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The Dragon

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I wrote this as a timed writing exercise: we had fifteen minutes to write something using the words smoke, salt and mountain. I like writing about dragons and I am sure this one will have some adventures in the future.

The dragon lay inside its cave, its shallow breathing sending small puffs of smoke upwards. His belly was full and he was resting before his next flight. He licked his lips with his forked tongue, remembering the taste of his last meal – a young sheep from the field over the mountain. Not as sweet as princesses, but they were so hard to find these days.
The dragon burped and a small tongue of fire flickered out of his mouth, then he settled back to sleep. He dreamed of a big castle far away, full of succulent princesses. Big ones, little ones, fat ones, juicy ones. All waiting for him to drop by for breakfast.
He would soar above the mountains then swoop down on the unsuspecting kingdom. He imagined himself perched on the rampart of the castle, wings outstretched, casting a huge black shadow on the courtyard, princesses running squealing in all directions, holding their skirts in their hands.
Yes, those darned skirts. If only princesses didn’t have to wear clothes. They were so difficult to digest, all those petticoats, and the prickly crowns, that tasted as if they were crusted with salt. Not the jewels, of course, those he liked to keep, picking them out one by one with his talons. He had quite a collection now in his cave. Why couldn’t princesses be kept in a field, like sheep, except without the woolly coats. Now that would be a fine meal.
The dragon rolled over and crushed its wing uncomfortably. It opened one eye and caught a glint of sunlight reflecting off steel. No, it couldn’t be. Not another hero, coming to show off. Really, couldn’t these knights wait until after lunch?
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