Embellish - Brave Little Tailor Retold

ONE The one thing George loved most in all the world was dragons. At least, he had until a few minutes ago, when the biggest, grumpiest dragon to ever crawl out of a cave had disarmed him and knocked him down with a single swipe of its mighty tail. Now he didn't feel particularly fond of dragons at all. George raised his head slightly, wondering why he wasn't dead like the charred, armoured corpse beside him. Perhaps the dragon's eyesight was so bad that he thought George was already dead. As soon as George moved, though, the dragon would realise its mistake. And rectify it. George suppressed a sigh. He didn't lack for courage – he'd challenged the dragon, after all, and he intended to defeat it. But standing before a dragon while the damn dragon held his sword under one claw would only turn him into a piece of toast before the fire, for in one gout of flame, he would be dead, George had no doubt. Cowardice wasn't his problem. It was common sense, and the ability to see consequences no one else could. The other boys in town would boast of how long other knights had stood while the dragon roasted them with its fiery breath, but George had little admiration for such men. There was honour in defeat if you learned enough from it to ensure victory in the future. What honour was there in taking ten seconds to burn to death before your armour collapsed with your charred bones inside? Even George didn't remember the name of the knight whose body lay beside him. A century from now, no one else would remember him, either. But they would remember the man who slayed the dragon. Even if George wasn't the man to do it today. The dragon headed down the hill toward the river, distracted by something more interesting than the boy whose sword he'd stolen. George recognised opportunity when he saw it. He leaped to his feet, and sprinted toward the city gates. His heart hammered in his chest, but he didn't dare stop to look back. All he could focus on was his booted feet pounding the road ever upwards to the safety of the city walls. Fifty yards more. No, forty. Thirty. Twenty-five. Twenty. Fifteen. Ten. Eight, seven, six... His fleet feet ate up the distance faster than he stuffed down dumplings at the dinner table. Three, two, one... SAFE. Laughter and applause greeted George as he slowed to enter the city gates. "Dragon too big for you, boy?" "No one ever wrote a ballad about a hero running away from a dragon!" "Leave dragonslaying to men who know how to fight, boy. Go home to your father." "The girl put on a better show than he did!" George did his best to ignore the ribbing, but the last comment hit home. In his battle l**t, he'd forgotten about his fairy godmother, Lady Zoraida, who'd graciously agreed to be the maiden bait who tempted the dragon out of its cave. If she'd been injured by the dragon, he'd never forgive himself. "Where's the girl? What happened to her?" George blurted out, finally allowing himself to peer back down the hill to where the dragon's cave lay. "Held up her end of the fight better'n you, boy. Threw some of the dragon's own fire back at him, she did. He didn't like that, neither. He tried to eat her, but she drew a big purple circle in the air and disappeared. Don't know why. She was holding her own against the dread beast, and no mistake. Maybe she didn't want to be a hero. I mean, who ever heard of a maiden who defeated a dragon?" George opened his mouth to say that his saintly namesake had needed the help of a maiden to defeat his dragon, but he closed it again. The city guardsmen didn't want to hear stories about how other dragons had died – they wanted to witness the death of this one, which had terrorised their town for too long. Instead, George said, "If you do, I want to meet her." He'd apologise to Lady Zoraida when he saw her next, George promised himself, though it would probably be a while before he did. She hadn't been happy about helping him with the dragon, and he'd lost the enchanted sword she'd given him, too. He had no luck with women or dragons. Sighing deeply, George trudged home. Seeing as he was still alive and there were a few hours of daylight left, he should help his father in the shop. More monster slaying could wait until the morrow.