Sir Michael read the notice on the broadsheet. It seemed yet another dragon had been killed in some cave not too far, and the farmer that had done the deed was given the rights to the hoard. As was only fair, he supposed.

Sir Michael sighed softly. He’d not been able to find a single dragon in the last ten years of searching, and this farmer had found one not five leagues from where he was standing.

Injustice. That’s what it was. An injustice that he, a Knight of the Kingdom of Tuared, had yet to even smell a dragon.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Sir Michael was desperate. He headed down the muddy street, away from the bustle of the castle, to an old wise woman that he knew of. Certainly she could lead him to his goal.

Sir Michael found the cottage as he remembered it, Old, worn, and cozy. Like a favored tunic. He rapped on the door, softly calling for the occupant.

“Madam Giselle? Are you in? It’s me. Sir- It’s me, Michael,” he said in a low voice.

Footsteps could be heard across the creaky floorboards as the woman crossed the single room. The door scraped open a sliver, and a wizened face gazed out at him.

“Michael? Is that you?” she asked in a frail, hopeful voice.

“It is, Madam Giselle. I’ve come for your guidance,” he said shamefully.

“Oh, my dear boy. Please come in. I’ve only just pulled the kettle for tea,” she said, pulling the door open enough for Sir Michael to slide in.

Once inside, his mind was assaulted by the remnants of his past. Over on the bed was the poppet he used to sleep with. Had Giselle kept it all these years? And in the corner there was his old chair, the groove where he habitually scraped at the wood with his fingernail still visible. And by the fire stood the woman he once knew as his keeper.

She stood with a pronounced stoop, now. The once tall and proud body that he remembered had surrendered to the ravages of time. The strong arms that once beat the missing sense into him had grown thin and spindly with age. The smile, though. That sunny smile still remained. Even with missing teeth and a face covered in wrinkles, that beautiful smile was still in evidence on her aged face.

Giselle poured the knight a cup of tea with practiced ease, dropping in three small disks of dried honey. She poured a similar one for herself, and sat by the fire, trying to keep warmth in her old bones.

“Come sit with me, Michael. It has been so dreadfully long since I’ve seen you. You’ve grown to be quite the handsome lad, you have. I’d wager you have your pick of the ladies,” she said, grinning mischievously.

Michael sighed. Giselle always did have the worst timing. “No, ma’am. I stay away from them. They distract me from my goal,” he said tiredly.

“Oh? And what goal is that, Michael? Tell Mama Giselle,” she said, steepling her fingers over her teacup.

“You know. I’m still trying to find a dragon to slay. To be renowned in the kingdom. To do my part in getting rid of the scourge,” he said

“Ah. To slay a dragon is no small feat, my boy. You will need all your wits; all your cunning to take on such a mighty foe.” She took a sip of her still-hot tea. “And what do you need this old woman for, boy?”

“Guidance, madam. I have come seeking your guidance once again; just as I did so long ago, before petitioning the Knights,” he replied.

Getting to be a Knight was no mean feat. Even for a Noble. A lowborn commoner like him? Unheard of. However, when the Captain saw him defending the flower girl from a pair of cutthroats aiming to have their way with her, he was moved. The lad was half their size, and wielded the staff most expertly for having had no training. Though he was wounded several times over, he did manage to fend the attackers off before nearly collapsing due to his wounds. The Captain brought the child to the chirurgeon himself and demanded he be treated. After a brief argument, the old sawbones did treat the child, and took him back to the orphanage ran by Giselle.

The Captain had inquired as to the boy’s health frequently, maintaining a sort of watch over him, and once healed, approached the boy. Wanting to sponsor him to join their ranks. When Michael had asked Giselle about it, she merely told him to follow his strong heart. Those words spurred him on to become one of the strongest knights in the kingdom.

But he still had yet to slay his own dragon.

Giselle chuckled softly. “My dear boy. You wish only to slay a dragon? To prove yourself against a mighty foe?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I very much do,” he said, his eyes burning with zeal.

“Well.” Giselle said, struggling to her feet. “You are in luck. Old Giselle has heard of a mighty dragon in the forest to the East. You will find him near an old withered oak tree that still bears green leaves. There is a cave nearby where the beast dwells. The river Slatiyn will be your guide. This I can tell you,” she intoned, standing by the door.

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Michael realized his time with her was at an end. He drained the tea, setting the cup on the table. Approaching the woman, she smiled at him.

“Be safe, my boy. Visit me again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said, kissing her forehead.

Giselle smiled her sunbeam smile, and opened the door for her one-time ward.

Michael strode off to the East, determined to find his dragon.

A few days later, he found the river Slatiyn and followed it upstream, hunting for a withered oak. Along the way, he hunted deer and rabbit, having little luck, as they all seemed to watch him, bounding away before he could move within fifty paces.

Even the birds were silent.

At dawn on the fifth day, he spied a massive tree in the distance, seemingly an hour’s walk away. Michael picked up his pace, feeling that the end of his quest was near.

An hour later, the tree looked no closer, and the forest seemed darker, the trees looming closer. Even the river, a mere seventy paces to his left, sounded much farther than it should have, even though he could still see it. Michael continued, hungering for his glory.

At noon, Michael could finally see the trunk of the massive oak ahead of him. A half-hour’s march took him right to it, and he could finally see why it seemed so close, yet was so far away.

It was massive. He walked around it, taking almost a half hour to do so. Looking around, Michael tried to find the cave in the oppressive gloom. He decided to search to the west, as he could still barely see the river.

After walking for nearly an hour, seeing no sign of any sort of cave, he turned back, and followed the faint sound of the river in the distance. Nearing the tree again, movement and a rustling sound to his right caught his attention.

There, not a hundred feet away, was something tiny. And it appeared to be dragging something much larger behind it.

Michael approached cautiously. He had heard tales of creatures luring unsuspecting people in with a decoy, only to strike from the shadows. Though small, this creature may harbor a nasty venom.

As Michael approached, the movement became more and more frantic, as if trying to run from him. Still unable to make out the creature in the gloom, he pressed forward until it happened to cross a stray beam of sunlight.

There, before his very eyes, was a dragon. A tiny one, no doubt, but there was no mistaking it for anything else. It was dingy brown, had a pair of leathery wings, an elongated snout, and was dragging behind it a very old, very tarnished copper piece.

Michael surged forward and snatched the beast up, intending to kill it with a single squeeze of his mailed hand.

As he grabbed it, the beast shrieked in pain, giving Michael pause. He opened his hand to find the dragon curled up around its tiny hoard, a single claw bent at an obviously unnatural angle. It glared at Michael and gave a tiny roar, spraying a burst of flame in his direction. It guttered out mere inches away from the dragon’s maw, and Michael walked to the river, his quarry in hand.

The tiny dragon limped around Michael’s palm, circling its copper piece, eyeing him warily. Michael sat down by the bank of the river in the sunlight, and looked at his prize.

“Killing you seems like it would be such a waste. I wonder why Giselle sent me to find you? Do you know, tiny dragon?” he asked the creature.

It looked at him curiously, and stood on top of its copper, roaring defiance in its tiny voice. Michael chuckled at the display of ferocity.

“So tenacious! I shall call you Devon. Devon the Tenacious Dragon. I believe I shall take you with me. Would you like that? Would you like to see the wider world, Devon?” He asked softly.

The tiny dragon cocked its head to the side and lay down in Michael’s palm.

“I shall take that as a yes. I will get you something to eat, Devon,” the knight said, removing his helmet and depositing the little beast inside.

Michael looked about, and spied a crayfish crawling across a rock by the river. He snatched it up, and removed its claws. No sense in possibly harming Devon any further.

Upon his return, Michael saw that Devon had managed to crawl out of the helmet and was a good ten feet away, still dragging his precious coin. Michael gently scooped him up, and presented him with one of the claws. Devon tore into the appendage with gusto, devouring it, shell and all. Handing him the other, Michael retrieved his helmet, and placed Devon inside while he ate.

He’d walked for almost a mile when he heard a soft chirping sound. Looking down, he saw the tiny dragon asleep, curled up around its little hoard. Michael smiled, and continued his journey home.

For another five days he walked, training Devon to ride upon his shoulder, getting the tiny beast to trust him. When he hunted, he placed his helm upside down over the tiny dragon, giving him shelter from anything that may attempt to accost him. He shared his spoils with the beast, giving him first bite, and cooking the rest. In this way, they bonded quickly.

As Michael returned to the castle town, he stopped by the small cottage once again.

Knocking at the door once more, he called out for his former caregiver. “Madam Giselle? It is Michael. I have returned with wealth,” he said triumphantly.

Once again, the door opened a crack, revealing the wrinkled face of Giselle. “Have you now, boy? Let us see it,” she said.

“May I enter?” The door widened, allowing him entry.

“You’ve been gone two weeks, Michael. I would hear of your journey and see this wealth you have for an old woman,” his former keeper said, as she sat down at her table, where two steaming mugs of tea were waiting for the two of them.

Michael took a seat, and recounted his tale, leading up to his first sighting of Devon. “...and then I saw it, Giselle. The mightiest beast I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

“Oh? I wish I could have seen it,” she said, her expression never changing.

“That’s the best part,” Michael said, a sly grin on his face. “You can.”

“There is no dragon here, boy. Stop telling tales!”

“Devon? You can come out now,” Michael said, never taking his eyes from Giselle’s face.

Devon crawled out of Michael’s pack, and perched on his shoulder, chirping softly. Giselle’s face split in a wide, bright smile.

“So, tell me, Michael. Did you slay the dragon, or did he slay you?”