here?’ I asked.
Phredde shrugged. ‘Uncle Mordred’s trying to do things the human way, that’s all. He wants to try to fit in.’
Considering that the last time I’d seen Uncle Mordred he had been a dragon, I didn’t think he was doing a very good job of fitting in. But on the other hand, if more people turned into dragons, the world would be a much more interesting place.
I looked at the box, still gently steaming. Dragons…
‘You know, Phredde…’ I began, then stopped. I mean, I didn’t want to spoil her surprise when she opened it.
‘We’d better take it into Mum and Dad,’ said Phredde, her wings flickering almost too fast to see. (They are really pretty wings, like rainbows except rainbows, never move as fast as Phredde’s wings). ‘This is so exciting!’
Phredde wafted the box up in front of us as we raced back past the suits of armour and the stuffed ogre along the hall.
‘Anthropophagi!’ Phredde’s mum was saying as we came in. ‘And if that doesn’t fit, how about…’ She stared at the box and the steam that was gently rising from it.
‘Ethereal darling, what’s that?’
‘Grahahahahah,’ said the box.
‘It’s from Uncle Mordred!’ Phredde danced about the room in excitement, her flashing joggers almost touching the top of the couch and the table. ‘It must be my birthday present. Look, there’s a letter taped to the side!’
‘How sweet of him,’ said Phredde’s mum, flapping her wings in a sort of I’m-considering-getting-angry fashion and looking warily at the box. A large black spot was slowly growing on one side. ‘Ethereal darling, don’t put your feet on the furniture. Or the ceiling! Maybe you should open it outside…’
‘Graaahaha!’ said the thing inside the box, and suddenly there was no need to open it at all. The room filled with this incredible burning smell (or stink, or stench, or odour) and the black spot grew and grew and grew. A flame flickered across the top and suddenly there was no box at all.
Just a dragon, sitting on the mat next to the fire.
‘Grahaha,’ said the dragon, a bit crossly.
It was a small dragon—well, small for a dragon—about the size of a really gigantic Alsatian dog, or my brother Mark when he turns into a werewolf at full moon.
The dragon had gold scales (really pretty ones, all shiny), and a long muzzle a bit like a dog’s, but flatter,and spikes along its tail just like you see in drawings of dinosaurs sometimes. But this definitely wasn’t a dinosaur. It was a dragon. An annoyed-looking dragon, too. I mean, how would YOU like to be cramped up in a box for ages?
‘Grahhhhhhh!’ burped the dragon suddenly. A small arrow of flames leapt across the room and burnt a hole in the tablecloth.
‘Er…Ethereal dear,’ said her dad. ‘Maybe you should take your dragon…’
‘Grahhha’ said the dragon again. The tablecloth was just black ashes now.
‘He’s hungry!’ announced Phredde.
‘Then take him outside and feed him!’ declared her Dad, more firmly this time (I think he was getting over the shock—I mean it’s not every day your daughter gets given a dragon).
‘Grahhhhhaaahahahahaha!’ announced the dragon.
Phredde shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to go outside. He says its cold outside. Dragons don’t like the cold. He wants to go to my bedroom.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Phredde’s mum suspiciously. (My mum and dad hadn’t said a word. They were still sitting there with their mouths open).
‘I just do,’ said Phredde, landing on the back of the sofa and folding her arms. ‘After all, he’s my dragon.’
‘Well, take him somewhere!’ cried her dad. ‘I’ll come up in a minute and…er…fireproof your room for you. Or something.’
‘Okay,’ said Phredde. ‘Come on dragon.’
‘Grahaha,’ said the dragon happily. It trotted off as Phredde flew in front of it.
‘Well!’ said Mum.
‘My word,’ said Dad.
Phredde’s dad shook his head. ‘Isn’t that
Phredde shrugged. ‘Uncle Mordred’s trying to do things the human way, that’s all. He wants to try to fit in.’
Considering that the last time I’d seen Uncle Mordred he had been a dragon, I didn’t think he was doing a very good job of fitting in. But on the other hand, if more people turned into dragons, the world would be a much more interesting place.
I looked at the box, still gently steaming. Dragons…
‘You know, Phredde…’ I began, then stopped. I mean, I didn’t want to spoil her surprise when she opened it.
‘We’d better take it into Mum and Dad,’ said Phredde, her wings flickering almost too fast to see. (They are really pretty wings, like rainbows except rainbows, never move as fast as Phredde’s wings). ‘This is so exciting!’
Phredde wafted the box up in front of us as we raced back past the suits of armour and the stuffed ogre along the hall.
‘Anthropophagi!’ Phredde’s mum was saying as we came in. ‘And if that doesn’t fit, how about…’ She stared at the box and the steam that was gently rising from it.
‘Ethereal darling, what’s that?’
‘Grahahahahah,’ said the box.
‘It’s from Uncle Mordred!’ Phredde danced about the room in excitement, her flashing joggers almost touching the top of the couch and the table. ‘It must be my birthday present. Look, there’s a letter taped to the side!’
‘How sweet of him,’ said Phredde’s mum, flapping her wings in a sort of I’m-considering-getting-angry fashion and looking warily at the box. A large black spot was slowly growing on one side. ‘Ethereal darling, don’t put your feet on the furniture. Or the ceiling! Maybe you should open it outside…’
‘Graaahaha!’ said the thing inside the box, and suddenly there was no need to open it at all. The room filled with this incredible burning smell (or stink, or stench, or odour) and the black spot grew and grew and grew. A flame flickered across the top and suddenly there was no box at all.
Just a dragon, sitting on the mat next to the fire.
‘Grahaha,’ said the dragon, a bit crossly.
It was a small dragon—well, small for a dragon—about the size of a really gigantic Alsatian dog, or my brother Mark when he turns into a werewolf at full moon.
The dragon had gold scales (really pretty ones, all shiny), and a long muzzle a bit like a dog’s, but flatter,and spikes along its tail just like you see in drawings of dinosaurs sometimes. But this definitely wasn’t a dinosaur. It was a dragon. An annoyed-looking dragon, too. I mean, how would YOU like to be cramped up in a box for ages?
‘Grahhhhhhh!’ burped the dragon suddenly. A small arrow of flames leapt across the room and burnt a hole in the tablecloth.
‘Er…Ethereal dear,’ said her dad. ‘Maybe you should take your dragon…’
‘Grahhha’ said the dragon again. The tablecloth was just black ashes now.
‘He’s hungry!’ announced Phredde.
‘Then take him outside and feed him!’ declared her Dad, more firmly this time (I think he was getting over the shock—I mean it’s not every day your daughter gets given a dragon).
‘Grahhhhhaaahahahahaha!’ announced the dragon.
Phredde shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to go outside. He says its cold outside. Dragons don’t like the cold. He wants to go to my bedroom.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Phredde’s mum suspiciously. (My mum and dad hadn’t said a word. They were still sitting there with their mouths open).
‘I just do,’ said Phredde, landing on the back of the sofa and folding her arms. ‘After all, he’s my dragon.’
‘Well, take him somewhere!’ cried her dad. ‘I’ll come up in a minute and…er…fireproof your room for you. Or something.’
‘Okay,’ said Phredde. ‘Come on dragon.’
‘Grahaha,’ said the dragon happily. It trotted off as Phredde flew in front of it.
‘Well!’ said Mum.
‘My word,’ said Dad.
Phredde’s dad shook his head. ‘Isn’t that
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