Talk:Dragon/@comment-27671745-20160125032812

Here is a story for you. You are out walking one day, away from your village of birth; away from your troubles, for but a little time in the wood. You farm, you rest; you endure: a simple life, underated in its simple joys. You come back home. But upon the bend to an overhead pass you see, there is no longer home. Abodes stand now as cinders, the same as the cribs of children in some. Your mind burns. Your chest heaves. You silently pray. And in that moment you run into town, maybe with dust in your eyes, you start to cry: there is no restraint. You enter the village. Your foot crunches, upon a black, melted something. Shock flies though your leg. And there, where your eyes, and perhaps mind couldn't undertand before, it starts to clear: a body contorted. It's hands covering itself, like in fear. A young woman, no older than a young teen. Your chest tightens, and then, your heart splits in two. You remove your foot, and fall to your knees. Your muscles tire, and ache. Your throat stings. Your eyes burn. And now, you scream. All that comes out is a chocked, murdered cry. You imagine how your friends, and family died.

Your head turns, slowly. That's when you see her, or it. You see scales, and wings; claws. You have a moment to react. You could run, fight, talk, or perhaps trick her. You have a knife in your pocket. Anything could be happening. You have one chance. How big are your hearts gentlemen? ( for one cute girl, and hopefully a misunderstanding)