“Oh, noooo,” she moaned. “It’s you.”

“My,” said Sir Ronald, “what a lovel- no! How could this have happened? Injustice!”

“What is it?” Cindy couldn’t help asking, and instantly regretted it.

But Sir Ronald ignored her and focused instead on a rip in his brilliantly, almost blindingly ivory tabard.

“Must have gotten torn when that blighter tossed me in the air. He really should look at those nails.”

“Talons. Talons, not nails.”

“Oh,” he replied, “are you still here?”

“Of course I’m still- I live here!”

“What? Inside a dragon?”

“Yes. I’m taking care of him. But it’s much duller than I would have thought.” She added under her breath, “And it just got duller.”

“Never fear, maiden! For I am-”

“Sir Ronald d’Ivoire.”

“You’ve heard of me! But how did you know?”

She sighed, “You’re the only man thick enough to wear that into a battle or joust, which is why they call you the Knight In White Satin.”

“I am stout!” he beamed, thrusting his chest out.

“Not what I meant.”