Стража! Стража!

           Herbedroomlookedoutoverthedragonpens,andshewasusedtosleepingtothesusurrationofrustlingscales,theoccasionalroarofadragonflaminginitssleep,andthekeeningofthegravidfemales.Absenceofanysoundatallwaslikeanalarmclock.

           Shehadcriedabitbeforegoingtosleep,butnotmuch,becauseitwasnousebeingsoppyandlettingthesidedown.Shelitthelamp,pulledonherrubberboots,grabbedthestickwhichmightbeallthatstoodbetweenherandtheoreticallossofvirtue,andhurrieddownthroughtheshadowyhouse.Asshecrossedthedamplawntothekennelsshewasvaguelyawarethatsomethingwashappeningdowninthecity,butdismisseditasnotcurrentlyworththinkingabout.Dragonsweremoreimportant.

           Shepushedopenthedoor.

           Well,theywerestillthere.Thefamiliarstinkofswampdragons,halfpondmudandhalfchemicalexplosion,gustedoutintothenight.

           Eachdragonwasbalancingonitshindlegsinthecentreofitspen,neckarched,staringwithferociousintensityattheroof.

           "Oh,"shesaid."Flyingaroundupthereagain,isit?Showingoff.Don’tyouworryaboutit,children.Mummy’shere."

           SheputthelamponahighshelfandstampedalongtoErrol’spen.

           "Wellnow,mylad,"shebegan,andstopped.

           Errolwasstretchedoutonhisside.Athinplumeofgreysmokewasdriftingfromhismouth,andhisstomachexpandedandcontractedlikeabellows.Andhisskinfromtheneckdownwasanalmostpurewhite.