A Certain Dragon and Some Certain Knights

There was a dragon whose flame-filled tongue no longer sung. He knew with rest it would naturally refill in his lungs. But rest is best for those with time. The dragon was short on that, as the knights rode on in lines.

The dragon, a beast with armed with trickery, layered in scales, a tail tipped with black bone that outreached the knights’ spears, and wings to wail gusts upon those who’d easily qual. He lasted many a day without breath of flame. But the fights wore him more, and the knights acted as if they had smelled it. They came in score, more cautious at the core, as hope armed their minds. For a moment, they dreamed of staying alive. Then, the oft-forgotten claws tore down on their heads, and the dragon breathed out tendrils of smoke where they had stead.

One more day, both sides knew without the other to say. One more day and you will give way. Neither side suppressed the other. The dragon in his might stood tall, and the knights with their unified and seemingly countless number. Who would outpride the other, humanity or the snaking beast? With the dragon worn down day and night, without much rest, he became less and less to best. And winning the most foolish victory of all, the knights won the dragon’s treasure to those-yet-rising-chests.

Gold, and pearls, and fine cutlery. The cost of the dragon’s flame licks. For if he had fled the finery, he would have lived to sing his bestial roar again. And the knights? So many brethren lost, for gold and silver as the cost.

Like any cheap whore or mercenary.