“So, uhm, if I ate you how would you like it done?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, would you like to be fried, roasted or fricasseed?”

“You don’t just, you know, eat me?”

“Raw? Without marinade? Really! What kind of dragon do you take me for?”

“A dragon, dragon.”

“I’ll have you know young lady I’ve eaten the best, Dukes, Kings, Princesses. I’m not just your regular eat it off the street dragon, no way. I’m a connoisseur.”

“But, marinade? I’d have to stand for hours in a sticky wet pool of wine and herbs?”

“Soy sauce, garlic and ginger.” The dragon licked his lips. “And a few hundred chopped green onions too. They add the flavor you know.”

“Ugh, I hate onions.”

“Then I’d slow cook you over the grill for a couple of hours, make sure you’re nice and crispy on the outside.”

“Ew, that’s icky. I’ve never been crispy—it’s so gauche.”

“So, what would you prefer?”

“I, er, need to think about it. I…I mean it’s really quite a big decision to make.”

“Take your time.” The dragon grinned.