THE DRAGON'S SCALES
“THREE YEARS IVEbeen waiting, when Torquil promised he’d return them in three days. I’m not waiting three more days to get back what’s mine!” The dragon punctuated his remarks with a smoky snort and a lashing tail.
I sighed. This wasn’t Mr. Finnegan, the leprechaun scheduled to pick up a basket holding a dozen pounds of extra-lucky four-leaf clovers. (My boss, Torquil, had weighed the clovers before he left.) Should’ve looked before opening the door, Althea, I told myself.
Not that it mattered. The dragon’s huge, scaly wings looked plenty strong enough to knock down the door (and maybe the whole building) with one flap aimed in the politely.)
