Pete's Dragon Junior Novel

by Disney Book Group

  Copyright © 2016 Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney Press, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney Press, 1101 Flower Street, Glendale, California 91201.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-7635-3

  For more Disney Press fun, visit www.disneybooks.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Images from the Movie

  Dark green trees stretched for miles in front of Pete’s family car. They were beautiful, towering pines that swayed gently in the breeze. The sun sat low on the horizon, and faint washes of orange and pink peered over the tree line, as if the last touches of daylight wanted to say good-bye. Only the empty road broke the scenic display. It was a narrow two-lane band of asphalt sandwiched between two massive walls of forest. The sight was both amazing and breathtaking.

  Not that Pete was paying attention to any of it. Not really. In the backseat of his parents’ station wagon, the five-year-old boy focused all of his attention on an oversized storybook sitting comfortably in his lap.

  “‘This…is…the…story…of…’”

  Pete traced the letters with his fingertips. He had just begun learning to read, and it was sometimes hard for him to sound out the words.

  “‘…a lit…little puh…puppy,’” Pete continued. “‘His nnname is…Elll…’”

  Pete’s mother looked back from the front seat. “Elliot,” she said encouragingly.

  “‘Elliot,’” Pete repeated. He gazed at the sentence with the intense type of focus only a child can have. Suddenly, it all snapped into place: “‘His name is Elliot!’”

  Pete’s mother smiled. “You got it!”

  Pete grinned proudly. He kept reading. “‘He…is…going…on…an…add…veen…turr…eee.’”

  This word was new. Pete mouthed the sounds silently to himself. But it didn’t help. He had no idea what an “add…veen…turr…eee” was.

  He pointed at the strange word, looking to his mother for help. “What’s that?”

  “An adventure? You don’t know what an adventure is?” Pete’s mother asked.

  “It’s what we’re on right now!” Pete’s dad said from the driver’s seat. “Out here in the wild, not another soul in sight for hundreds of miles, no running water, with only the stars to guide us!”

  Pete frowned.

  “Is it scary?” he asked quietly.

  “Well,” his father said with a mischievous smile, “that’s the other thing about adventures: you’ve gotta be brave. Are you brave?”

  Pete paused. He hadn’t ever thought about whether or not he was brave.

  His mother jumped in.

  “Of course you’re brave,” she said, giving Pete a loving smile. “You’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.”

  The last light of the sun had faded by then. The blue sky deepened quickly into indigo, and every trace of warmth faded behind the tops of the towering forest. Pete’s father reached for the radio, turning the knobs and searching for some music.

  “It’s getting dark,” Pete’s mom said. “Let’s finish reading later.”

  Pete closed the storybook and slid it into his backpack, but he couldn’t get the zipper to close. He tugged at it. The stubborn zipper still refused to budge.

  Pete’s mother reached for the backpack. “Here, let me help you with that….”

  As Pete’s mother worked at the troublesome zipper, a glimmer of light caught the young boy’s attention. “A star!” he exclaimed, pointing up at the sky through the car window.

  His mother looked up. “That’s the North Star. It’s there to guide your way.”

  Pete cocked his head to the side, thinking aloud. “On an adventure?”

  “Exactly!” she replied.

  Pete grinned and stared up at the star. Maybe his mom was right. Maybe the star was guiding them on an adventure right now!

  What happened next, Pete would never clearly recall. A deer suddenly bounded into the road, and his father slammed on the brakes. The car’s tires screeched as they skidded across the road, and the vehicle spun out of control. Suddenly, the world tipped, and all Pete could see was a blur of dirt and branches and tree trunks. He slammed into the side of the car and banged his head. Hard. Then everything went dark.

  The deer dashed quickly away, disappearing into the night. The road through the forest was empty once more.

  A trail of wreckage lay scattered across the damp grass, leading to where the family’s station wagon had crashed into a tree trunk. Not far away, barely visible in the darkness, lay the oversized storybook. The wind picked up, and the pages began to turn. Pete’s backpack sat nearby, still unzipped.

  Suddenly, somewhere in the darkness, Pete coughed. He stumbled to his feet, looking back in confusion at the accident.

  “Mama?” he called weakly.

  There was no response. Pete’s vision swam. It felt as if he had just stepped out of a dream, everything blurred. He looked down and saw the storybook at his feet.

  Uncertain, Pete leaned down to pick up the book. He clutched it to his chest with one hand, picking up his backpack with the other.

  Pete waited alone in the dark for a long time. Finally, not knowing what else to do, the young boy sat down and started to put the book back into his backpack, pulling at the zipper. It still wouldn’t close. Tears began to trickle down Pete’s cheeks. He knew something bad had happened, and he felt scared and alone.

  Suddenly, a loud howl echoed through the forest.

  Pete jumped and clutched the storybook even more tightly. He peered into the trees, toward where the sound had come from. A pair of gleaming eyes peered back at him. Then another pair. And another. By the light of the stars Pete could make out the shapes of the creatures that were staring at him. Wolves.

  Heavy growls escaped from behind their bared fangs. Pete turned and blindly ran away from the wild animals.

  As he crashed through the trees, the forest grew thicker. A wolf howled. It sounded close, but when Pete looked back, all he could see were trees. Then came another howl, this time from somewhere up ahead. Pete whipped to face forward too late, and he stumbled over a branch, dropping his book as he crashed headlong into the uneven ground.

  Sore and bruised, Pete got to his feet. The wolves were surrounding him, forming a tight circle. Pete’s heart pounded so loudly he was
sure the wolves could hear it.

  There was nowhere to run. No one to run to.

  BOOM.

  Suddenly, a deep sound resonated throughout the forest like thunder. The trees shook.

  BOOM.

  And again. The wolves hesitated. They sniffed the air, growling at the sky.

  BOOM.

  Even louder. Pete looked around. He had no idea what was happening. A heavy wind pushed the tree branches back and forth. The cold Pacific air felt electric.

  BOOM.

  The wolves had had enough. They yelped in fright and scampered away. The treetops were moving more violently now, swaying and shaking as if something large…something huge was approaching.

  Pete knew he should run, but his feet wouldn’t move. He could barely breathe.

  Brave, the boy thought. I have to be brave!

  The trees swayed open like a gate, and a monstrous figure stepped out from among the towering pines. It was bigger than any animal Pete had ever seen. Bigger than anything Pete had ever imagined.

  The ground shook with each step of the tremendous beast. A sliver of moonlight shone through the fog, and suddenly Pete could see the creature’s face clearly.

  He gasped.

  It was a DRAGON! Green and surprisingly furry, with four huge feet the size of large tires, massive wings that arched up to the sky, and a long pointed tail like a dinosaur’s.

  Now, Pete had no way of knowing it was a dragon. He had never read about dragons in any of his storybooks. All he knew was that the creature was huge…and probably hungry.

  The dragon turned its head back and forth. Pete could see its bright glowing eyes scanning the forest.

  The young boy held his breath. Maybe the creature wouldn’t notice him. Unfortunately, the cold air had turned bitter. Pete sniffled.

  The tiny sound startled the large dragon. It jumped back, its fur rippling and standing on end. It whipped its head back and forth rapidly, searching for the source of the noise.

  Finally, its gaze landed on the lonely little boy with tears running down his face.

  The dragon studied Pete for a long moment. Then, slowly, it padded up to him.

  Pete shuffled uncertainly, his eyes wide.

  “Are you gonna eat me?” he asked.

  The dragon leaned in, craning its long neck down toward Pete until they were face to face. It blinked curiously, like a puppy might look at a stranger. A deep sound rumbled in the massive creature’s chest. But it didn’t sound threatening. Instead it almost seemed warm and friendly. Like a deep purr.

  Pete couldn’t help smiling a little. He reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand.

  Noticing the backpack on the ground, the dragon nudged it toward the boy with its snout. To Pete, it almost seemed like the creature wanted him to pick it up. So he bent down and grasped it. When he looked back up, he saw the beast extending its massive paw to him, like an invitation.

  Pete wasn’t sure what to do. The creature seemed friendly. And it had scared away the wolves. But could he trust it?

  The dragon extended its paw farther. It made the purring sound again, and Pete looked deep into the creature’s glowing eyes. He couldn’t explain it, but the creature’s expression seemed caring. He could tell it wanted to help him.

  Pete took one last look in the direction of the accident and then turned away, climbing into the padding of the dragon’s paw. So soft and comforting…Pete couldn’t help curling up there.

  The dragon lifted Pete and held him close enough that the boy could hear the great beast’s heart beating deep in its chest. The dragon’s fur rippled, shifting in color to match the colors of Pete’s clothing.

  The forest’s silence was broken by the heavy sound of large wings beating against the wind. Swiftly, the pair rose into the dark night sky, flying high above the treetops.

  Pete gasped. Flying. He was flying!

  And in that moment, curled up in the safe warmth of the dragon’s paw, everything that had happened to Pete became too much. Too much to process, too much to handle. And Pete felt very sleepy.

  He nestled deeper into the dragon’s fur and closed his eyes. Against the sound of the rushing wind and deep, rhythmic beating of the dragon’s wings, Pete fell asleep.

  “All my life, I’ve heard about the dragons that live in the woods.”

  The voice belonged to Mr. Conrad Meacham, an older man with thinning light hair and heavy smile lines at the corners of his mouth. Everyone knew Mr. Meacham. He had lived in the sleepy logging town of Millhaven all his life and could typically be found in his workshop with the large garage door swung open, entertaining the neighborhood children with his stories.

  Mr. Meacham pushed a hand-carved piece of wood into place on a chair as he spoke. All around his workshop were bits and pieces of handmade furniture in various states of completion—most of them carved or fashioned with a dragon motif of some kind.

  “Since the first man came here and chopped down a tree, the same stories have been told,” Mr. Meacham was saying. “People say they came from the north. They say they’re thousands of years old. They say there used to be many, but now there are few.”

  A group of anxious children sat on the garage floor, surrounding the old furniture maker. There was close to a dozen of them, and they were completely engrossed in Mr. Meacham’s story. The kids had heard the old man’s tales before, of course—some many times—but that never seemed to stop them from coming back for more.

  Mr. Meacham waved away the sawdust drifting through the air. It billowed in the sunlight, sparkling throughout the garage like little flakes of gold dust.

  “They say a lot of things, but so far as I know, not one person has ever actually seen a dragon….” Mr. Meacham lowered himself onto a stool and leaned in closer to his captivated audience. “Except for me.”

  “You saw a dragon?” One little boy stared up in shock. Younger than most of the other children, he was newer to the stories than they were.

  “Yes, sir,” Mr. Meacham replied. “When I was a little boy—not much older than you—I was out hunting with my father, deep in those woods. I wandered off on my own…and that’s when I saw it.”

  “What’d it look like?” the little boy pressed.

  Mr. Meacham chuckled. “Well, it was big, I can tell you that much. Big as a barn. And when it moved, the whole earth would shake.” Mr. Meacham narrowed his eyes and focused in on the little boy. “It was green—green all over—except its eyes. Its eyes were red as hellfire. When it looked at me, it was peering into my very soul.”

  “And then…?” The young children were on the edges of their seats.

  “And then it roared!” Mr. Meacham exclaimed. “I thought I was done for. And sure enough, before I could even blink, it reared back with its terrible claws and…”

  The old man swiped his hand in the air for emphasis, causing the startled children to jump backward.

  “I never had a chance. I fell to the ground, and it was on top of me. Everything happened so fast. I could feel its jaws closing on my arm. I could feel those teeth sinking in!”

  A glint came to Mr. Meacham’s eye. “But I wasn’t ready. No, sir. It wasn’t my time just yet. With my free hand I grabbed this pocketknife….”

  Mr. Meacham jumped up and seized a pocketknife from his garage workbench. Old and dull and stained with red rust, the blade still looked sharp enough to the children. He flashed the knife back and forth, reenacting his battle with the dragon.

  “And I drove the blade home.”

  With that, Mr. Meacham slammed the tip of the knife into the surface of the workbench. It struck with a loud, dull thunk.

  “I got it,” Mr. Meacham continued. “I got it good. The dragon roared to high heaven and I could see blood where I’d struck it. I didn’t waste my breath—I rolled out of the way, scrambled to my feet, and stood up, ready to fight…only to find the dragon…”

  The children held their breath.

  “…had
disappeared,” Mr. Meacham finished dramatically. “Vanished without a trace.”

  “But…why?” asked the little boy.

  Mr. Meacham shrugged and unbuttoned the cuff of his flannel sleeve. “Who knows? Maybe I scared it off. The only evidence that it had ever been there at all is right here….”

  He rolled up his shirtsleeve and the children gasped. All along Mr. Meacham’s left arm were deep, jagged scars that looked quite a bit like bite marks.

  “Scaring the neighborhood kids again, Dad?”

  Everyone’s eyes turned toward the voice. Standing just outside the workshop doors was Grace Meacham, Mr. Meacham’s daughter. She was a pretty young woman dressed in a green forest ranger uniform, with long red hair tied back in a braid. Her amused smile and gentle eye roll gave a good indication of just how many times she had heard her dad tell that story before.

  “Aw, they’re not scared. I’m giving them a leg up,” her father replied. “They need to know what’s out there in this big world around them….”

  Grace shook her head, laughing tiredly. She and her father had debated this argument more times than she could remember.

  “Well, I’m out in the woods every day,” she said. “I’ve seen bears, bobcats, badgers, bunnies, and just about every type of bird you could imagine…but no dragons.”

  “Those woods go on for hundreds of miles.” Mr. Meacham waved his hand. “I reckon there might be a few nooks and crannies you’ve overlooked.”

  Grace held up her binoculars as she walked to her jeep. “I wouldn’t count on that—but I’ll be sure to give you a call if I see anything big and green that can breathe fire….”

  She climbed into the car and started the engine. Meanwhile, the littlest girl in the crowd turned back to Mr. Meacham, her eyes wide with wonder.

  “It can breathe fire?”

  Mr. Meacham returned his attention to the young audience in front of him.

  “Well, I was getting to that part. Don’t go listening to Grace. She knows a thing or two, but only if it’s staring her in the face.”

  The hum of Grace’s jeep faded away as it drove off toward the forest. Mr. Meacham plucked his old knife out of the workbench and picked up a small, simple wooden dragon. It was one of the very first things he had ever carved.