E
Old man Goran sat on his porch, whittling a piece of driftwood. Beside him, taking up most of the garden, was Vermithrax. The dragon was massive, red, and suffering from arthritis.
"Remember the Battle of the Burning Clouds?" Goran asked.
Vermithrax snorted a puff of smoke. "I remember my hip hurting," the dragon telepathed.
The village children gathered at the fence. They pointed. "Is that a real dragon?"
"It's a oversized lizard," a cynical teenager said. "Dragons are extinct."
Vermithrax opened one eye. It was yellow and slit-pupiled. The teenager stepped back.
"We are relics, old friend," Goran said. "The world has moved on. They have airships now."
Just then, a siren wailed. An airship was plummeting from the sky, trailing smoke. Its engine had failed. It was falling straight toward the village schoolhouse.
Goran looked at Vermithrax. Vermithrax looked at Goran.
"I'm too old for this," the dragon grumbled.
"Me too," Goran said, standing up. His knees popped.
He climbed onto the dragon's neck. "Fly, you glorified gecko!"
Vermithrax roared. It wasn't the mighty roar of his youth, but it was loud enough to shatter windows. He launched himself into the air. His wings cracked like sails.
They intercepted the airship just before it hit the ground. Vermithrax grabbed the hull with his talons. The weight dragged them down. Goran steered, pulling hard on the scales.
"Up! Up!"
With a heave that nearly dislocated Goran's shoulder, Vermithrax banked, skimming the rooftops, and set the airship down gently in the town square.
The villagers cheered. Goran slid off, collapsing in the grass.
Vermithrax landed beside him, panting. "My back," the dragon complained. "I am never doing that again."
Goran patted the dragon's snout. "Same time next week?"
"Deal."