Dragon Tale Continued

If you haven't already done so, you have to read yesterday's post before this one.

Lord Snarly Flatulence staggered through the underbrush in something less than a good mood. He was drunk, of course, as he always was at this hour of the day, the hour preceding noon, and he carried with him the two things he considered essential to his daily endeavors, hard cider and really hard cider. Oh, and he also had a gun.

The path from the pub to Snarly's abode was often difficult to traverse as the jungle tried to eradicate it with new growth on a daily basis. This devious plot of nature to trip him up and twist him round combined with Snarly's inebriation, was causing his mood to go from less than good to black and bloody bad. What he most wanted in all he world at that moment was to shoot something, anything, so he could watch it suffer and die. This he knew from previous experience would raise his spirits to the I'm so happy I could kick a dog or beat a wench plateau which, truth be known, was about as high as his spirits ever went. After taking a swig of his really hard cider and washing it down with the lesser, Snarly weaved a step or two into the bush, stumbled and fell. Face down in the greenery, cursing and spitting something crawly from his mouth, Lord Flatulence' puffy and pimpled nose caught the scent of something he knew at once. It was the spoor of dragon he smelled and it was strong. There was surely, he thought, a dragon nearby.

(I would like to write more of this today, because I'm feeling it. But...I have a terrible back ache and I'm feeling that too. Don't you just hate it when that happens?)