been there a moment before.

So when Ginger saw smoke curling from a crack in the hillside, she didn't immediately decide it was impossible. She stopped walking and watched as the thin gray ribbon rose into the afternoon air and disappeared. A moment later, another puff appeared. Then another.

"That's peculiar," she said.

She climbed toward it. The hill was steeper than it looked, covered with loose rocks, cactus, and dry grass that scratched against her legs. At the top she found a narrow opening between two enormous boulders. Warm air drifted from inside.

Ginger leaned closer. "Hello?"

Something sneezed.

A cloud of smoke shot from the opening, and Ginger jumped backward so quickly that she landed on her bottom. For several seconds, nothing happened. Then two enormous golden eyes appeared in the darkness.

Ginger forgot all about the scratch on her elbow. The eyes blinked. She blinked back. Slowly, a long green nose emerged from between the rocks. Then came two little horns. Then a head.

It was a dragon.

Not an enormous dragon. Not the kind that could wrap itself around a castle tower. This dragon was about the size of a large dog, although its tail seemed to go on forever. Its scales were green with flashes of copper and gold. Its wings were folded tightly against its back, and a curl of smoke drifted from one nostril.

Ginger stared at it. The dragon stared at Ginger.

"You are a dragon," Ginger finally said.

The dragon sneezed again. A tiny flame shot from its nose and singed a weed. Ginger scrambled backward, and the dragon immediately ducked its head.

"Oh," Ginger said.

The dragon looked embarrassed. Ginger had never imagined that a dragon could look embarrassed, but this one certainly did.

"It's all right," she said cautiously. "You just surprised me."

The dragon lowered itself to the ground. That was when Ginger noticed something else. One of its wings hung differently from the other.

"Are you hurt?"

The dragon turned its head away. Ginger moved a little closer.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

Ginger sat down several feet away and waited. She had learned that frightened animals didn't like being chased, grabbed, or crowded. Maybe dragons didn't either. After a while, the dragon crept from the opening. Its left wing dragged slightly against the ground.

"Oh," Ginger whispered. "You are hurt."

She wanted to touch it, but she didn't. Instead, she sat there. The dragon sat there too. For a long time, neither of them did anything.

Then the dragon stretched its long neck forward and sniffed Ginger's shoe.

Ginger smiled. "My name is Ginger."

The dragon sniffed her knee.

"I suppose you need a name too."

She studied him. "How about Fireball?"

The dragon snorted smoke directly into her face.

Ginger coughed. "All right. Not Fireball."

She tried several more. "Smoky?"

Snort.

"Flame?"

The dragon turned away.

"George?"

The dragon looked offended.

Ginger laughed. "Fine. You choose."

The dragon settled beside her and rested its head on the ground. Ginger looked at the copper-colored scales along its back. When the sunlight touched them, they seemed to glow.

"Copper," she said. "How about Copper?"

The dragon lifted its head. His tail thumped once against the dirt.

"Copper it is."

Over the next several days, Ginger returned to the hillside. She brought water in an old bowl and pieces of apple, although she quickly discovered that Copper didn't like apples. He did, however, like scrambled eggs, tortillas, and something Ginger had never expected a dragon to eat—carrots. He loved carrots.

His wing slowly improved, and as it did, Ginger learned things about dragons that weren't in any of the stories. Dragons liked having the soft place beneath their chins scratched. They made a rumbling sound when they were happy. They chased grasshoppers. They hated thunder. And when they slept, tiny rings of smoke floated from their noses.

Copper also couldn't breathe fire properly. Every time he tried, he sneezed. Sometimes a flame appeared. Sometimes only smoke. Once, nothing came out at all except a tiny spark.

Copper hung his head.

"I don't think you're very good at being a dragon," Ginger told him.

Copper gave her a wounded look.

"I didn't say that was bad," she said. "Maybe dragons don't all have to be the same."

Copper rested his head against her shoulder.

Weeks passed. Then one evening Ginger climbed the hill and found Copper standing outside the cave with both wings spread wide. They were magnificent. Green and copper and gold shimmered across them in the setting sun.

Ginger stopped.

Copper looked at her.

"You can fly."

The dragon stretched his wings.

Ginger suddenly wished he couldn't.

She hadn't thought about what would happen when his wing healed. She had simply assumed she would keep climbing the hill and Copper would always be there waiting. But now she understood that helping something heal sometimes meant helping it become strong enough to leave.

Copper took several running steps. Then he stopped and looked back at Ginger.

"Go on," she whispered.

Copper ran again. His wings beat once, then twice. Dust swirled around Ginger's feet, and then the dragon lifted into the air.

Ginger watched him climb above the hill. He circled once, awkwardly. Then again. The third time, he soared.

Ginger laughed and shaded her eyes. Copper flew across the evening sky, his wings catching the last golden light. For a moment he looked exactly like the dragons in Ginger's storybooks.

Except he wasn't guarding treasure. He wasn't fighting knights. And he wasn't burning down villages.

He was simply flying.

Copper circled the hill one last time and disappeared beyond the mountains. Ginger stood there for a long while. The opening between the rocks seemed very empty.

She knew she should be happy. Mostly, she was.

But happy and sad sometimes lived right beside each other.

Ginger started down the hill.

Behind her came a familiar sound.

Achoo!

Ginger spun around.

High above her, a tiny burst of flame appeared against the darkening sky. Then another. And another.

Copper was coming back.

Ginger grinned. Perhaps he wouldn't stay forever. Perhaps dragons weren't meant to. But Ginger knew something now that all those grown-ups didn't.

There really were dragons.

You just had to know where to look.