The little dragon was finally old enough. It was time to find his very own dragon rider. Armed with a list of applicants on a clipboard, he started conducting interviews today.
The knight insisted on going first. He bowed. He boasted of his strength and experience in battle. He promised the dragon glory. The dragon did his best to be polite but failed to stifle a yawn. Dragons, you see, hear such bluster from potential riders from the day they are born. Next!
The rogue sneaked into the second interview slot. Instead of boasting verbally, she tried to impress with tricks and deft flashes of her throwing knives. When these failed to earn the dragon’s favor, she resorted to flirting with him. The little dragon blinked. Flirting? He blinked again. Next!
The dark sorcerer approached arrogantly, defying age with a vitality granted by unholy pacts. He offered power, strength, and the utter domination of enemies — physically, emotionally, and intellectually. He also offered a contract. Wisely, the dragon declined, knowing that contract came with too many clauses. Next!
The bard skipped and trilled, singing songs that promised eternal renown. The poor dragon covered his ears. This was no concern of his. Dragons lived for hundreds of years. Their fame was assured. The bard’s ballad struck a wrong chord. Next!
The alchemist claimed he could turn lead into gold. What dragon wouldn’t want that, he asked smugly? Just imagine the size of your hoard! The dragon dismissed him immediately. He preferred to earn gold the traditional way — by conquest and combat. Next!
The day’s final applicant arrived late, smiling and unconcerned. She smelled like cinnamon but said nothing. She thrust a fresh-baked, warm pie toward the dragon’s snoot.
The interviews continued the next day. The list was long and the dragon wanted to be fair. But one name had already been marked — with pie filling.
~ THE END ~