"I won't let you get away with this!" the Hlífir cried.

The poacher laughed outside the slave cabin of the starship Vertex. The door beeped as he engaged a series of locks.

"Sure, you will. The 'mysterious guardian of her planet' will fetch a fine price at the Elurian auction. And by the time you know what's what, I'll be sipping bluetinis on--"

The Hlífir rushed to the cabin door, struggling to catch the last word. But when it pressed its cheek to the metal, the door crackled with electricity. Sailing across the room, the Hlífir slammed into the wall.

The world went dark. When it came to, it lay against something warm and comfortingly alive. The living pillow rose and fell with steady breaths, its heart beating slow but true.

A mother, perhaps, or a lover? But the Hlífir had neither of these. It had simply come to exist as a way to protect the planet Orontis from humans like the poacher. It was the only one of its kind.

You're awake?

Along with the voice in her mind came the rich loamy smell of mosses and black earth.

The Hlífir struggled to raise its head. A redheaded human lay on his side, gazing at her through slitted eyes. Red-gold scales covered him from the neck down; spikes bristled from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. He'd curled his tail and folded his wings around the Hlífir.

What strange creature was this? The best clue was not in his appearance, but in the Hlífir's.

When it perceived a threat, it took the form of what its viewer most desired. And that, it appeared, was a woman of solid gold.

Now the reptile-man lowered his head and nudged hers gently. Fear not. You are my treasure.

His forked tongue flicked her gold cheek delicately. I will not let you go.

The Hlífir bristled. Wriggling out of his embrace, she sat at a careful distance.

I am the guardian of Orontis. You cannot contain me.

He indicated the door with a lazy wave, eyes gleaming with amusement. The exit's that way, then.

Her mind whirred, rapidly assembling the pieces of this mystery. No native creature of Orontis looked like the reptile-man. The Second Colony, though, had been developing animal-human hybrids in its labs.

The idea was that winged humans could inhabit the trees and scaly ones could live in its waters. In other words, humans were adapting to the world rather than forcing the world to meet their needs.

This hybrid, though, was winged AND scaly.

What are you? she asked finally.

His smile faded. A mistake.

He mind-sent an image: a magnificent reptile soaring over a forest with a princess in its claws.

The chief geneticist read too many old Earth stories. She made me as a pet project, then decided I was a bad idea.

He opened his fanged jaws and breathed flame.

I'm a fire hazard. I crave the metals that we don't want humans mining. I'll barbecue whole herds of bovines if you've got 'em. Not what you want on a peaceful green planet, is it?

The Hlífir turned to the frosted window. The light of the Orontian suns was growing dim.

We must hurry. If the ship flies too high, we can't get home...

I have no home! His mind-voice cracked like a whip and fire sparked from his eyes.

For a moment the only sound was the whirring of the starship. Then he sighed. I know what you are, Hlífir. You're here to destroy threats to the planet. So come at me.

He opened his arms to her with a wry grin.

My only home is in you, gold woman.

The Hlífir hesitated. She'd pursued the poacher knowing only that he'd kidnapped someone from the Second Colony.

No wonder he welcomed death. His alternative was being sent to a freakshow or a slaver with peculiar appetites.

Who was the true threat here?

A whooshing and churning shook the ship. The drivers were kicking in to make the leap into deep space.

The Hlífir quickly scooted to the window, touching it with one hand. With the other, she reached for the door.

How hot can you get? she asked.

He smiled, showing a tidy row of fangs. Is that an invitation?

Ugh, this man. It means to breathe fire on the glass ... now.

The Hlífir placed her palm flat on the door. Electricity shot through her, the gold conducting it to the glass she touched on the other side.

The glass rippled, glowed--and then the high thin air of the Orontian atmosphere blasted through. She squeezed through the window, dragging him with her.

Then the Hlífir and the dragon-man tumbled through the air. His wings slowed their fall until they finally drifted into the misty marshes of southern Orontis.

* * *

Local officials prosecuted the poacher and the geneticist who'd sold the dragon-man. The Hlífir, learning that he didn't have a name, called him Drakka.

One day in the woods, Drakka was shooting arrows at a dragon scale that he'd pinned to a tree. The scale's material had resisted fire, water, stone-bashing, and acid. Given how many scales he shed, they could be a phenomenal resource for science.

The Hlífir watched him in satisfaction. Fire could destroy a forest planet, but it could also cook pizzas and warm a winter hearth. As the only one of his kind, Drakka was a treasure the planet needed to understand.

Speak for yourself, gold woman.

The Hlífir looked down at itself. No longer gold, it had returned to its usual form, a cloud of butterflies.

I did say I wouldn't let you go. He teased one of the butterflies with his fingertip. The butterfly turned gold and he laughed in delight.

I can end you any time, dragon man, the Hlífir snapped.

Bring it.

The butterflies fluttered around them, indigo and gold, as the suns set over Orontis.