forehead.
Then Basilgarrad did something very small. Very brief. And very rude.
“WAKE UP!” he shouted, in a voice that exploded like a thunderclap above the young dragon’s head.
The little fellow instantly came awake. He leaped into the air—but only rose as high as the huge chin above him. Smacking into Basilgarrad’s jaw, packed with hundreds of spear-sharp teeth, the young dragon smashed back to the ground, rolled hastily away, and stopped only when his tail became tangled with that of a sibling. At that point, he dizzily focused his gaze on the same thing that had captured the full attention of his mother, brothers, and sisters—a gargantuan green dragon who was glaring down at him, growling angrily.
For a frozen moment, no one spoke. The young dragon could only stare, quaking with fright. Basilgarrad, for his part, was in no hurry. And Gwynnia, worried as she was about the safety of her child, didn’t want to do anything that might antagonize this gigantic predator who could gobble up her whole family in the blink of an eye.
Finally, Basilgarrad turned to Gwynnia. As their gazes met, he said the last thing she ever expected: “Hello, sister. Remember me?”
Gwynnia gasped, and her triangular eyes opened to their widest. Deep in her orange pupils, a spark of recognition flared as she recalled that bizarre connection she’d felt with a tiny green lizard she’d met long before. A lizard who looked much like this dragon—except infinitely smaller.
“Y-y-you?” she stammered. “From Merlin’s wedding? But you were—you were so . . . so very—”
“Small?”
Gwynnia nodded, making the iridescent purple scales on her neck flash like jewels.
“Yes. Small enough to be torn apart and eaten by one of your children.” His ear flicked toward the quaking youth. “ That one. Who, now that I’m fully grown, could make a tasty little morsel for my dessert.”
“No, please,” Gwynnia pleaded. “You won’t eat my little Ganta, will you? He—well, he . . . didn’t know any better.”
“Then,” declared the great green dragon, “it’s time he learned.”
Gwynnia, fearing the worst, gasped again. Several of her children whimpered; one dived under her wing.
Slowly, the massive head turned back to young Ganta. Peering into the small orange eyes, the gigantic dragon said, “I am Basilgarrad, defender of Avalon. And I have something to teach you.”
Despite his quivering frame, the smaller dragon tried to hold his head high. “Punish me, master Basil . . . whatever. Do what you like. But please don’t hurt my mother or my family.”
The corner of Basilgarrad’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. I like that spirit. Maybe there’s hope for this little fellow yet.
“Well, Ganta, what do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“Anything you want, master Basil.”
“And why is that?”
The little dragon’s snout crinkled in surprise at being asked such an obvious question. “Because you’re bigger, of course! If you’re bigger, you do what you want.”
Basilgarrad brought his face right up to the young dragon’s. “No,” he declared. “That’s not right.”
Ganta blinked, clearly puzzled.
“Bigness,” said Basilgarrad, “is not about what you weigh. It’s about what you do . How you act. How you treat others.”
Pulling his face away, he continued, “Which is why, young Ganta, I’m not going to eat you.” To keep the little fellow’s attention, he added, “Not now, anyway.”
Gwynnia joined her son in heaving a sigh.
Basilgarrad gave his sister a broad wink. “Besides, I really don’t think he’d taste very good.”
With that, he leaped skyward, pumping his mighty wings. He felt well fed, and also well entertained—but now he had serious work to do in the remote reaches of Waterroot. As he veered south, toward the lair of the water dragons, Gwynnia and her children watched with both awe and relief. And in the case of one young dragon . . . with intrigue.
14: B LUE
Then Basilgarrad did something very small. Very brief. And very rude.
“WAKE UP!” he shouted, in a voice that exploded like a thunderclap above the young dragon’s head.
The little fellow instantly came awake. He leaped into the air—but only rose as high as the huge chin above him. Smacking into Basilgarrad’s jaw, packed with hundreds of spear-sharp teeth, the young dragon smashed back to the ground, rolled hastily away, and stopped only when his tail became tangled with that of a sibling. At that point, he dizzily focused his gaze on the same thing that had captured the full attention of his mother, brothers, and sisters—a gargantuan green dragon who was glaring down at him, growling angrily.
For a frozen moment, no one spoke. The young dragon could only stare, quaking with fright. Basilgarrad, for his part, was in no hurry. And Gwynnia, worried as she was about the safety of her child, didn’t want to do anything that might antagonize this gigantic predator who could gobble up her whole family in the blink of an eye.
Finally, Basilgarrad turned to Gwynnia. As their gazes met, he said the last thing she ever expected: “Hello, sister. Remember me?”
Gwynnia gasped, and her triangular eyes opened to their widest. Deep in her orange pupils, a spark of recognition flared as she recalled that bizarre connection she’d felt with a tiny green lizard she’d met long before. A lizard who looked much like this dragon—except infinitely smaller.
“Y-y-you?” she stammered. “From Merlin’s wedding? But you were—you were so . . . so very—”
“Small?”
Gwynnia nodded, making the iridescent purple scales on her neck flash like jewels.
“Yes. Small enough to be torn apart and eaten by one of your children.” His ear flicked toward the quaking youth. “ That one. Who, now that I’m fully grown, could make a tasty little morsel for my dessert.”
“No, please,” Gwynnia pleaded. “You won’t eat my little Ganta, will you? He—well, he . . . didn’t know any better.”
“Then,” declared the great green dragon, “it’s time he learned.”
Gwynnia, fearing the worst, gasped again. Several of her children whimpered; one dived under her wing.
Slowly, the massive head turned back to young Ganta. Peering into the small orange eyes, the gigantic dragon said, “I am Basilgarrad, defender of Avalon. And I have something to teach you.”
Despite his quivering frame, the smaller dragon tried to hold his head high. “Punish me, master Basil . . . whatever. Do what you like. But please don’t hurt my mother or my family.”
The corner of Basilgarrad’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. I like that spirit. Maybe there’s hope for this little fellow yet.
“Well, Ganta, what do you think I’m going to do to you?”
“Anything you want, master Basil.”
“And why is that?”
The little dragon’s snout crinkled in surprise at being asked such an obvious question. “Because you’re bigger, of course! If you’re bigger, you do what you want.”
Basilgarrad brought his face right up to the young dragon’s. “No,” he declared. “That’s not right.”
Ganta blinked, clearly puzzled.
“Bigness,” said Basilgarrad, “is not about what you weigh. It’s about what you do . How you act. How you treat others.”
Pulling his face away, he continued, “Which is why, young Ganta, I’m not going to eat you.” To keep the little fellow’s attention, he added, “Not now, anyway.”
Gwynnia joined her son in heaving a sigh.
Basilgarrad gave his sister a broad wink. “Besides, I really don’t think he’d taste very good.”
With that, he leaped skyward, pumping his mighty wings. He felt well fed, and also well entertained—but now he had serious work to do in the remote reaches of Waterroot. As he veered south, toward the lair of the water dragons, Gwynnia and her children watched with both awe and relief. And in the case of one young dragon . . . with intrigue.
14: B LUE
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