Crispin lay there feeling the weight of expectation of his reaction and he lay there staring at the wee creature called Hermonia by Flavia. Hermonia was unaware of the tension crackling on the air and walked over the Crispin and sat herself down next to him and reached out her hand to stroke his head.
“No Hermonia,” began Flavia just as the surrounding flower fairies began their mad dash off of and away from Crispin. Several tried to knock Hermonia’s hand away from Crispin’s head but to no avail.
Crispin watched in slow motion the flurry of activity that surrounded him. The outstretched hand, the scrambling fairies, the grass weaving in the breeze, and fluttering of his own fur. Crispin made a split second impulsive decision and decided to do nothing.
Hermonia’s hand reached his head and he felt the soft subtle stroking and he found he liked the experience. The fairies all stared in amazement. Their wings growing still as they came to rest next to Flavia. Crispin saw the fairies all staring at him, safely out of immediate reach should his temper catch fire as expected.
Hermonia sat down next to Crispin and continued to stroke his head. She was singing to Crispin, her voice barely more than a whisper on the wind.
Dragon and fairies playing in the grass
Flowers smiling and bees bumbling
Fairies all humming while the dragon purrs
Crispin realized that she was making it up as events took place rather than a bedtime lullaby song to her at night. And then, her last words shocked Crispin into action. “He was purring? Surely not, what was purring anyway?’
Flavia felt the presence of the other fairies pressing into her as they strained to hear the words of the tune being sung to Crispin. She was as perplexed and fascinated as the other fairies. Her eyes couldn’t look away from the scene playing out in front of her. Crispin was letting Hermonia stroke him and he was actually purring, like other cats in the village did when they were content and happy.
Crispin, never one to do as expected, roused himself from the delightful experience and bounded to his feet. He startled Hermonia, but she never stopped petting. Crispin, being far more powerful than he looked, knocked her to a sitting position. She was laughing now and still petting him. He liked it, in fact he found himself pushing his head into her hand when she momentarily stopped the petting motion.
“My name is Crispin and why are you doing that?” His voice was deep and rumbly but it didn’t seem to startle her.
“My name is Hermonia and I think you are soft.” Came her reply, still stroking his head but now her hand was venturing down his back as well.
“I am a fearsome dragon,” loud purring accompanied this statement and one the fairies laughed out loud.
All of the heads swung around to stare at the offending fairy, Arsenic. He had an unfortunate nickname but it suited his personality. He hated flowers and every flower he groomed died. He was bitter and difficult to get along with. He had never laughed before that any fairy could remember. Yet here he was laughing at Crispin’s pronouncement.
And then the unimaginable occurred, Arsenic spoke directly to Crispin. “You sir, are most definitely not a fearsome dragon. I know all about you and your secret life. I know all the secrets you hide between the covers of midnight and dawn.”
Crispin’s head swiveled and he glared at Arsenic. “You don’t know what you are talking about.” He growled and tossed Hermonia’s hand from his head. He began to stalk toward Arsenic, who did the completely unexpected and stepped toward the advancing dragon like the knights in bedtime stories do to protect their beloved princess.
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