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As a rule, I don't often spend the night at my mother's farm. Animals find this strange, but the pressures of parish life tend to get in the way of decent family time. Anyway, this was a little while ago, but so strange, that I felt it needed to be recorded. For the life of me I don't know why it sticks in my head.

Shortly after I had been ordained, I was taking a short holiday at Fferm Bugail - assistant curates don't get paid that much, and it was as far as I could make the money stretch for a holiday. Everything started out quite normally for a trip to my mother's: bouncing in my car up the rutted track, the welcome sight of the farmhouse still foursquare under its dark slate roof. My mother's 4x4 parked on the grass. As usual, I jounced to a stop alongside it, the brakes of my tatty little runabout squeaking in protest. Pushing open the door, I stretched - working the kinks out of every part of my body: swishing my tail, kicking my legs, flexing my paws and even giving both my ears a twitch for good measure. Having relieved my aching muscles after the long drive, I leant my left paw on the horn and shouted:

'Mum? I'm here!'

Nothing, the only sound was of the beep of my car's horn re-echoing around the valley. Scratching at the white flash on my muzzle, I kicked the car door closed and wandered around the corner of the house and into the yard. At this time, it was still difficult to look at the door to my father's study - his death having been only a few years before. The door stood ajar. I gaped, the last time that door had been opened was on the day of Dad's funeral, when I looked inside to pick up his copy of our Church's Prayer Book. The last time I had stepped through that door, my eyes had been swimming with tears, and the fur on my face had been damp and streaked with salty tracks. All that really remained of that day in my memory was slamming that door shut and thrusting the prayer book into the paws of the bishop; my College cassock whipping around my legs in the stiff breeze. A muttered curse slipped out of my mouth, this was something I hadn't expected.

Shaking my head, I squinted into the semi-darkness through the open door.

'Mum? Are you in Dad's study?' I called. 'I've just got here; can I have a cup of tea?'

'Oh! Hello taonta!' Came the slightly muffled reply. 'Just give me a sec, I'm sure he can't have gone too far...'

Her voice trailed off as she moved about inside the study. Leaning against the rough wall of the outbuilding, I closed my eyes and let the warm sun soak into my fur, shuffling my shoulders to feel the familiar texture of the worked stone through my shirt. I was just drifting into a slightly daydreamy state when a sudden pattering of paws came to my ears. Slamming my eyes open, I just caught sight of a grey, fluffy tail whipping around the edge of the house. Before I was able to give chase, my mother emerged from the study and pounced on me.

'Hello,taonta.' She said. 'Lovely to see you. Did you see Mr Three just then? He's been all over the place. He's a lovely cat, but, my word has he does disappear off at the strangest of moments.'

'Umm... I think so, I just caught a glance of a tail going round the corner. Mr Three?'

She grinned, and shrugged her shoulders.

'Never mind then, son of mine. He'll be back for lunch.'

My mother broke the hug and stepped back to look me up and down. She crinkled her brow and subjected me to one of her analytical stares. 'Are you losing weight, love? You're more scrawny than ever. Has anyone in the parish caught your eye? Is there a nice young future Mrs Shepherd on the horizon? How is Fr Brock?'

There was a pause, as was normal for me after surviving one of my mother's question barrages. As I tried to line up my answers, my mother laid a paw around my shoulders, reaching up a little.

'Come on, taonta, we can catch up with your life over a cup of tea.'

She herded me into the farmhouse, and plonked me into a worn wooden chair in the kitchen. Leaning back with a creaking sound, I watched the familiar little rituals of my mother making tea. Topping up the heavy copper kettle with water from the tap. The perfunctory rinsing of the peony patterned teapot. The adding of tealeaves into the pot itself. There was a cloud of rising steam as she poured the boiling water into the teapot. It was then placed in the centre of the table with the time-worn:

'Leave that for a few minutes, it needs to mash.'

We sat quietly as the tea brewed in its pot. With an aah, my mother stood, pulled three mugs off their hooks above the range and slid one across the table to me. I watched as it skittered and danced across the rough woodwork. The milk jug followed my mug and I poured myself some tea. Looking up, I gestured with the pot to my mother, who nodded, her mismatched eyes glinting in the harsh, clinical electric light filling the kitchen. Standing, I poured tea into my mother's mug. She clasped the chipped Greetings from Fairport mug in her paws and sniffed deeply at the rising scents of the tea.

The next time I distinctly remember seeing that mug was in the paw of Kiniun, but I digress.

We sat and chatted for a few minutes, mostly about trivialities. We were interrupted by the arrival of a snow leopard. He was perhaps the second snow leopard I'd seen in my life, the first was the single student at Anskar's University who had been visiting from the Xuebao Republic - they were animals that spoke of the mystic East to every Ironmonter. He was quite tall, heavily built with surprisingly short legs. His long, fluffy tail swept slowly from side to side as he entered. His little, pebble shaped glasses glinted in the light.

'My apologies, Theresa,' he said an unfamiliar accent colouring his Low Brythonic, 'I do wish that I did not need to leave at short notice, please forgive me.'

The snow leopard looked at me, and I realised that I was staring. Although, in my defence, it was only natural. The snow leopard had a strange bony protrusion just at the top of his forehead, almost like a horn. I dropped my gaze and let my ears fall.

'Sorry,' I said, 'That was rude, I'm Francis.'

I extended my paw and he took it in a powerful grip.

'No apology needed, I am March Three, a pleasure to meet you.'

'Likewise.'

'Do please sit down, Mr Three,' said my mother. 'I've just made a pot of tea.'

March took a seat and took a mug in his paw. I watched in vague horror as he poured about half a mug of milk into his cup and then topped it off with tea.

'What brings you here, Mr Three?' I asked to cover my reaction at his, not so much milky tea, as tea-y milk.

'Well, I wish to improve my En-Gal and your late father was a renowned expert in the language. Theresa has been kind enough to allow me to read through his notes...'

He stopped as the overhead lights in the kitchen had flickered violently then totally died. The room dimmed slightly as the glare of the bulbs was replaced by the softer tones of the sunshine filtering through the windows.

'Oh blast, the lights have gone, again!' said my mother. 'This has been happening all week. I am sorry Mr Three, they have only been playing up since you arrived - whatever do you think of us?'

A very faint smile played around the snow leopard's muzzle. He took up the end of his tail in his paws and fiddled with it.

'It's no matter, Theresa, really do not worry about it.'

There was a clonk from the yard followed by the rumbling of a diesel motor. The lights flicked back on as the generator did its work. March smiled as the kitchen was filled with the sterile light once more.

After we had all finished our tea, March stood up.

'If you would be as kind as to excuse me, I wish to return to my studies. Do forgive my rudeness, Mr Shepherd.'

I waggled my paw dismissively.

'No worries, March, please call me Francis.'

The snow leopard grinned and walked out of the door, swinging his stubby legs, and curling his long tail away from the dusty cobbles of the farm's yard. I turned slowly around, as I could feel the pressure of my mother's eyes on the back of my neck.

'Yes, mother?'

'Shall we go for a walk?'

We took one of my favourite routes up into the hills behind the farm. Walking along the footpath that skirted the front of the farmhouse and up through the five-acre field. My nose was filled with the late-summer smells, dry grass, the dusty scent of freshly cut wheat, all overlaid with a freshness coming from the damp baking out of the woods under the sunshine. We walked in silence for perhaps half an hour, until we reached the summit of our walk. A bench had been erected by some kindly soul a few years before. It gave walkers a chance to sit beside the path and look out over the Dare Valley. On a clear day, such as this one, it was entirely possible to see some five miles into the Republic of Menefwy and all the way to the head of the valley within Ironmont. We sat for a while, looking into the valley.

'What do you think of March, taonta?'

'He seems very friendly, Mum. How did he come to know about Dad's work? And, though he seems friendly, why have you opened Dad's study? I don't like the idea of a stranger rooting about in there. I know you're safe Mum, but I wish you were more careful.'

My mother fixed me with a withering look - the kind of stare I used to receive when I had done something particularly naughty as a pup.

'He's not taking advantage,' she said, poking me in the arm. 'And he didn't say how he knows about Dad's work, love, I suspect he read one of those dusty old books Ben published. He does keep disappearing though. And, it's strange, but I'm sure I'm using much more coal than usual. I keep the bunker topped up for the water heater, and it's never below half full in the Summer.'

I leant my chin in my paw, letting my eyes wander over the lush green scenery. The farmland around Fferm Bugail had barely changed since my life there as a puppy. My eye was caught by a car sweeping down the valley road, heading towards the border with the Republic. My tail was just beginning to wag gently at the peace that was welling up within me, the memories flooding back. I froze as my mother gasped.

'Francis! Is that a fire?'

'Where, Mum?'

She extended her paw towards the farm. Indeed, there was a thin, feathery column of smoke rising above the barn.

'Is there anything in the barn, Mum?

She shook her head. I reached into my pocket and drew out my brand new mobile phone, reassuringly heavy, robust as a house brick and, frankly, indestructible (I think I still have it somewhere). Pushing the 'nine' button with a claw three times, I lifted the phone to my ear.

'Fire Brigade, please. A barn fire at Fferm Bugail, Border Road, Coombe Dare,' I gabbled. Having heard the operator confirm my details, I hung up and looked at my mother. 'I'm heading back, I'll make sure that March is alright - are you OK walking back on your own?'

She nodded her head, and I pressed my phone into her paw.

'Call the house if there's anything, Mum.'

She nodded again. I kissed her lightly on the cheek and set off back down the hillside at a dead run. Five minutes of my paws pounding on the rocky surface of the footpath brought me back to the farm. In the yard, there was a very strong smell of smoke, and, as I rounded the house, I could see hungry orange flames licking their way through the wispy left-over clumps of straw in the barn.

'March?' I shouted. 'March?'

There was a fear-filled gap, the only sound being the crackling as dry material was consumed by the fire. To my surprise, the snow leopard walked calmly out of the burning barn. Calmly until he saw me, when a look of pure panic shot across his features.

'What happened? Are you alright?'

'I... I'm fine, Francis.' He looked over his shoulder. 'Oh... umm...'

I leant forward and put my paws on my knees, breathing heavily after my run.

'Did you see how it started?'

March scratched at an ear, his tail whipping from side to side, stirring up little puffs of dust as it did. He looked down at his foot paws, and then up at me. His eyes caught mine in a solemn and slightly sad gaze over the rims of his spectacles.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the arrival of a fire engine. The red machine came flying up the drive, lights flashing and siren wailing. The engine slewed to a stop beside us, causing March to jump to one side. We stood and watched as the crew piled out of the cab - a flurry of navy-blue uniformed animals in yellow protective helmets. Quickly two of the fire fighters, a dog of indeterminate breed and a large crow, pulled on respirators and unrolled a hose. Seconds later, they had walked into the burning barn, with a shout of:

'Pressure!'

The fire engine's huge motor changed its note as the massive pumps built into the machine force water down the hose. Perhaps five minutes later, the fire fighters returned in a cloud of steam. The crow pulled off her respirator as she neared us.

'Is anyone hurt?'

We shook our heads.

'What's the damage?' I asked.

'Only a little smoke damage. You're lucky that that barn is so well built, if it had had wooden roof struts, you would have been left with a shell.'

'Thanks.'

'No need,' she replied. 'If only all our calls were so simple.'

With a glance at March's strange horn, she climbed back into the cab with her colleagues and the engine began its bouncing journey down the drive and onto the road.

'Did you see how it started, March?' I asked. 'The insurers will need to know, and it could be good to save them sending an investigator out.'

March twiddled his paws together, then pushed his glasses back up his nose. He glanced at the smoking barn, then at me.

'Umm...'

I looked at the snow leopard, and, behind his pebble glasses, his eyes slid from left to right - looking anywhere but at me.

'Mr Three, I don't wish to be rude, but, if there is anything that could help to clear this mess up: it would help my mother very much. I mean, I barely know you, my mother's barn has caught fire and you were very close to the scene. I have half a mind to call the police. Mum has noticed that her coal bunker is nearly empty. Are you some kind of... arsonist or something?' my voice by now had grown to a hoarse shout.

'Would you walk with me, Francis?'

Confused and scratching at my muzzle (whether this was the lack of reaction, or the weird goings on that day, I still do not know), I nodded. March headed off towards the coppice by the pond. His strange waddling gait on his stubby legs was deceptively fast, and I found myself struggling to keep up. Breathing heavily, I watched as March's tail disappeared into the little clump of trees. I had dropped far enough behind the leopard that he had, by the time I caught up to him, been able to lean nonchalantly against a tree. Leaning my paws on my knees and panting for breath, I looked up at March and said:

'Why have we come here?'

'Just watch. I think that I can explain the fire.'

With that, March walked away from me, looking at each tree in turn. After a while, he pointed to the thickest oak in the coppice with a paw.

'Watch, closely, Mr Shepherd.'

I did as I was bidden and watched as the snow leopard walked behind the tree. The oak that March had chosen must have been six feet thick, so there was a moment when his fluffy tail had disappeared from my sight, but his muzzle had yet to reappear. There was a pause, which gave me the time to wonder what exactly my mother's strange guest was playing at.

He was indeed the strangest animal I had ever met. He was instantly likeable (though I was starting to consider revising that judgement), his easy-going manner warmed me to him as soon as I had met him, but everything else about him was a little odd. His short legs, out of proportion with the rest of his body, the little glasses (like something from a previous generation) and the odd, horny bump in the centre of his head. I was snapped out of my reverie by the appearance of... something.

I hesitate to write what I saw, but, there stood in front of me, a dragon. My rational brain wants to write lizard, but that's simply not true. He was, perhaps five and a half feet tall, with a heavy-jawed skull, and large paws - although paws aren't quite the right way to describe them. I had to resist the temptation to peek behind the tree to see if March was hiding there. Looking the dragon up and down, I began to recognise a few similarities: perched on the end of his heavy muzzle, the dragon wore a pair of pebble glasses, and between his ears was, not a horn, but what looked like a small but flourishing tree. My innate rhetorical skill was just the same as always:

'Err... where's March?'

The dragon looked at his feet, his ears swinging with the movement of his head.

'I am, March, in a manner of speaking.' He rumbled. 'Though in this form, my name is Abendua.'

'Uh.' I managed.

'I am afraid, the reason why there was a fire in your mother's barn.'

I scratched at my muzzle, my mouth agape.

'How?'

'My nature means that I must breathe fire on a regular basis. I had been using the barn, as it was empty and fireproof. I am sorry that I didn't see the straw.'

'Dragon...' I said.

He nodded encouragingly. My mouth couldn't drop any further open, so I had to be content with staring some more.

'Dragon...' I ventured for the second time, adding a vague waving motion with my right paw. For good measure, I scratched the white flash on my muzzle, then tried: 'Coal?'

'I eat it,' he said. 'I need certain minerals in my diet.'

Clasping his hands (I want to write paws, but paws they were not), he peered at me over the top of his glasses.

'Please, Mr Shepherd, Francis, I cannot be revealed for what I am. No one can know, not even Theresa. I have no wish to end up inside the laboratories at Ridding.'

To illustrate this point, he let out a short, actinic lance of blue-white flame, that shot inches over my head. Ducking, I flattened my ears against my skull, tucked my tail between my legs and whined.

Then... it all went quite dark.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in my bed in my old room. I groaned as I looked around and saw that my mother had kept all of the embarrassing posters from my teenage years. It was the room of a puppy with interesting tastes. Swinging round, I let my paws thump onto the creaking floorboards covered with the ancient rag rug. My head was pounding, so I rested it in my hand paws and indulged in a few moments of feeling sorry for myself. The bedroom door squeaked open, and my mother's face appeared at the edge of my vision.

''Lo, Mum.' I managed.

'How are you taonta? Mr Three brought you back and then left in a terrible hurry. I think the fire must have upset him somehow. It must have upset you, he said that you keeled over almost as soon as the fire engine left.'

I nodded, gingerly.

'And he said to me, that I was to tell you how thankful he was to meet you, and that he trusted you.'

My mother looked puzzled as she said this, and fixed me with a piercing gaze. My head was still pounding, so I just made a series of low grumbling noises, before reaching comprehension.

'It's not too important, Mum. Any chance of a cup of tea?'

If only I had known then, that not too far in the future, meeting a dragon disguised as a snow leopard would seem somehow normal. Heh, I wonder, almost every day, how he is and where he went.