Four years ago, Morgan was found half-dead near the dragon village of Thorsbury Upon Wick.
Morgan cannot remember what happened to her, but the villagers suspect she might be a dragon from their long lost ancestral homeland.
Adopted by the villager...
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M O R G A N
Erik knelt on the floor before me in a pitiful drunken stupor. I should have warned him not to drink Charlie's Dragonbreath Draft Ale. There were good reasons why the Food Standards Agency never allowed him to legally sell it.
I put the jar of coffee back on the shelf and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Come on, get up. You'll die of embarrassment when you recall this in the morning," I said.
"You are my mate; I only wish to please you," he announced a little too loudly for my comfort.
I slapped my hand over his mouth.
"Are you crazy? Someone might hear you!" I said.
"Let them hear. I will not allow anyone to come between us. I want to be your husband, the father of your children; I want to be the one who -"
Erik stopped mid-sentence and pressed a hand against his mouth. His expression suddenly changed. His eyes widened in panic or fear. I recognised that look. It was a look I'd encountered many times as a barmaid.
"Don't you dare vomit in here," I snapped, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him out of the larder.
He stumbled/crawled into the corridor and lunged towards an old plastic container. The noises that followed were what I imagined a dying dinosaur sound.
I rubbed Erik's back gingerly as he barfed and roared into the plastic container. I didn't like seeing him ill, even if it was self-inflicted.
Once everything was brought up, he rocked back on his heels and leaned against me. His head dropped onto my shoulder, and he looked up at me with a sad face.
"You need to go home," I sighed. "And learn to handle your beer."
"He's never been drunk before," a voice came from the side.
I lifted my head and saw Erik's companion, Byron, standing in the doorway. He was slumped against the door frame, holding the fur coat he had claimed to be my mother.
"You need to take him home," I said, rubbing Erik's back.
"I don't think I can carry him all the way back to Glenn's house," Byron said.
"He can't stay here," I sighed.
"Then, I guess he'll have to sleep outside in the car park. He's not going to be walking anywhere in that state," Byron shrugged.
Erik lifted his head from the plastic tub and groaned, "Morgan, the floor feels like it is moving."
