Sitting up, you carefully make your way downstairs. “Maybe something to eat will help,” you mumble. You spot Ace hanging off the couch, so you know who lost the argument. Those who were aware of her knew her as Gretchen, the most ambitious fairy in the land. “Ambitious, ambitious,” the toads croaked, and the turtles droned her name as they lumbered across lawns to peer at her glorious blooms. The herons swooped overhead to watch Gretchen at work; hawks circled above her.

You also busted in here suddenly. He probably thought you two were threats,” you point out. “Anyways, What trouble did you get into this time?” Leaning an elbow on the table, you both stare at each other. “So… what do I call you?” He only lets out a gurgling of growls in response. “How about Tsunotarou?” He seems to nod as if your silly name is an acceptable one for a dragon. So you got beat up?” You clean Deuce’s cuts, which are mostly minor. A few do need some salve and bandages. Her garden perfumed the air, exciting the bees, delighting the birds. Still, they asked Gretchen, “Why do you work so hard?” The other fairies climbed into the Canterbury bells to nap, morning, noon and evening and wondered at her frantic industry. Sitting on the arm of the couch, you stroke Tsunotarou’s head. “Are you cursed?” you ask him. His head bobs up and down. “How come you two didn’t notice?” Your question is directed at the two bean spillers.Said redhead suddenly has a keen interest in your hanging herbs. “Tsunotarou isn’t like that,” you argue. “He’s never hurt anyone and he’s been living with me of all people.” The magicless human who would be a prime target for magical creatures.

He agrees to your second option as he flies off your shoulder and lands in the satchel you keep hung up near the front door. His head pokes out when you don’t move. “I’m coming. I’m coming.” Your overgrown lizard,” Ace jabs a finger at Tsunotarou, who is sitting on top of the table, “tried to set me on fire! He tried to murder me!!” Pretty sure he left already!” They don’t hear you as they race outside still in their sleepwear. Lifting Tsunotarou into your arms, you huff, “You’ve gotten heavier too. I’m not sure if you’ll be able to fit in my satchel now.” He only nuzzles your face with his scaly snout.Rubbing your temples, you sigh, “Fine. But one of you is gonna be sleeping on the floor cause I only have one couch.” Gretchen’s special pride, the blooms she guarded most closely, were the brilliantly colored poppies that grew in the center of her wonderland. No one, not the bumblebees, not the butterflies, not the birds, and certainly not the fairies were permitted to land on her poppies. “They’re fragile. They’re perfect. Don’t touch them,” she warned. Your attention goes to the dragon, who sits patiently while watching the scene. You can’t deny that he’s gotten bigger. Now he’s the size of a large cat, possibly even bigger. “Do dragons usually have growth spurts?” you wonder aloud. Phillis comes trotting over the moment you're within sight. Patting her head, you scratch her behind the ears. “Morning, princess.” She bleats happily at the attention. The little dragon flies off your shoulder to get a better look at Phillis. She noses his stomach curiously as he reaches out to pat her on the snout. Her parents were George Herbert McCaffrey, BA, MA PhD (Harvard), Colonel USA Army (retired), and Anne Dorothy McElroy McCaffrey, estate agent. She had two brothers: Hugh McCaffrey (deceased 1988), Major US Army, and Kevin Richard McCaffrey, still living.

Gretchen’s anger fell away, and then she laughed. She realized she had not laughed for a long time. “What’s your name?” she asked. Alright, ladies, time for breakfast,” you call. Sprinkling the food, the three descend near you in a flurry of white and brown feathers. Oh, yes, you do,” she said, looking at the poor poppy sagging underneath his weight. “You’re Daring D,” she said. “D is for the dragon. And you dared to come into my garden.” When it’s time for bed, you carry the still sleeping dragon upstairs. Putting Tsunotarou in the makeshift nest, you climb into bed. However, before you can fall asleep, Tsunotarou flies over with the blanket in his mouth. Standing at the edge of the bed, it’s almost like he’s giving you puppy dog eyes. Then one summer day, as the sun poured down upon the soil and the flowers stretched their stems to soak in the warmth and light, Gretchen scurried to the river to collect their morning drink. Suddenly a dragon knew only as of the Littlest Dragon accidentally flew into Gretchen’s garden. He was tiny, no bigger than a June bug, and exhausted. When he spotted Gretchen’s poppies, he flew at once to land on one. “Ah,” he sighed deeply, “what a wonderful resting spot.”The dragon doesn’t respond as he rests his snout on your shoulder. As you close the door, his gaze never leaves the line of trees. There’s a flash of yellow before the door is firmly shut. Tsunotarou, who perched himself on your shoulder, leans forward watching in rapt interest. “Do you want to try to feed them?” you ask, holding the bag of feed up.