“I think he is looking at me,” the dragon whispered loudly.

  Flynn sighed.

  “He has been staring at the same wall for thirty minutes now. I don’t think he is looking at you. Or anything, for that matter.”

  Oscar shifted his weight, and the massive bed frame creaked like a collapsing building.

  “He is side-eyeing me.”

  “I think he is just trying to look past that goofy horn of his.”

  A pitiful sigh echoed off the opposing wall.

  Flynn bit his lip. Over the years, Oscar’s natural volume had made him forget how to keep his own voice down.

  “I’m sorry,” Flynn said ruefully. “It’s really not that bad.”

  Another sigh.

  “For crying out loud,” he muttered.

  Rain’s bed was in the far corner of the room, where the darkness was rich and ominous, while Oscar’s massive bunk took up most of the remaining space. By comparison, Flynn’s bed looked like a toy for dolls.

  The dragon’s panic upon meeting the unicorn had been dampened by his first-ever night under a blanket. Violent snoring told Flynn that Oscar had slept like a baby, even though he’d claimed the sheets were a bit too scratchy for his liking. Now, they were sitting cross-legged on their mattresses, both of them wearing matching pajamas in white and purple.

  Again, not something Oscar was used to.

  The process of getting the large dragon into his jammies had taken skills Flynn never knew he needed, but the outcome was rather cute, he had to admit.

  “He is making me uncomfortable,” Oscar rumbled without taking his eyes off the unicorn.

  “Everything is.”

  “Some things more than others.”

  A gentle knock interrupted their chatter, and had them turn their heads towards the door. Without prompting, Mira slipped inside, a bright smile on her lips.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” she exclaimed when her eyes met the dragon. “Aw, you look sweet as a treat in your pajamas!”

  Oscar seemed to blush ever so slightly, and he waved dismissively with his left wing.

  Flynn didn’t hide his amusement fast enough.

  “Flynn,” Mira added, half greeting, half acknowledgement that he was still here.

  Without waiting for his response, she turned back to Oscar.

  “Today is going to be an exciting day.”

  “It is?” the dragon asked nervously.

  He usually tried to avoid all forms of excitement.

  Mira shot him an energetic smile.

  “Yes, my darling. You are going to meet our director. He is personally welcoming every new patient.”

  “Oh,” Oscar said with a slight tremor to his gravelly voice.

  “Don’t worry,” Mira added casually, “he is very nice, albeit a bit … old-school.”

  She cocked her head and folded her hands.

  “You will also get to meet your therapist. That’s always a very special moment for a new patient, and the starting point of your journey towards a wholesome state of mind.”

  Nothing about the panic erupting in Oscar’s eyes seemed wholesome.

  “What if they don’t like me?” was the first question to escape his fang-filled mouth.

  “Oh, don’t worry. There is no way anyone wouldn’t like a sweet dragon such as yourself.”

  Oscar didn’t seem convinced.

  “Besides,” Mira added, “whether a therapist likes a patient or not is inconsequential — either way, they will provide you with the best treatment possible.”

  “So there is a chance they won’t like me?”

  Mira examined the dragon for a long moment.

  “You definitely made the right decision to seek us out,” she said kindly, but with furrowed brows.

  “It wasn’t exactly a matter of choice,” Flynn muttered, but Mira chose to ignore the comment.

  The receptionist escorted them through the vast maze of halls and hallways, down marble staircases the size of glaciers and along rows of impressive statues and paintings. Everything was large enough for Oscar to fit through, which spoke of a monumental architectural feat. Still, the large dragon seemed unsure whether to enjoy or dread the arched ceilings above his horned head.

  Eventually, they reached a long corridor. The floor was lined with a smooth green carpet, magically reinforced to withstand sharp claws or the weight of dragons and other mythical creatures of their proportions.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you for your meeting with the director,” Mira said and came to a sudden halt, almost making Oscar step on her. The dragon looked around as if to check whether anyone besides Flynn had noticed, then slowly placed his foot next to Mira.

  “We are taking the giant millipedes for a hike today,” Mira continued, unfazed, “and putting their shoes on always requires all the helping hands we can get.”

  Flynn and Oscar exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  “The director’s office is just down the hallway. You can’t miss it.”

  She smiled politely and bid them farewell, then scurried into the opposite direction.

  “What do you think this director is like?” Oscar asked as they strode down the hallway.

  “Weird,” Flynn growled. “Like most things here.”

  Oscar slowed his pacing.

  “I don’t think you should keep using that word,” the dragon pointed out. “I’m sure Mira wouldn’t like it.”

  Flynn came to a full stop and stared into the dragon’s amber eyes.

  “Excuse me?” he asked in accentuated outrage. “Since when do we care what Mira thinks?”

  “I like her,” Oscar muttered shyly.

  “That doesn’t mean we have to do her every bidding,” Flynn hissed between gritted teeth.

  “I—” the dragon began, but broke off.

  “Let me guess — you want her to like you, too?”

  “Maybe.”

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  Flynn sighed, and they fell silent for a moment.

  When the dragon began to shift uncomfortably, Flynn said, “Come on now, you big softie. Let’s go meet this director.”

  When they knocked at the door to the director’s office, there was no response.

  They knocked again, but to no avail.

  “Maybe we should come back another time,” Oscar puffed timidly.

  Flynn snorted and pushed open the unlocked door, gesturing for Oscar to lead the way.

  The dragon did so only after Flynn started pinching him in a soft spot on his belly, where a scale had come loose long ago.

  They entered a spacious office with a filigree desk made from treated metal, stacked with scrolls and books that all looked immensely important. Behind the desk loomed a tree of unusual proportions, with a thick trunk and short branches, and not many leaves to speak of. It looked old as time, its bark rugged and dark.

  There were no chairs on either side of the desk, so they just positioned themselves at a respectful distance. Flynn figured that most patients of the Mythical Ward weren’t exactly chair material.

  Since there was no one else around, they took a moment to admire the many artworks that adorned the walls, including paintings of past generations of doctors, nurses, and patients. There were shiny trophies and elegant marble busts, glass cabinets and golden candelabras. The bookshelves were filled to the brim with neatly arranged volumes of scientific publications, the few plants along the walls groomed to perfection. The room screamed sophisticated, and it smelled the part, too.

  Flynn scoffed. “This director must truly have a stick up their —”

  “Excuse me?” the tree behind the desk barked.

  Flynn and Oscar screamed in unison, both of them taking a step backwards.

  “Such a vile expression is unbecoming of an adult, or anyone, really,” the tree continued, its bark forming angry eyes and a frowning mouth. “If you must express profanities, at least leave our children out of them.”

  “Your —” Flynn gulped. “Oh …”

  For a long moment, he just stared at the tree in utter confusion. He now realized that the tree was wearing glasses, and he was wondering how that had escaped him earlier.

  Eventually, his sluggish mind awoke from its stupor.

  “Right. I’m sorry,” he muttered, unsure where to look.

  The thought of apologizing to a tree didn’t disturb him half as much as it should’ve, but still more than he liked it to.

  The tree shook its leaves in quiet judgment.

  “I sure hope you can work on your manners during your stay with us.”

  “I’m not the patient here,” Flynn said reflexively.

  The tree furrowed its branches.

  “That attitude should make you one.”

  A spark of defiance ignited within him.

  “I’m sorry, but I am also not here to be scolded by a tree.”

  “A tree?!” the tree gasped.

  Flynn mentally groaned. Apparently, he’d blundered again.

  He briefly glanced at Oscar, who was hiding behind his leathery wing. As expected, the dragon would be no help here.

  “Do they teach you people nothing these days?” the tree roared.

  Flynn opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just let the tree do the talking.

  “I can’t remember getting insulted like that in my 387 years on this planet.”

  “You are that old?!”

  The tree pursed its barky lips.

  “I’m starting to think you are doing this on purpose, young man,” the tree said with a scrutinizing voice.

  Flynn sighed and nudged Oscar.

  “Maybe you should do the talking.”

  “M—m—me?” Oscar sputtered, his muscles tensing.

  “Just don’t set it aflame out of fear. It looks like it would catch fire pretty easily.”

  The dragon gulped, and the tree muttered something inaudible.

  Then, it seemed to ruffle its leaves in an effort to command respect.

  “I will have you know that I am, in fact, not a tree. I’m an Arborus. We are a rare species of sentient plants,” the not-tree declared. ”More sentient than you, it would appear.”

  Well played, Flynn thought and nodded.

  “My name is Nemus,” the Arborus continued. “Director Nemus to you.”

  “You are the director?” Oscar gasped in distress.

  Flynn’s jaw felt awfully tight all of a sudden.

  “Correct,” Nemus said dryly. “I hope your taste in companions does not reflect your own personality, Mr Scar.”

  Oscar growled in embarrassment, his scales turning from purple to crimson in a matter of seconds.

  Flynn couldn’t help but glance at the tree’s stone-framed patch of soil. He quickly raised his gaze when he noticed the scrutinizing brown eyes of Nemus on him.

  “Anything on your mind, Mr Flynn?” the Arborus asked snappishly.

  Flynn bit his lip. “No, not at all,” he lied.

  The director creaked in annoyance.

  “If you must know: no, I can’t move. We Arbori are rather … stationary.”

  To Flynn, that raised more questions than it answered. A lot more questions.

  “Does that not … hinder … you in daily life?” Flynn asked cautiously. “Say, when you try to direct this institute?”

  Nemus frowned. “These days, I am mostly taking care of paperwork and documents — organizational matters and so on. My practicing days are long behind me. But that is not to say I wasn’t able to complete them to the fullest in my youth, even without the ability to move.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Flynn murmured.

  “You strike me as a rather narrow-minded man, Mr Flynn.”

  Nemus glared at him for a long moment, then turned his attention to Oscar, who was whimpering quietly off to the side.

  “But that is a problem for another day,” he concluded. “Today, we are here for you, Mr Scar.”

  The dragon’s breathing quickened, and subtle wisps of smoke escaped his flaring nostrils.

  “Mira told me a little about you already. On behalf of our institute, I wholeheartedly welcome you to the Mythical Ward.”

  Oscar seemed to relax ever so slightly.

  “Know that you won’t find finer specialists anywhere in the world. Every single one of our therapists is an expert in their field, with years of rigorous training and experience.”

  The Arborus spoke with pride and a hint of pathos, a matte glow in his brown eyes.

  “Every patient leaving this place will tell you their stay was worth every minute and every penny.”

  “What about the ones who are not leaving?” Flynn couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  The director’s expression hardened.

  “Do you think yourself funny, Mr Flynn?”

  “Occasionally.”

  Nemus nodded with two of his branches.

  “Those hiding behind a mask of humor and sarcasm are usually the most fragile among us.”

  Flynn clenched his jaw and imagined Oscar accidentally engulfing the self-righteous tree in a ball of fire. If he hadn’t thought it unfair to the dragon, he would’ve contemplated provoking another accident.

  “As for you,” Nemus continued, inclining his trunk towards Oscar, “I’m sure a couple of months with us will do wonders for your mental health.”

  “Months?” Oscar asked in astonishment.

  “Indeed,” the direction said and folded his branches, “The mythical mind is a complicated thing. Sometimes it takes years to untangle the strands of consciousness that make us who we are. We have to take them apart layer by layer, and then weave them anew, so they can become a magnificent carpet for you to stand on — metaphorically speaking, that is.”

  Oscar glanced at Flynn, uncertainty in his amber eyes.

  “It’s okay, big guy,” Flynn murmured, “Whatever it takes.”

  “I see there is hope for you yet,” the Arborus commented dryly.

  “I’m sorry, but how is insulting patients part of your treatment methods?” Flynn grumbled.

  The barky old lips smiled.

  “I thought you are not a patient.”

  A knock at the door interrupted the standoff that followed.

  Again, the director didn’t seem to acknowledge it.

  “Maybe he is deaf,” Flynn whispered behind the back of his hand.

  “My hearing is perfectly adequate,” the director stated sourly. “Those knocks just always remind me of all the fine souls we’ve lost. That vile sound is like the cries of the dead from the realm beyond. It always gets me caught up in memories.”

  Flynn stared at the door in heartfelt confusion.

  He was about to demand an explanation when it dawned on him. Wood. The massive door was made from wood.

  Oscar inhaled sharply.

  “That’s terrible,” the dragon exclaimed, his eyes scurrying from the door to the Arborus and back.

  Flynn gestured at the planks. “Was that someone you knew?”

  Oscar shrieked.

  “You can’t ask that!” the dragon hissed in embarrassment.

  Flynn ignored the comment.

  “Seems a bit insensitive of them to furnish your office with a wooden door, don’t you think?”

  “There was a time when I thought it so. But now, it just serves as a reminder of my own mortality,” the director said pensively, his mind adrift.

  Flynn would’ve loved to discuss the matter further, but then the door swung open and exposed a slender woman with brown hair. She stepped inside with natural grace, and her intelligent features lit up when she spotted the dragon.

  “Mr Scar!” she spoke with a soothing voice. ”I’m your therapist. What a pleasure to meet you!”