Breath of Fire

The cold mountain wind bit into the young squire's face, his young cheeks not yet hairy enough for shaving. He looked over at his patron. "Sir?"

Sir Grenhelm simply sat on his old war horse, neither looking very deadly. He drank heavily from a silver cup, usually affixed to his waist with a strap of leather but always in hand first thing. "Hmm?"

"It's nearly dawn, sir. Shouldn't we head in before the sun rises?"

"Not yet, squire."

Nervously, the squire rubbed his chapped hands together and turned to eye the opening ahead. "But sir...if we wait much longer it could wake up."

Sir Grenhelm continued to drink from his steaming mug.

A deep rumble echoed around them, and the squire nearly leapt behind the horse. After a few moments it subsided, the air going still once more save for the wind, which continued to nip at their noses. The horse chuffed.

"That...that means..."

"That means nothing." Sir Grenhelm sipped deeply and surveyed the mountain top, the jagged rocks around them still glistening with dew. "We can wait a few more moments."

"Should I ready your sword?" The squire eyed the nicks on the aging blade and again wondered whether Sir Grenhelm should really continue questing at his age.

"Not yet."

"But sir!"

"Squire," the old knight barked, causing the poor boy to cover his ears and stare at the cave entrance in fear, worrying he might have woken their quarry. "do you see this cup?"

"Aye, sir." He had prepared it himself, building a tiny fire that went out all too quickly in a gust of wind.

"And what is my cardinal rule?"

The squire sighed. This stubborn codger would be the death of him today. "Coffee first - dragons after."