Page 7 of Training my Human

“Wait, you came out of the rock?”

“Egg,” he corrected. “Which some might mistake for stone. It’s part of our camouflage from predators.”

“Eggs can be cracked. I tried hammering at that rock and it wouldn’t break.”

“Because it’s made to withstand abuse. How else would it survive when our maternal progenitor drops it in a volcano for maturing?” he pointed out.

“Let’s wind up a second. Your mom dropped you in a volcano?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because we need heat to hatch.”

“There’s heat and then there’s magma, which kills everything.”

“Everything but dragons,” was his tart reply.

“Hold on a second, are you claiming the rocks spewed by volcanoes are eggs?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed. “I was the only fledgling in that particular site.”

“Implying there are more eggs in other volcanoes.”

“Not implying. There are. My maternal progenitor likely spawned and spread a couple.”

“How would you know?”

“Because maternal progenitors usually produce clutches of two or more.”

“You know, the proper word for the person who brought you into this world is mother,” I pointed out.

“Mother is a human term,” he said sneeringly. “Dragons don’t require a caretaker.”

“Says the dragon who keeps demanding I feed it.”

“Because that is what a servant does.”

A matter-of-fact statement that had me staring. “Excuse me?”

He spoke slowly as if I were dumb. “Humans have always been the servants of dragons. You feed us. Care for our scales. Tidy the hoard. You know, servant tasks.”

“Sounds more like dragons were human pets,” I muttered.

The way Little Fella puffed his chest in indignation almost made me laugh. “I am not your pet. You belong to me.”

“And if I say no?”

“You can’t.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Listen here, Little Fella —”

“That is not my name.”

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