Sir Fred finishes yelling out random numbers. The dragon stops doing its calculations. Its quill, a feather from a Roc, is dropped from it scaly claw to the treasure-strewn floor of the cavern. "You've come all this way to the Southern Caves, no doubt to slay me for your King." "Indeed." "Why?" This calm simple question brings Sir Fred up short. The dragon may have a point.
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4/7/2017 2:45:00 PM
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