Her wounds ached and drops of green blood occasionally spattered the stone floor, but the dragon was determined not to let that ruin her evening. With exquisite care, she licked one claw and turned the page of the thick book on the reading table before her. Her other claws peeled back a nicely-blackened suit of armor, making a sound like the foil coming off a chocolate bar, only a great deal louder. The movement made the scratches and gouges on her body cry out and she had to pause until they stopped.
When the pain passed, the dragon took a juicy bite, careful not to let anything drip on the book. She knew very well that it isn't a good idea to eat and read at the same time, but tonight she really needed the treat.
Besides, everyone needs a vice.
Something this Chaucer person seems to understand completely, she thought, chewing carefully and turning to another page. So much more compelling than anything that other pompous, puff-headed poet could come up with. Spenserian verse indeed! No wonder he was never admitted at court.
A pang jolted the dragon's heart and her head automatically snapped around, creating a corresponding jolt of pain. Someone else was in her keep--in the courtyard, to be exact. The dragon could feel stealthy footsteps on her stones, sense ripples wafting through the air as the intruder moved.
Another knight? She looked down at her meal. I haven't even recovered from this one yet.
Step step step. The intruder was getting closer, though the pace was cautious. An odd, unfamiliar feeling rose in the dragon's chest.
The dragon set down her dinner, closed the book, and undulated stiffly toward the courtyard of the keep.
The keep itself was blocky and fairly small, with cold, empty corridors and dusty doors. A great hall ran down the center, with human living quarters above and cellars below. Scrubby wind-swept hills surrounded the place, and the nearest human town was almost seven days' human travel away. Unfortunately, almost two hundred years of successful hoarding invariably gives one a certain reputation with treasure-seekers--no matter how far away the closest humans might be.
Step step step. The dragon's odd feeling intensified.
Every idiot who can wave a sword thinks he can conquer the mighty dragon and steal her hoard, she growled to herself. As if they deserve it--or could even carry it away.
The dragon slid over a pile of loose rubble and hissed sharply when the stones ground into her still-bloody wounds. She braced herself against the wall until the world stopped spinning.
I can't do this, she thought. This is the fourth knight in five days. Where are they all coming from?
Step step step. That odd feeling increased again. The dragon's heart was pounding, her lungs were working like hyperactive bellows, and she was shivering, even though she wasn't cold.
Fear, she realized with a start. I'm afraid!
Then anger entered her emotional mix, giving the world a reddish tinge. How dare they? These humans had reduced her to this? To being afraid of tinfoil knights? The anger grew like poison ivy and she bolted forward, intending to rush down to the courtyard with a sky-shattering roar and disembowel the fool with a single swipe of her claws.
The pain stopped her cold. Her sudden movement had torn open partially-healed wounds and sent white-hot spasms coursing through the others. The dragon sat in the corridor, concentrating on her breathing until the pain eased.
The roof, she decided. I'll take a look from the roof.
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