In the dragon's lair...
There had been deer, lots of it, and Maggie had gorged herself happily of the fat little doe. Now she paced up and down the length of the cave, her tail swishing dolefully, making curving patterns in the sand floor. Her Flamehair had come to rub her down and he'd polished all her scales just as beautifully as he always did but water had kept splashing from his eyes; one drop had landed on her snout and had hissed away to nothing.
She'd nudged at him playfully but clearly the time for games was over. All the birdbeasts were gone, even that last one who'd been hiding, who had caught one of Flamehair's pack, and made him fall to the ground.
And he was gone, too, although the pack had brought him home. Dragons didn't have packs, or herds; they hunted alone and Maggie knew that, though she had always known Flamehair, and he took care of her and for that one inexplicable thing she accepted him, and his pack, as part of the whole strange - but rather pleasant - departure from instinct.
And she too felt his sense of loss...and a feeling that things would never be the same again.
She'd nudged at him playfully but clearly the time for games was over. All the birdbeasts were gone, even that last one who'd been hiding, who had caught one of Flamehair's pack, and made him fall to the ground.
And he was gone, too, although the pack had brought him home. Dragons didn't have packs, or herds; they hunted alone and Maggie knew that, though she had always known Flamehair, and he took care of her and for that one inexplicable thing she accepted him, and his pack, as part of the whole strange - but rather pleasant - departure from instinct.
And she too felt his sense of loss...and a feeling that things would never be the same again.