by
Gabriel Archer & Jack Canaan
Smashwords Edition
Copyright©2012 MetaFic, Inc.
All rights reserved.
The crowd of unwashed peasants from the local village is holding its collective breath, and I am grateful, for truly, their breath is fetid. They're anticipating the grand appearance of the hero. No, not like that. Hero. The Hero. The Mr. Perfect. Mr. Flaxen-Hair-Flexing-Muscles. He had gone into the dragon's lair an hour ago and what followed were the echoing sounds of a majestic battle: angry roars; heroic, selfless proclamations; steel clashing against scales. Then those sounds ceased and it has been quiet for the last ten minutes or so. The villagers expect the best; I hope for the worst.