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Duty Calls

Duty Calls
copyright 2017 Taedis
“That was my mother's sword,” Ressadriand looked down at the pitted piece of steel and hilt in her gauntleted hand. “Whoever heard of an acid breathing dragon anyway?”
At least it hadn't been too big, she thought. It barely came up to her chin on its tip toes. Couldn't have been more than six … seven hundred years old. Hardly an ancient Wyrm, but old enough to know better. Dragons didn't have the best record against knights in shining armor. Those numbers got exponentially worse when the knight was a giant.
But right not that shining armor was heavy and hot and that lake looked big enough for Ressadriand to get a good soak. Ressadriand tossed the useless sword aside and started the slow process of removing her heavy plate.
She was enjoying her bath when she caught a flash of movement out of the slim part of her eye. Something smaller than a dragon bobbled along the edge of the beach not quite breaking the surface of the tree line.

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