Thursday, December 15, 2011

Day Ninety-Nine: Drooly

I… I think I need to reevaluate my relationship with the dragon, diary. Just a smidge.

So. Last night, I'm at the top of the tower. Dragon hasn't moved a hell of a lot - it's still on its belly - and I'm at the door, half frozen and hungry. I've been pulling shifts-and-a-half lately and I haven't had a ton of time to eat, and there isn't exactly a snack bar at the top of the tower, so I filched a bag of yak tarts from The Beefiary. Helps to have a brother as a cook.

I'd edged my way around the tower the other night without the dragon caring, so I figured, hey, why not give eating a shot? So, with a reeeeeeally slow motion, I dipped into my bag of tarts and pulled one out. I don't think a snail coulda matched me.

But as soon as the tart hit the air? The dragon opened its eyes. I mean, its eyes had always LOOKED open, but the milky film COVERING its eyes slid back, and it was watching me. REALLY watching me. And oh buddy you better believe that as soon as THAT happened I was ready to fill my trousers. Or run screaming off the edge of the tower. Or both.

But the dragon didn't dive at me or anything. It sniffed the air a bit and watched me, those big, yellow eyes stuck on the yak tart like a dog looking for table scraps. Saliva dripped off its fangs and froze on the floor in lumpy pools. Then, lowering its head like it was ashamed, it dipped in close and sniffed at the bag, moving as cautiously as I had.

In that instant, I knew I didn't have to be afraid of this dragon. Not really. It was, like, one of those moments in those cheesy stories where the main character is confronted by some big, scary monster, but then he discovers that it's harmless despite how it looks, and he was ACTUALLY dead wrong. You know?

I hate those kinda stories, 'cause in those stories the friendly people always end up being the villains. I don't wanna start distrusting friendly people, 'cause that means I'll have to hang out with assholes. Because, you know, they're actually nice. S'implied.

Uh. Lost track.

I knew I didn't have to be afraid, but I didn't want to freak out the dragon - it could still squish me if it panicked, so, so easily - so I let it sniff the tart a couple more times, then held it out on the tips of my fingers. And, wouldn't you know, the big thing took the tart.

Then it licked me. Was probably just trying to get at the rest of my tarts, 'cause a little thing like that to a dragon is like a human eating a piece of dust, but I still appreciated the lick. Dragon drool is really warm. Great for winter nights.

So. Yeah. I guess… the dragon's… not so bad…? I still don't wanna spend TOO much time up here, it's cold. And dragon drool smells like dead animals, so using licks to keep warm shouldn't be an option too often.

My clothes are a special sort of sticky-frozen,

Dragomir the Popsicle

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