Greenthumb Scene One

     Greenthumb Drakecutter swung his axe in a deadly stroke.

     Thwack! It plunged into the log, splintering it into three perfect pieces of firewood.

     He stood another log up on the chopping block.

     "Take that you loathsome beast," he said, picturing the neck of a mature blue dragon like the ones his father had fought during the war. Swinging with all his might, he plunged his axe into the dragon's neck, severing the head from its massive body in a single stroke.

     The wood shattered into a hail of splinters, and the axe buried itself in the chopping block. Drakecutter--future slayer of dragons and dwarf of great renown--grunted, trying to pull the head free. The handle broke off in his hands.

     "Greenthumb?" His father called to him as he strode from around the house.

     Greenthumb hid the axe handle behind his back.

     "You got that firewood finished?" His father asked.  His gravely voice sounded as scarred as his face. A jagged line from a dragon claw ran from his scalp to the gray beard on his chin.

     Greenthumb nodded and sat down on the stump so his father wouldn't see the axe head he'd buried in the wood. The woodcutting axe had been well built, but it just wasn't Drakecutter, the magic axe from which his family took its name.

     Drakecutter could pass through dragon scales with ease, and pull free again ready for another blow and another. It would have cut through the log, the block, gone deep into the ground, and come back up again without dulling or breaking.

     Greenthumb was forbidden to touch it. His father had hung it over the fireplace never to be taken down again since the war had ended.

     "Get up, boy," his father growled. "There's work to be done. Go hitch the horse and plow the south pasture."

     His father tromped away.

     Greenthumb dropped the axe handle and headed for the barn. "I hate farming," he muttered under his breath.

     "I heard that," his father yelled from around the side of the house. "I've told you before, the Drakecutters are done fighting. Your ma and I named you to be a farmer, and a farmer is what you're going to be."

     Greenthumb grimaced. Stupid name. He planned to ditch it as soon as he was old enough to set out on his own. He'd go by Drakecutter, and anyone who called him differently would feel the edge of his axe.

Front Cover / Blog/ About the Author / Dragon's Lair / Deleted Scenes / Study Guide