A Dragon Tale about a Green Fairy

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Page 6 of A Dragon Tale About A Green Fairy

that perpetuates the beast's fear.

Now, as for me. I'm a perversity,

a deviant of dragon heredity.

Since first hatching twelve centuries ago

I have been plagued, happily I suppose, with a gift

of poetry which makes my soul worth more

than all my ancestor's jewels and mines of gold ,

excepting, of course, my bad habit of slicing

people into thick or thin blackened steaks.

I know it's wrong, but everyone's got to eat."

The dragon seemed embarassed, but sincere.

"I like your honesty," the fairy said

and sat down under a mushroom ceiling

as the sky's night began a heavy rain.

The dragon, much more at ease and relaxed

about her person, crept out of the cave's mouth

to feel the night's rain and cure his throats drought.

Breathing fire always left him raspy.

"Do you like the rain's scent?" asked the fairy.

"Very much. And its taste," he answered while

his tongue flicked out to lap the dark water.

"That reminds me of father. He did that."

What?" he asked, laying on a dead thistle

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