Стража! Стража!

           It’saslongasastreet!

           Therewasapuffofflameabovethedocks,andforamomentthecreaturepassedinfrontofthemoon.Thenitflappeditswings,once,withasoundlikethedamphidesofapedigreeherdbeingslappedacrossacliff.

           Itturnedinatightcircle,poundedtheairafewtimestobuildupspeed,andcameback.

           WhenitpassedovertheWatchHouseitcoughedacolumnofspittingwhitefire.Tilesunderitdidn’tjustmelt,theyeruptedinred-hotdroplets.Thechimneystackexplodedandrainedbricksacrossthestreet.

           Vastwingshammeredattheairasthecreaturehoveredovertheburningbuilding,firespearingdownonwhatrapidlybecameaglowingheap.Then,whenallthatwasleftwasaspreadingpuddleofmeltedrockwithinterestingstreaksandbubblesinit,thedragonraiseditselfwithacontemptuousflickofitswingsandsoaredawayandupwards,overthecity.

           LadyRamkinloweredhertelescopeandshookherheadslowly.

           "That’snotright,"shewhispered."That’snotrightatall.Shouldn’tbeabletodoanythinglikethat."

           Sheraisedthelensagainandsquinted,tryingtoseewhatwasonfire.Downbelow,intheirlongkennels,thelittledragonshowled.

           Traditionally,uponwakingfromblissfullyuneventfulinsensibility,youask:"WhereamI?"It’sprobablypartoftheracialconsciousnessorsomething.

           Vimessaidit.

           Traditionallowsachoiceofsecondlines.Akeypointintheselectionprocessisanaudittoseethatthebodyhasallthebitsitremembershavingyesterday.

           Vimeschecked.