The first time had been really hard. It had taken half of the able-bodied adult Villagers a full Moon of back-breaking labor to move the turbine. It took them days to trek into the hills where the turbines stood in majestic rows. Then they had to set up some elaborate equipment just to get the turbine down on the ground without damaging it. Actually, truth be told, they hadn’t quite managed that. Luckily, there were lots of turbines. Once it was down and ready to carry, every morning they would don the elaborate harnesses they had made, transforming them into an awkward parody of the “Chinese dragons” of old. It was funny to think of it that way, now that they had a real live dragon. Their makeshift dragon had consisted of two dozen men and women along both sides of a long white shaft. And of course, they still had to go back for the blades. They would struggle forward for hours and then change shifts at lunch. For the most part, the golden landscape was thankfully sterile in its dryness, and they didn’t have to worry about poisonous animals or treacherous bogs.

But then there was the day that it rained. All day. The trail seemed to be running away under their feet, excavating itself into tiny, uneven canyons just waiting to break someone’s ankle. When they finally made camp, everything was wet. The damp permeated not just their food and their clothes and the now-chafing harness, but seemed to bubbling into their souls. Or perhaps, Tara thought, it was they who were bubbling at the surface of a rather unappetizing stew. That day and that night, thankfully, ended and everything dried, except their memories. Those damp memories were still dragged out at every campfire and aired and admired, and those 48 men and women of the first trip felt a special connection they would not have felt if the sun had shone relentlessly for the full Moon.

The second trip was easier, although the turbine was heavy even for Sarah – she could only fly a few hours a day and she also had to make two separate trips for the shaft and for the blades. In her own mind, Sarah was Serryah. Not that she was literate, just that she felt more grand than her plain name. Not like Tara, her discoverer, who thought the less letters the better. But Sarah was the only dragon on earth. So far as they knew. Then again, the Villagers were the only people left on earth. So far as they knew.