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Sniffing at the strangely pleasant smell of roast meat in the air, despite its actual origin, Gafarro stepped away from the trebuchet and approached the mage.
«How?! What kind of magic did you stuff them with if such a small thing could turn a real dragon into a fugitive? Oranges… who would have guessed…»
Dorrenoi averted his eyes. He looked up at the king with embarrassment and explained:
«You see, Your Majesty, long ago, even before I entered Your Majesty’s service, I had to do all sorts of things to survive, you know, to get food. I was a healer, in general. I lived there, in Ilfania, almost at the border of the Marshlands. Whoever came to me for medical help, yeah. He was young then. A teenager, in fact. Did me no harm, either. I helped him as much as I could, so I know…»
«What do you know? Who did you help? Speak clearly…»
«So, who… the dragon, yes. He can’t stand citrus fruits. He’s been allergic since childhood.»
Thing called spring
Once there was a thing called spring…
Spring is here!