A Hag Wyrm had lurked alone in the hills of Arnside since the days of knights and shining armour, though no knight dared face it. Fiercer than any dragon, the fire-bellied serpent grew especially hot-tempered in summer when the sun scorched soggy Lancashire dry.

One relentless summer, when not a drop of rain fell, the rivers dried up, and the Hag Wyrm roamed south, incinerating the Forest of Bowland and burning Lancaster to ash with a single fiery breath. Even the castle stones turned black.

Amid the ruins, the Wyrm spotted another serpent—cool and dark, snaking through the city, In fact, this was no serpent at all. It was the newly built Lancaster Canal. Nevertheless, the Wyrm slid slowly into the water.

Its fiery belly soothed at last, it slept, coiled in the canal’s deepest, widest stretch.

But when summer returns, and the sun bakes the earth, pray for rain. For if the canal ever dries, the Hag Wyrm will awaken—and so will its wrath.