Syrrus
Wishful bard
Ryake was sitting, tired, in the library of his great castle. It was one of the only places where he could be for himself and not be disturbed by castellans, maids and other servants. Of course, the reason for why he wanted to be by himself was not what one might thing, the way he had his nose down one of the thicker and older tomes about dragons and elves but because he didn't want to hid the whelp which had been following him for the past six months.
The little thing lay in a ball on top of the homemade nest he had created out of the prince's jacket. It was sleeping with a loud snoring and puffs of smoke kept boiling out of his nostrils. Ryake's studying about the forgotten world kept being interrupted by the small thing sneezing fire in its sleep, lighting something on fire which he - without looking up from his book - put out with a very tall and heavy glass of water.
After countless burns and bite marks the young man had gotten used to the dragons mischief and know now too well how to deal with them in the most practical of ways. The problem he seemed to have with the little thing was the constant crying at night. The ball of scales kept him awake, every night with the never ending crying and loud noises, which was why the prince had taken to sneak out at night and try to get to sleep under the old oak tree in the woods behind the castle. Neither of them got any sleep during the night and it seemed as if only the little one would get to sleep during the day.
Every night the little whelp would, after feeding of course - raw venison and fish seemed to be the most popular, curl up against Ryake and cry into his ear. No matter how warm, how close or how long the man talked to the little dragon it never stopped crying. The book didn't help him with his problem either, seeing as most of it had now been on fire three times and was falling into pieces in his hands.
The prince sighed and leaned his chin against the back of the hand as he watched the little whelp, who gladly slept now when the prince was awake.
The little thing lay in a ball on top of the homemade nest he had created out of the prince's jacket. It was sleeping with a loud snoring and puffs of smoke kept boiling out of his nostrils. Ryake's studying about the forgotten world kept being interrupted by the small thing sneezing fire in its sleep, lighting something on fire which he - without looking up from his book - put out with a very tall and heavy glass of water.
After countless burns and bite marks the young man had gotten used to the dragons mischief and know now too well how to deal with them in the most practical of ways. The problem he seemed to have with the little thing was the constant crying at night. The ball of scales kept him awake, every night with the never ending crying and loud noises, which was why the prince had taken to sneak out at night and try to get to sleep under the old oak tree in the woods behind the castle. Neither of them got any sleep during the night and it seemed as if only the little one would get to sleep during the day.
Every night the little whelp would, after feeding of course - raw venison and fish seemed to be the most popular, curl up against Ryake and cry into his ear. No matter how warm, how close or how long the man talked to the little dragon it never stopped crying. The book didn't help him with his problem either, seeing as most of it had now been on fire three times and was falling into pieces in his hands.
The prince sighed and leaned his chin against the back of the hand as he watched the little whelp, who gladly slept now when the prince was awake.