In a land where volcanoes rumbled and smoke curled towards the twilight sky, lived Flicker, a young dragon with shimmering emerald scales. Unlike other dragons who hoarded gold and roasted knights for breakfast, Flicker was a bit of a softie. He preferred tending his garden of fire-resistant flowers to scorching villages.
One day, a frantic screech echoed through the valley. It was Flicker’s grandmother, Esmeralda, a retired dragon with a booming voice and a heart full of warmth. “Flicker, darling,” she wheezed, smoke puffing from her nostrils, “I’ve twisted my ankle while collecting moonstones for my night potion!”
Moonstones, found only on the peak of Mount Scorch, were essential for Esmeralda’s potion, which kept her fire under control (dragons, it turned out, had trouble regulating their internal thermostats). But Mount Scorch, with its rivers of molten lava and grumpy griffins guarding its peak, was no place for a grandmother with a sprained ankle.
Flicker, ever the dutiful grandson, puffed out his chest (not enough to breathe fire, of course, just a show of determination). “Don’t worry, Grandma Esmeralda,” he declared, “I’ll get you those moonstones!”
The journey was treacherous. Flicker dodged fiery geysers, hopped over bubbling mud pits, and even outsmarted a grumpy griffin with a well-timed sneeze (dragons could sneeze smoke, a surprisingly effective deterrent). Finally, he reached the peak, the moonstones shimmering like fallen stars on the volcanic rock.
As Flicker reached for a moonstone, a voice boomed, “Halt! Those moonstones belong to me, Scorch the Magnificent!”
It was Scorch, a grumpy old dragon with a fiery mane and a permanent scowl. He grumbled about moonstones being the source of his impressive fire breath and chased Flicker around the mountaintop.
Flicker, not being much of a fighter, came up with a plan. He remembered his grandmother’s stories about the soothing properties of his fire-resistant flowers. Taking a deep breath, he blew a gentle puff of flower-scented smoke towards Scorch. The grumpy dragon, surprised by the pleasant aroma, stopped in his tracks.
“What in the fiery pits is that smell?” he grumbled, sniffing the air.
Flicker explained about his grandmother, the moonstones, and the calming flowers. Scorch, touched by Flicker’s story and the soothing scent, let out a sigh. “Very well, young one,” he rumbled, “take what you need. But tell your grandmother Scorch the Magnificent wishes her a speedy recovery.”
Flicker, relieved and grateful, returned to Esmeralda with the moonstones. Using the calming potion, she was back on her fiery feet in no time, regaling Flicker with tales of her own daring escapades in her younger days.
From that day on, Flicker wasn’t just the dragon who loved flowers, but the dragon who outsmarted a grumpy fire breather with a gentle puff of smoke. He learned that bravery didn’t always mean fire and fury, sometimes it meant using your wits and a little bit of kindness, even in the face of a grumpy dragon with a bad case of the Mondays.
