Now, in addition to having better sense, dragons have armor which provides substantially more protection than humans enjoy from their skin. Consequently, I was relatively certain that whatever was set to emerge from the business end of the blowgun would not pose a threat to my well-being. It occurred to me, however, that the same could not be said for Nunzio, and, as I have said before, I have qualms about going to some lengths to ensure my pet’s peace of mind by protecting his associates.
Jerking my head free from Nunzio’s grasp, I took quick aim and loosed a burst of #6 flame. Oh, yes. Dragons have various degrees of flame at their disposal, ranging from “toast a marshmallow” to “make a hole in rock.” You might keep that in mind the next time you consider arguing with a dragon.
Within seconds of my extinguishing the pyrotechnics, a brief shower of black powder drifted down on us.
“Dam it, Gleep!” Nunzio said, brushing the powder from his clothes. “Don’t do that again, hear me? Next time you might do more than knock some dust loose . . . and look at my clothes! Bad dragon!”
I had been around humans enough not to expect any thanks, but I found it annoying to be scolded for saving his life. With as much dignity as I could muster, which is considerable, I turned and sat with my back to him.
“GLEEP! UP, BOY! GOOD DRAGON! GOOD DRAGON!”
That was more like it. I turned to face him again, only to find him hopping around holding his foot. Not lacking in mental faculties, I was able to deduce that, in making my indignant gesture, I had succeeded in sitting on his lower extremities. It was unintentional, I assure you, as human feet are rather small and my excellent sense of touch does not extend to my posterior, but it did occur to me in hindsight (no pun intended) that it served him right.