annashay 
This story is by Sandra Gharabaghli and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Buried treasure surrounds us—if ye ken where to look. Although a tale buried in time, this story does not begin with “Once Upon a Time.” For it’s still true today. The village of Hagdragon, is buried amidst the misty mountains of Scotland—steeped in history, myth, and legends. Nestled in a valley amidst dark forests, whispering waterfalls, and craggy cliffs, it was a land that time forgot. Composed of a grouping of old stone cottages, with crooked chimneys, and a weathered wooden barn for livestock and horses, a single ancient well sat in the middle of the cobbled street.
Cursed with the rage of a jealous woman, Sara turned old overnight. People in the village treated her as if she were banished and cast out. She did not belong to their village, for in truth, she never had. Orphaned as a young child, she was loved by her elderly aunt as if she were her own daughter. They lived in a cottage outside the village until she too died, leaving Sara alone again.
An old hag dressed in tattered clothing fetched water from the well. The villagers did not gaze past her gray hair or skin marred by wrinkles and either ignored her or told her of someone who needed her services as a healer. Sara nodded, “Thank ye,” and left with her bucket of water to care for the person who was ill. Over many years, she had ministered and healed sick villagers. They expected her help and looked upon it as their due. Seldomdid they thank her and paid her with a handful of turnips or, on rare occasions, a fresh egg.
Sara strolled through a flower-filled meadow banked against a mountain with a large, recessed cave to reach the village. Gossip and stories about the dragon living there circulated around Samhain, All Hallows Eve — when the veil between the worlds thinned, magic and mischief abounded, and strange apparitions appeared. The village celebrated each year with a festival. Sara listened with rapt attention to the lore about the legendary dragon. Her heart ached for the dragon, who was alone and maybe lonely, like her. But what could she do to help an allegedly beastly dragon?
Each night, in her sparse but cozy cottage by the flickering flames of the hearth, Sara pondered the plight of the dragon and herself. She ken she had nae power to change her fate. But what could she do for the dragon? The villagers said during storms with thunder that shook the ground and lightning; the dragon had awakened and breathed fire into the sky. Parents exhorted their children to be obedient, lest the cursed dragon cause them harm. So the tales that instilled fear and loathing grew.
Autumn leaves, red and golden, fell to the ground and crunched underneath her feet. The air was crisp, and clouds hung over the mountain in suspense as Samhain drew near.
Sara was a kind, caring, and thoughtful person. She tended the forgotten people in the village. As she picked apples, her thoughts turned again to the dragon. Would the dragon enjoy the fruits of her labor?
Sara baked apples over her hearth and gave them to a young widow with children, knowing they could ill afford any of the treats on the festival of Samhain. Later, she carried a basket of apples and gave them to the elderly and widows.
One day, a mean-mannered lad said, “What have ye got in yer basket, old crone?” He took the apples from her and threw them to the other lads.
With disdain, he bit the apple and made a sour face, grimacing as he tasted it. “Why have ye come to give us rotten apples? Be gone, Hag, with yer wormy apples. We don’t want ye or yer sour fruit.” He threw his apple at her, and the other lads pelted her with apples and laughed. Sara left, holding her head high as she carried the few apples left in her wicker basket. By the time she reached the cave in the mountain, her tears fell onto the apples. She brushed them away. Why do they dislike and taunt me so? I have only tried to be kind and can’t help my appearance. I don’t ken whether the dragon likes apples or how many he will eat.
“Dragon, please forgive me, I do nae ken yer name. I am Sara. I am leaving ye rosy apples from my tree. They are crisp and sweet. I hope ye like them. If these are gone by tomorrow, I will bring ye more.” Sara didn’t know if the dragon heard her.
Awakening from a distant dream, a sweet voice called out to him. The dragon opened one eye underneath heavy dark lashes and eyed the blushing maiden. Unafraid of bringing him apples, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Callanhadn’t eaten apples in decades, and his mouth watered—anticipating their taste. He saw her walk into the distance to a stone cottage surrounded by a garden of vegetables, herbs, and flowers. His voice was rusty from disuse, but he felt compelled to thank her for her kindness.
On the path to her home, the sound of rusty hinges creaked in the wind, but then she thought she heard the soft echo of a voice, “Thank ye, Sara.” She gazed around but saw no one. She must have imagined it.
After Sara disappeared from sight, the dragon stood and stretched. The long talons of his claw-like fingers unfurled, and he picked up an apple and bit into it, tasting its sweetness and Sara’s salty tears. Callan’s heart clenched at what she suffered at the contempt of the villagers. He wished to soothe her pain and sorrow. The apples were ambrosia on his tongue, and he ate every last one, hoping Sara would return soon. It was centuries since he spoke to a woman. Betraying his deepest fear, he worried she would run away when she saw him.
The next morning, delighted to see her basket filled with wildflowers, Sara’s smile lit up her eyes, making them sparkle. She inhaled the fragrance of the blooms and placed a larger basket of apples in its place. This morning, she heard his long-practiced words and gravelly voice that thrummed inside her. Sara did nae fear the dragon. His voice enchanted her, and he was charming.
“The dragon said, “I am Callan. Thank ye, Sara, for yer kind heart and delicious apples. I am grateful for yer apples but even more appreciative that a beautiful maiden is visiting me.”
“Surely, ye jest. I am but an old hag, as ye can see.”
“I see only a lovely woman before me who is gracious, loving, and kind.” They spoke for hours that day and the following weeks when Sara brought more apples and food. Later, Callan invited Sara to fly with him. Sara overcame her fears and placed her trust in Callan to keep her safe. Scary and magical, Callan took Sara flying on his back. They soared above the mists, over lochs, moors, and mountains. Sara giggled in delight when the wind whipped through her hair. Enchanted with Sara, Callan had fallen in love with her. Unlikely as it seems, Sara had fallen in love with the dragon and kissed his cheek covered in iridescent scales that shimmered in the afternoon glow of the sun.
“I must return home before it grows dark, for tonight is Samhain and frightful spirits fill the air. Goodnight, Callan. I hope to see ye tomorrow.”
“Good night, my love,” Callan whispered.
The next day, Sara awakened and filled her basket with food. But instead of Callan, the dragon, a handsome, strong, and powerful warrior stood. Sara’s beauty transfixed the man.
Since the dragon had vanished, Sara offered food to the warrior, who accepted her offering with a smile that made his eyes twinkle.
“Sara, I have a confession to make. Ye look stunning today, and yer hair shimmers in the sun.” Sara glanced at her hair and was astonished — her red hair was restored, and the skin on her hands was without blemish. She felt her face, and the wrinkles had disappeared. Tears of joy filled her eyes.
“How is this possible?”
Callan said, “Ye see a man before ye. But I used to be a dragon. It is the magic of Samhain and love. I love ye and wish ye to be my wife. I have longed for ye.”
Sara said, “I used to be a hag,” and they wed that day, filled with joy. Callan was a prince from another realm, and Sara a princess, for are we not prince and princess of our own stories when we act to help others? With courage, we can change our future and other’s. The buried truth and treasure of the Dragon and the Hag are kindness and love, which transform us all.
