Skippy was a dragon. When people hear that Skippy was a dragon, they think of those majestic creatures, clad in glittering hardened scales, hoarding treasures, masters of the sky, able to spout fire from their throats, eaters of virgins, destroyers of countries. Skippy was all that, except for the last two. He had no interest in eating people or destroying more than a few clay vases here and there. And he hadn't started on his treasure hoard. He needed a lair for that and he was traveling with his young master.

However, when people saw Skippy, they stopped thinking of those majestic creatures at once. After all, Skippy had only a bit more than a meter from the tip of the snout to the tip of the tail. His body was the size of a housecat.

It was one thing Skippy disliked in people, judging him by his size. Another was treating him like a pet. He was no pet, for crying out loud. He was the familiar of the most powerful magician of this land, the scion of the Godslayer. Of course, only gods stood above dragons in this world. Who else would be worthy of his services than one who can kill gods?

It was only logical. That the lesser sentient beings failed to perceive this was mind-boggling for Skippy.

His master was currently at the royal hospital. Badly hurt for trying to save a princess. They didn't let Skippy visit him and it annoyed him greatly. A familiar's place was right beside his master. What fault he had that the nurses and priests were so scared of his majesty? Weren't that place the royal hospital for crying out loud?

Aidan also stopped supplying Skippy with mana, and he was hungry. Usually, he could survive on Aidan's mana, rich and thick mana that tasted like magma, ash, and caverns. Right up Skippy's alley. It also tasted of death, undeath, and souls, but the pros vastly outweighed the cons.

Decided to find himself a meal, Skippy took wing and leaped on the air. The moment he went past an alley and over a busy, large street some people screamed.

"Dragon! Run for your lives!"

Stupid four-limbed people. He was a common sight for months already, and there was always someone that would be scared of him. Why these creatures had to move around so much? If he were in his cavern, every critter around his place would know him by this time.

"Relax, that is just the familiar of some Academy mage apprentice. He is harmless."

Harmless. Harmless? HARMLESS???? Skippy roared.

"Oh, that is a cute critter. Watch him growl, how adorable." Some woman on a balcony talked to another across an alley.

Was it Skippy's fault that his roar was a bit higher in pitch than other dragons? By merely three or four octaves? He could understand why his bigger brethren destroyed countries. Such pits of annoyance.

Skippy focused on his scales and they shifted colors to the blue of the sky. Better to fly around without being seen too much.

Food, food, food. Skippy's stomach quickly overtook his annoyance at the disrespect from the people. He could even try eating a virgin girl, but that was for barbaric dragons and would land his master in trouble. But quickly he found an answer. On top of a three-story stone building, there was a cage full of delectable birds. White, gray with green collars, strutting and cooing.

He landed near the cage and looked at the birds with hungry eyes. The birds at least knew how to recognize an apex predator. They fled to the other side of the cage, tweeting in distress. Some even tried to fly past the wire mesh containing the cage.

"Screech! (Silence!)" Skippy shouted. The birds were deeply affected by his draconic fear aura and quieted down. He looked around and found a door leading to the inside of the cage. There was just a simple latch, whoever trapped these birds there obviously cared little for their safety. He undid the latch when someone shouted from behind him.

"Stop, thief!"

Skippy turned his neck around and looked at the newcomer. A man with a knife in his hand, dressed in scribe's clothing. Ink stains both new and old could be seen in his clothes. But who is a thief? Not Skippy. Birds lived and died in the wild. The real villain is the person that trapped these birds there. They barely had any room to fly.

Skippy would facepalm if he had palms. Of course, those landlocked four-limbed creatures could not understand how important was to have room to fly. They don't have wings. But it was not a universal misconception. Some very erudite and learned people like his master Aidan understood that. Aidan always lets Skippy fly to his heart content. If those were Aidan's birds, they would be soaring far and wide, relishing in their freedom.

Poor birds. Better open the door and put them out of their misery.

"Stop, you won't eat my pigeons!"

 Skippy tilted his head and looked straight at the man's eyes. There was no lock in this, you should put one if you don't want the birds to open the latch. These should be really lazy birds to just stay there caged.

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"Kreeek! (I'm hungry!)" He cried at the man.

"I'm gonna gut you, lizard!" The man advanced with the knife ready to stab Skippy. Yeah, four-limbed creatures were mostly as stupid as birds.

Skippy clenched his throat and in a fast motion spat a small ball of fire. Just a tiny mote of Dragonfire. It landed in front of the man and burned the stone floor. The man stopped at once. He stared at the burning stone and the fire that refused to understand that stone did not burn.

Foolish human. Dragonfire burns anything. Skippy smiled.

"Dragon?" The man mused. Skippy nodded. "Are you a real dragon?"

Skippy opened his mouth to show his fangs. He flapped his wings without letting go of the cage. Slapped his tail. Hissed with small tongues of flame at the bottom of his throat. Yes, of course, Skippy was a dragon. The man should have realized that because he stopped threatening and even turned the knife away from Skippy. Good. Smart person.

"Don't eat my pigeons. They are homing pigeons."

Pigeons that can make homes? Those were really useful birds. Instead of nests, these guys made homes! Of course, they would be comfortable in this tiny cage if they lived in tiny homes like those the humans like to put one next to another. Skippy wondered how many birds it took to build the King's castle. That was a big home.

The man sensed Skippy's hesitation and asked. "Are you hungry? Do you want meat? I have some pork downstairs. If you don't eat my birds I'll give it to you."

Skippy's eyes flared. Tribute! Of course. Mighty dragons demanded tribute from the inferior races. Meaning everyone else, except the gods. Skippy nodded at the man.

Bring your pork, scribe. If it is worthy of my draconic stomach, your mason birds will be spared. Skippy told the man with his screeches and grunts.

"I'll go get it now. Don't eat the birds."

The man went downstairs and Skippy took a long look at the birds. These should be magical birds to carry those bricks and stones to make homes. And don't even mention the logs. It was a curious thing, he couldn't feel any magic in the birds. Not a single mote of mana. Also, how do they hold tools? Were they telekinetic birds? Or shapeshifters. Perhaps the people that once worked at Aidan's estate repairing a section of the house Skippy burned, by accident it should be mentioned, were actually birds disguised as people.

How ingenious!

Skippy heard something cracking and looked at the stone floor. It was still burning. Oh, right. He focused and the fire went out. This man was paying tribute, it would not bode well to burn his home down. Aidan was very angry when he did that back then. He hoped the scribe didn't mind the scorched hole.

The man returned, a piece of raw meat in his hand and the other behind his back. A sizeable chunk.

"Here is your pork, dragon. A fair trade, right? Come here and get it."

The man tossed the pork to a side of the roof away from the cage. Skippy was appalled by this man's lack of manners. Is this how you offer tribute to a superior being, scribe? Weren't scribes supposed to be wise above their peers? Aidan wrote a lot and he was very wise. Strange contradictions.

Skippy let go of the cage and walked to the pork meat, wary of the man. Why was he hiding a hand behind his back? Maybe he cut it and was ashamed to show. He better not have contaminated the meat with human blood. He reached the meat and sniffed it. It was not seasoned, not even salt and pepper. Skippy loved his peppers, the hottest the better. But there was something else mixed in here. Something foul.

Skippy tasted the meat with his forked tongue. Rat poison. The scribe betrayed his trust. The meat was poisoned.

"Hah! Gotcha!" The scribe tossed a tiny net at Skippy, trapping him.

Skippy roared in indignation. Treason! He tried to flap his wings but it only got him even more tangled.

A tiny net is a death sentence!

The man approached Skippy with a linen sack and some leather muzzle meant for dogs. Skippy looked at the muzzle and looked at the man. The little dragon's expression shifted.

The scribe locked eyes with Skippy and thought he saw resignation. Of course. The little dragon was caught and now was acting meek for his dear life. It was a meek, passive attitude and it made him bolder. How many gold coins was this beast worth? At least a hundred!

Skippy's mood was somber, not resignation at all. He regretted what was to come. He lowered his snout, pointing it at the stone rooftop and closed his eyes. The little dragon pondered about greed, about trust, about life. A treasure hoard was not the thing for him, he decided. Look what greed had done to this man. He knew tales of mighty dragons the size of mountains that were slain because they were too greedy in their search for treasure. Deep inside, the dragon thanked the scribe for this lesson. Maybe he was indeed wise.

"Mine!" The man tossed the sack over Skippy and grabbed the edges. As he was about to pull...

"BOOSH!"

Skippy released the full might of his Dragonbreath. At the stone floor. The flames spread out in a disk, covering everything five meters around the dragon in a matter of instants.

Dragonfire burns anything.

The fire burned the stone. The fire burned the twine of the net, the hemp of the sack. The leather muzzle. The fire burned the clothes of the scribe and the man inside them. The chunk of poisoned pork. But not Skippy.

Only very stupid monsters of the petrifying or gazing families were vulnerable to their own attacks. A true dragon, like Skippy, could swim in magma. He was immune to fire, even Dragonfire.

The fire burned for a minute, raising a plume of smoke. Skippy willed it and the fire was gone, a scorched ring of destruction and molten stone left in his wake. He flew out of that ring and looked back at the ash statue of the former scribe.

Skippy offered a quick prayer for his soul and thanked the scribe for the valuable lessons. Hear one thing, grasp two, understand three was a hallmark of the wise. In one act the man taught him about trust, greed, and retribution. About his very nature as a dragon, reflected in the eyes of the man. With a nimble jump and glide, he left the destruction behind and reached the cage.

The mason birds were still afraid of Skippy. He roared and some of them fell to the ground, stiff at Skippy's feet. They gave their bodies to him. Skippy thought a little and decided to open the door, letting the birds go. He would devour only the ones that sacrificed themselves as a tribute for the life of their kin. A fair trade.

People below in the streets worried about the fire spreading stopped to gaze at the beautiful scene of a flock of doves taking wing at once and going far away.

And a dragon went back home, satiated with both food and wisdom.