Dragons Den Quotes

I was born to catch dragons in their dens / And pick flowers / To tell tales and laugh away the morning / To drift and dream like a lazy stream / And walk barefoot across sunshine days.

Never give up on your friends. Never give up your faith in them. It's when everything is worse than you could ever imagine it could be, that you'll need your friends the most.

The oppression we all face is guarded by what we are unwilling to question.

When evening in the Shire was grey his footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

Fearghus entered what he now considered her chamber, but immediately ducked the book flung at his head. Clearly she’d been waiting for him. And she was not happy. “He’s the one supposed to be helping me,” she roared at him. “Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?” “Yes. And I’d throw it again!” Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.” “And I have tits. It means nothing to me!

The heat of the incinerator wrapped around Inej like a living thing, a desert dragon in his den, hiding from the ice, waiting for her. She knew her body’s limits, and she knew she had no more to give. She’d made a bad wager. It was as simple as that. The autumn leaf might cling to its branch, but it was already dead. The only question was when it would fall.

Dragons eventually wake and crawl from their dark dens.

Traveling through the Dragon's Den, it has just been explained that Haroun, the Ifrit, has been caught in a mirror trap. Here is the passage that follows: "So," said Silas. "Now there are only three of us." "And a pig," said Kandar [the mummy] "Why?" Asked Miss Lupescu, with a wolf-tongue, through wolf teeth. "Why the Pig?" "It's lucky," said Kandar. Miss Lupescu growled, unconvinced. "Did Haroun have a pig?" asked Kandar, simply.

Damn it - I’m just going to have a go. No one ever won a game without attacking the goal.” - Anton Slayne

XXIV. And more than that - a furlong on - why, there! What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, Or brake, not wheel - that harrow fit to reel Men's bodies out like silk? With all the air Of Tophet's tool, on earth left unaware Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. XXV. Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh it would seem, and now mere earth Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood - Bog, clay and rubble, sand, and stark black dearth. XXVI. Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, Now patches where some leanness of the soil's Broke into moss, or substances like boils; Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils. XXVII. And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening, naught To point my footstep further! At the thought, A great black bird, Apollyon's bosom friend, Sailed past, not best his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap - perchance the guide I sought. XXVIII. For, looking up, aware I somehow grew, Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place All round to mountains - with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. How thus they had surprised me - solve it, you! How to get from them was no clearer case. XXIX. Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick Of mischief happened to me, God knows when - In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then Progress this way. When, in the very nick Of giving up, one time more, came a click As when a trap shuts - you're inside the den. XXX. Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! those two hills on the right, Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight; While to the left a tall scalped mountain ... Dunce, Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! XXXI. What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool's heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart In the whole world. The tempest's mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on, only when the timbers start. XXXII. Not see? because of night perhaps? - why day Came back again for that! before it left The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay, - Now stab and end the creature - to the heft!' XXXIII. Not hear? When noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears Of all the lost adventurers, my peers - How such a one was strong, and such was bold, And such was fortunate, yet each of old Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. XXXIV. There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture! In a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, And blew. 'Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.

He wanted to start from the top while he knew nothing of the beginning and that was why he was always swimming at the bottom. He liked to think he was an entrepreneur and was even on Dragon’s Den with the silliest invention ever: a machine to scratch his back. Why don’t you just reach out, you lazy twit?

Did you just throw a book at me? In my own den?” “Yes. And I’d throw it again!” Fearghus scratched his head in confusion. He’d never met a human brave enough—or stupid enough, depending on your point of view—to challenge him. “But,” he croaked out, amazed, “I’m a dragon.” “And I have tits. It means nothing to me!

Hush, child,” said Lady Leona. “You heard your lord grandfather. Hush! You know nothing.” “I know about the promise,” insisted the girl. “Maester Theomore, tell them! A thousand years before the Conquest, a promise was made, and oaths were sworn in the Wolf’s Den before the old gods and the new. When we were sore beset and friendless, hounded from our homes and in peril of our lives, the wolves took us in and nourished us and protected us against our enemies. The city is built upon the land they gave us. In return we swore that we should always be their men. Stark men!

Once upon a time, there was a princess. All of her life the king and queen told her that princesses behaved like ladies, wore beautiful dresses, trained in proper manners and elegance, and were to always wait for a handsome prince to come and save them if ever needed. Princes behaved like gentlemen, wore the finest suites, trained in swordsmanship and sailing, and were always ready to save a princess. This was the perfect formula for a "happily ever after", or at least that's what her parents always told her. What if they were wrong? Could her "happily ever after" look different? One day, this particular human found herself to be in a bit of a pickle. She somehow ended up in the den of a vicious, multi-headed, fire-breathing dragon. She was not about to wait around for a prince to save her, partly because she didn't have time, and partly because she didn't need a prince. She had no sword, no shield, and no idea what to do. (...) She behaved with nobility, wore the most impenetrable armor, wielded her weapon with stength, trained her brain and her body, and never ever waited to be saved. She could slay dragons and fo to afternoon tea with the queen in the same day. She could marry a princess. She was herself, and she lived happily ever after.

His booted feet pounded out an insane, frantic rhythm underneath him as he raced into the cavern across from Baba Yaga’s den at a dead sprint. Pieces of dragon dung flew off him and hit the ground behind him in miniature chunks. He didn’t dare look behind him to see if the dragon had risen from the ground yet, but the deafening hiss that assaulted his ears meant she’d woken up. Icy claws of fear squeezed his heart with every breath as he ran, relying on the night vision goggles, the glimpse he’d gotten of the map, and his own instincts to figure out where to go. Jack raced around one corner too sharply and slipped on a piece of dung, crashing hard on his right side. He gasped as it knocked the wind out of him and gritted his teeth, his mind screaming at him to get up and run, run, run. He pushed onto his knees, nursing what felt like bruised ribs and a sprained wrist, and then paled as an unmistakable sensation traveled up the arm he’d used to push himself up. Impact tremors. Boom. Boom. Boom, boom, boom. Baba Yaga was coming. Baba Yaga was hunting him. Jack forced himself up onto his feet again, stumbling backwards and fumbling for the tracker. He got it switched on to see an ominous blob approaching from the right. He’d gotten a good lead on her—maybe a few hundred yards—but he had no way of knowing if he’d eventually run into a dead end. He couldn’t hide down here forever. He needed to get topside to join the others so they could take her down. Jack blocked out the rising crescendo of Baba Yaga’s hissing and pictured the map again. A mile up to the right had a man-made exit that spilled back up to the forest. The only problem was that it was a long passage. If Baba Yaga followed, there was a good chance she could catch up and roast him like a marshmallow. He could try to lose her in the twists and turns of the cave system, but there was a good chance he’d get lost, and Baba Yaga’s superior senses meant it would only be a matter of time before she found him. It came back to the most basic survival tactics: run or hide. Jack switched off the tracker and stuck it in his pocket, his voice ragged and shaking, but solid. “You aren’t about to die in this forest, Jackson. Move your ass.” He barreled forward into the passageway to the right in the wake of Baba Yaga’s ominous, bubbling warning, barely suppressing a groan as a spike of pain lanced through his chest from his bruised ribs. The adrenaline would only hold for so long. He could make it about halfway there before it ran out. Cold sweat plastered the mask to his face and ran down into his eyes. The tunnel stretched onward forever before him. No sunlight in sight. Had he been wrong? Jack ripped off the hood and cold air slapped his face, making his eyes water. He held his hands out to make sure he wouldn’t bounce off one of the cavern walls and squinted up ahead as he turned the corner into the straightaway. There, faintly, he could see the pale glow of the exit. Gasping for air, he collapsed against one wall and tried to catch his breath before the final marathon. He had to have put some amount of distance between himself and the dragon by now. “Who knows?” Jack panted. “Maybe she got annoyed and turned around.” An earth-shattering roar rocked the very walls of the cavern. Jack paled. Boom, boom, boom, boom! Boom, boom, boom, boomboomboomboom— Mother of God. The dragon had broken into a run. Jack shoved himself away from the wall, lowered his head, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

When evening in the Shire was grey his footsteps on the hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger; quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

You Westerners, he continued, 'you come here and tell us about Jesus. You can stay for a year or two, and your conscience will feel good, and then you can go away. Your Jesus will call you to other work back home. It's true some of you can raise a lot of money on behalf of us underprivileged people. But you'll still be living in your nice houses with your refrigerators and servants and we'll still be living here. What you are doing really has nothing to do with us. You'll go home anyhow, sooner or later.' This kind of conversation took place many times; it was an indictment of those evangelists who flew into Hong Kong, sang sweet songs about the love of Jesus on stage and on Hong Kong television, then jumped back into their planes and flew away again. 'Fine', said Ah Ping to me savagely one day, 'fine for them, fine for us too, we wouldn't mind believing in Jesus too if we could get into a plane and fly away round the world like them. They can sing about love very nicely, but what do they know about us? They don't touch us - they know nothing.

Den du är, är motbjudande. Din personlighet, det du har gjort, din äckliga magi och dina lögner. Ditt utseende är ett falskt skal för att dölja ditt inre.” ”Stundtals är det allt som krävs.” ”För vadå?” ”Att locka solalver som du in i döden.

Our summer missionaries did not stay to see this though we hoped they might yearn for it somehow. Stay for the party. The fleeting volunteer sometimes catches a course- sweet and sour - but no one savours the whole menu like me. 'Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink,' said the master of tbe banquet when he called the bridegroom aside, 'but you have saved the best til now.

The disadvantage of short term is a wrong perspective based on this generation's need for instant results.

All the unreasonable benefits for me came after nearly twenty years.

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Send a hero into a dragon’s den, and his task is clear. It is a hero of another order who can summon up the courage to lower himself into a well of which we have no knowledge.

But what they are really, really hoping to find is a storyteller. They are the sprinkle of magic.

Laurana looked blankly at the others. They avoided her eyes. Then Theros came up to her. “I’ve lived in this world nearly fifty years, young woman,” he said gently. “Not long to you elves, I know. But we humans live those years, we don’t just let them drift by. And I’ll tell you this—that girl loves your brother as truly as I’ve ever seen woman love man. And he loves her. Such love cannot come to evil. For the sake of their love alone, I’d follow them into a dragon’s den.

Disse fossilene tilhørte en primitiv versjon av fønix, en fugl som bruker et høyeffektivt ildbad for å kvitte seg med parasitter, og den er faktisk det manglende ledd mellom reptiler og draker.(...)Ildbadet fornyer fjærdrakten så grundig at folk trodde den "døde" og ble "født på ny".

anything at all on the kid we found out on the dock Sunday?” “Not much. I asked down at the youth center, and a couple guys admitted to knowing him. He hung out at the Dragon’s Den a lot. My take is that he was bringing in ecstasy and selling it to the kids during the weekend dances.” “I thought the Dragon’s Den was a no-drug/no-alcohol zone.” Callen wasn’t a big fan of places like that. They had to be well supervised with strict rules in order to work. Even then, kids seemed

If they could not understand the words about Jesus then we Christians should show them what He was like by the way we lived. I remembered He had said, 'If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.' So this was the beginning of what I called 'walking the extra mile'. There seemed to be a lot of Christians who did not mind walking one, not many who could be bothered to walk two, and no one who wanted to walk three. Those in need that I met seemed to need a marathon.

can’t love someone you don’t even know, Ezra. I’m a stranger to you,” I choked, suppressing the inappropriate laughter that bubbled in my throat. “You are our mate,” Ezra insisted stubbornly, straightening and putting some space between us. “You could never be a stranger to us. Of course, we love you.” “You love the idea of me,” I corrected, standing slowly on the other side of my chair so we weren’t so close together, and looking up at the ceiling to get my chaotic thoughts under control. “You love the idea of a mate. A gold to cook your meals and clean your den and bear your children. I could be anyone and it wouldn't matter to you.

You can’t love someone you don’t even know, Ezra. I’m a stranger to you,” I choked, suppressing the inappropriate laughter that bubbled in my throat. “You are our mate,” Ezra insisted stubbornly, straightening and putting some space between us. “You could never be a stranger to us. Of course, we love you.” “You love the idea of me,” I corrected, standing slowly on the other side of my chair so we weren’t so close together, and looking up at the ceiling to get my chaotic thoughts under control. “You love the idea of a mate. A gold to cook your meals and clean your den and bear your children. I could be anyone and it wouldn't matter to you.

Erniedrigte Frauen funktionierten wie die Monsterkurve. Man knickte sie, knickte sie wieder, und sofort vervielfacht sich ihre Monstrosität, raumfüllend, selbstausweichend. Verlassene Frauen nahmen monströse Züge an. Verstoßene Frauen wurden zu Furien, zu Drachen, ein quasi natürlicher Prozess, der allerdings beinhaltete, dass diese Frauen auch schon zuvor als Drache respektive als Furie galten. Jeder wusste, dass es solchen Frauen nur recht geschah, man wunderte sich meist, dass es nicht früher dazu gekommen war, dass der Mann es überhaupt so lange ausgehalten hatte, kein Wunder, dass er nur noch wegwollte, volles Verständnis, zum Glück keine Kinder. Spürte sie denn etwas, das Wachsen von Hauern, von Hörnern, den triefenden Geifer, das schlangengleich kriechende, kringelnde Haar?

When evening in the Shire was grey his [Gandalf] footsteps on the Hill were heard; before the dawn he went away on journey long without a word. From Wilderland to Western shore, from northern waste to southern hill, through dragon-lair and hidden door and darkling woods he walked at will. With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men, with mortal and immortal folk, with bird on bough and beast in den, in their own secret tongues he spoke. A deadly sword, a healing hand, a back that bent beneath its load; a trumpet-voice, a burning brand, a weary pilgrim on the road. A lord of wisdom throned he sat, swift in anger, quick to laugh; an old man in a battered hat who leaned upon a thorny staff. He stood upon the bridge alone and Fire and Shadow both defied; his staff was broken on the stone, in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.

Look. Take a good long look and remember the lives lost. Real people that someone loved. Before you go about the task I have given you, see the devastation and remember what they did. What could happen again. Know what is at stake. Dragons eventually wake and crawl from their dark dens.

I could handle this. If it went bad, I'd just shift and destroy the den on my way out.

The next few years passed in an exhausting blur. Six-Claws was one of the dragons who chased down the scavengers that had escaped with the queen’s tail barb and the stolen treasure; he was there when Burn set their dens on fire and burned all the scavengers’ homes to the ground. He helped to hunt through the ashes and then, when they found no treasure, flew back to the palace behind Burn, only to discover that the SandWing treasury had been completely emptied. Four rooms full of gems and gold — all of it gone, vanished into thin air, presumably stolen by the scavengers, although no one could figure out how or where they’d put it.

Say the very simplest and most obvious things, say them as often as possible, and put into the saying all the screaming passion which one human voice can carry—that was Adolf Hitler’s technique. He had been applying it for thirteen years, ever since the accursed treaty had been signed, and now he was at the climax of his efforts. He and his lieutenants were holding hundreds of meetings every night, all over Germany, and it was like one meeting; the same speech, whether it was a newspaper print or cartoon or signboard or phonograph record. No matter whether it was true or not—for Adi meant literally his maxim that the bigger the falsehood, the easier to get it believed; people would say you wouldn’t dare make up a thing like that. Imagine the worst possible about your enemies and then swear that you knew it, you had seen it, it was God’s truth and you were ready to stake your life upon it—shout this, bellow this, over and over, day after day, night after night. If one person states it, it is nonsense, but if ten thousand join in it becomes an indictment, and when ten million join in it becomes history. The Jews kill Christian children and use their blood as a part of their religious ritual! You refuse to believe it? But it is a well-known fact; it is called “ritual murder.” The Jews are in a conspiracy to destroy Christian civilization and rule the whole world. It has all been completely exposed in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion; the party has printed these, the Führer has guaranteed their authenticity, the great American millionaire Henry Ford has circulated them all over America. Everybody there knows that the charges are true, the whole world knows it—save only the Jew-lovers, the Jew-kissers, the filthy Jew-hirelings. Nieder mit den Juden!

Over and above the sounds of metal twisting and straining, and porcelain shattering, she heard the deep rumble from the shadows of her great-grandfather’s spirit protesting.

For the moment, Wilhelmina enjoyed the feel of the wet sand on her skin.

She liked to lie there and look at the line of coconut palms fringing the beach. Their trunks curved and reached out towards her as if they were offering her their coconuts. She’d heard coconut milk was delicious. It would certainly make a change of diet, but probably wouldn't be good for a whale.

Wilhelmina admired people for trying to save beached whales. After all, humans were so little, and her species was so big.

Now he cried out, a high whine like an animal caught in a trap.

The butterfly fluttered her wings and did more twirls before she flew to Wilhelmina and sat on her head.

Betty flew back to Tilly’s nose and did six pirouettes before she stopped. Tilly’s nose twitched and twitched. “That tickles, Betty. I’m going to ...ahh ... ahh … sneeze...” She did, with a roar, hurtling Betty into the air.

They all looked at the brown owl as she flew out of the trees and landed on Daisy’s back.

Lulu peered around the corner of the parlor in her mistress’ home, reluctant to enter. Being a two-foot-tall, multi-colored dragon who could no longer fly, Lulu’s main job in the elegant house was to light the fires in the hearths.

We all have a part in a larger play. The decisions you make today will ripple through the lives of more people than you will ever meet.

Wilhelmina lived with her friends on a small island in the Pacific Ocean with a tall mountain in the centre surrounded by forest.

You do realise,” Daisy said, leaning down and snorting in Wilhelmina’s face, “that I lost my firebreathing-awesomeness because you beach yourself all the time. Mouthfuls of saltwater destroys my fire.” “I didn’t tell you to bite my tail to pull me off the beach,” Wilhelmina said indignantly. “You frightened me. I can’t help it if you gulped in a mouthful of water.” A tiny spout of water rose from her blowhole.

Riz cooed with delight as the perfumed oils developed a mirror sheen, bringing to the fore her perfect colouring, symmetrical patterns of peacock blue and rose scales covering a skin of deep shining gold. Her talons were painted a complimentary gold, sparkling in the dying light.

Powerless to prevent the transformation once it had started, she could only stare in horror as the bars bent and twisted while the dragon grew.

Could she lock the dragon inside the room? Could she break the dragon’s hold on her? She thought of her great-grandfather as she stepped backwards. One step more. Then another, her great-grandfather projecting strength towards her, until she had moved back far enough to push the thick muniment room door closed.

Edith had boiled the kettle and was pouring cups of tea into fine Wedgewood porcelain.

Chr.: Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the King’s High-way, the way of Holiness, therefore take heed to yourself. Apol.: Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this matter, prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal Den, that thou shalt go no further; here will I spill thy soul. And with that he threw a flaming Dart at his breast, but Christian had a Shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and so prevented the danger of that. Christian wounded in his understanding, faith, and conversation Then did Christian draw, for he saw ’twas time to bestir him: and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing Darts as thick as Hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and foot: This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon therefore followed his work amain, and Christian again took courage, and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore Combat lasted for above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must needs grow weaker and weaker. Apollyon casteth down to the ground Christian Christian’s victory over Apollyon Then Apollyon espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and with that Christian’s Sword flew out of his hand. Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now: and with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of life: but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man, Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his Sword, and caught it, saying, Rejoice not against me, O mine Enemy! when I fall I shall arise; and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound: Christian, perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these things we are more than Conquerors through him that loved us. And with that Apollyon spread forth his Dragon’s wings, and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him no more.

No matter whether it was true or not—for Adi meant literally his maxim that the bigger the falsehood, the easier to get it believed; people would say you wouldn’t dare make up a thing like that. Imagine the worst possible about your enemies and then swear that you knew it, you had seen it, it was God’s truth and you were ready to stake your life upon it—shout this, bellow this, over and over, day after day, night after night. If one person states it, it is nonsense, but if ten thousand join in it becomes an indictment, and when ten million join in it becomes history. The Jews kill Christian children and use their blood as a part of their religious ritual! You refuse to believe it? But it is a well-known fact; it is called “ritual murder.” The Jews are in a conspiracy to destroy Christian civilization and rule the whole world. It has all been completely exposed in the Protocols of the Elders of Zion; the party has printed these, the Führer has guaranteed their authenticity, the great American millionaire Henry Ford has circulated them all over America. Everybody there knows that the charges are true, the whole world knows it—save only the Jew-lovers, the Jew-kissers, the filthy Jew-hirelings. Nieder mit den Juden!

Denn in den Menschen wohnt, verborgen in der Tiefe, die Überzeugung, alles Böse wäre hässlich und alles Gute schön, und es wird wohl nie jemand herausfinden, warum es so ist.

It rained rose petals.

The dragon statue shivered and shook. Its brass scales stretched and separated. The clawed hand holding the pearl quivered and quavered until its leg extended and, still holding the pearl in its claw, plunged it through the iron bars.

The dragon gleamed golden, as scale folded over scale. Even the pearl glinted gold. No matter the contortions that twisted the dragon in its metamorphosis from small statue to fierce creature, it had kept a fast grip on the pearl that bestowed wealth, good luck and prosperity. The pearl bestowed on the dragon the power to ascend to heaven.

Golden eyes homed in on Alexandra. She felt their hypnotic strength as they held her captive in the open doorway.

Sighing with sweet regret, she opened her wings wide and sought her thermal. She spiralled upwards, lazy curls on a sunset beam. At her peak, she folded in on herself, her scales glinting purple and gold. Lifting her face towards the dying sun, she called out her song, a clear trill of golden notes, bugling her joy at being alive, free, flying, young.

Livery and blankets were cleaned, perfumed, aired, brushed, shaken and draped. Sugar, honey, almonds, fruits and sweetened bread were pounded, mixed, shaped, baked, and sliced.

Value differs in people’s opinions,” Alexandra pointed out.

Alexandra’s thought swirled like butterflies in her head.

Her beautiful iridescent blue wings shimmered as she twirled. She giggled, and then flew over to land on Daisy's nose.

Olivia said. “Complaining won’t help. Life is too short to complain about things.

Step by hesitant step, Alexandra walked down the corridor until she stood outside the muniment door.

As a child, she had hated the room. Back then, Alexandra had known for a fact that ghostly, spectral monsters lurked in the corners ready to pounce on unsuspecting children. It took many years before she would enter the room again. Even the name …muniment room … held ethereal and haunted overtones.

She lit a hurricane lamp on the corridor table and carried it with her. The shadows and ghostly forms embraced her. Her great-grandfather’s shade rustled like the wings of a Victoria Rifle bird. It didn’t frighten her. The sound of satin petticoats swishing could hardly be threatening.

As Alexandra walked around the large room, her lamp peeled back the darkness, with golden pools of light bathing Ming vases and jade ornaments, Chippendale chairs and Tang Dynasty urns, all standing intact on shelves or on the floor.

With a trembling hand, Alexandra placed the key into the lock and opened the barred gate.

By the time she walked with a heavy step up the grand staircase, the first streaks of light teased at the glass panels of the door at the end of the gallery.

A flood of moonlight washed over her. In her mind’s eye, she could see the dragon soaring into the sky, its leg extended as it carried its golden pearl high.

I think it’s time for me to go back in the ocean,” Wilhelmina said.

I need to stretch my wings,” Daisy said.

I need to find a tree to sharpen my claws,” Tilly growled.

I need to keep dancing,” Betty muttered and giggled.

A full moon shone high in the sky. Its silvery beams painted the water in luminescent beauty. They all turned their heads when Ursa stepped onto the beach. She walked over to them and said hello. They didn't see her every night, only when the moon was full.

The grandfather clock in the main hall ticked the seconds away.

She felt herself trembling, but weakness wouldn’t do here and now.

We live on the very border of evil, Torin thought, a sheep grazing just outside the wolf’s den.

I still don’t understand why the Empyrean would ever agree to let dragons bond human riders, knowing they’d have to guard their own young not only against gryphon fliers but the very humans they’re supposed to trust.” “It’s a delicate balance,” Tairn replies, banking left to follow the geography. “The First Six riders were desperate to save their people when they approached the dens over six hundred years ago. Those dragons formed the first Empyrean and bonded humans only to protect their hatching grounds from venin, who were the bigger threat. We don’t exactly have opposable thumbs for weaving wards or runes. Neither species has ever been entirely truthful, both using the other for their own reasons and nothing more.” “It never occurred to me to hide anything from you.

Wait a second. Is she yours?” I ask Tairn. “I swear to the gods, if she’s another secret you kept from me, I’ll—” “I told you last year, she is not our progeny,” Tairn answers, drawing up his head as if offended. “Black dragons are rare but not unheard of.” “And I happened to bond to two of them?” I counter, outright glaring at him. “Technically, she was gold when you bonded her. Not even she knew what color her scales would mature to. Only the eldest of our dens can sense a hatchling’s pigment. In fact, two more black dragons have hatched in the last year, according to Codagh.” “Not helping.” I let Andarna’s steady breathing assure me that she really is fine. Giant but…fine. I can still see her features—her slightly more rounded snout, the spiral twist carved into her curled horns, even the way she tucks her wings in while sleeping is all…her, only bigger. “If there’s a morningstartail on her—” “Tails are a matter of choice and need.” He huffs indignantly. “Don’t they teach you anything?

Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service—” “General Melgren’s,” Sawyer says. His book is closed in front of him, but I can’t blame him. I’d hardly be taking notes, either, if this was the second time I’d gone through this class. “Codagh, right?” “Yes.” Professor Kaori nods. “The eldest of their den and a swordtail.