He cocked his head and peered at Buttercup, first from this angle, then that, stretching his long serpentine neck to its limits. Then he swiveled his head until he was looking backward and repeated the process, scanning the surrounding weeds. Then he looked at Buttercup again.
To his eyes, his playmate had suddenly disappeared, to be replaced by another dragon. It was all very confusing, and he wanted his playmate back.
In my pet’s defense, when I speak of his lack of agility, both physically and mentally, I don’t mean to imply he is either clumsy or stupid. He’s young, which also accounts for his mere ten-foot length and half-formed wings. I fully expect that when he matures-in another four or five hundred years-he will be very deft and wise, which is more than I can say for myself. In the unlikely event I should live that long, all I’ll be is old.
“Gleep?”
The dragon was looking at me now. Having stretched his limited mental abilities to their utmost, he turned to me to correct the situation or at least provide an explanation. As the perpetrator of the situation causing his distress, I felt horribly guilty. For a moment, I wavered on the brink of restoring Buttercup’s normal appearance.
“If you’re quite sure you’re making enough noise. …”
I winced at the deep, sarcastic tones booming close behind me. All my efforts were for naught. Aahz was awake.
I assumed my best hangdog attitude and turned to face him.
Needless to say, he looked terrible.
If, perchance, you think a demon covered with green scales already looks terrible, you’ve never encountered one with a hangover. The normal gold flecks in his yellow eyes were now copper, accented by a throbbing network of orange veins. His lips were drawn back in a painful grimace which exposed even more of his pointed teeth than his frightening, reassuring smile. Looming there, his fists clenched on his hips, he presented a picture terrifying enough to make a spider-bear faint.