"What are you planning on doing after you get home?" Ron asked between breaths.

"Probably take a nap," replied Conner, panting. Sweat poured down his face and back, soaking the shirt tied around his waist. Ron had the right idea of wearing sunglasses on the run while he had to settle with squinting and looking down at the sidewalk.

"Me too." Ron glanced at the street sign. "I think we're at about eight miles now."

"All the while, we've had the sun trying to bore a hole in us." Conner spit out a thick glob. "I think it's working."

"Yeah, it kind of sucks out today, but you're almost done. Remember how far we went today!"

For the first half of the run, the sun had melted Conner's back, and for the second half, it had been melting his front. He should have asked Ron if he had any sunscreen on him when he arrived at his house an hour before. It was Friday, though, so he had the night and the rest of the weekend to heal the sunburn he would surely have.

Other than the heat and the lack of cloud cover, the run was going well. Conner drank enough water earlier in the day, and he and Ron managed to beat every stoplight. The latter he was grateful about; if he stopped for a moment, all the sweat from his forehead would drip into his eyes and make them sting. Not to mention, it was also good for endurance.

The two ran past a duplex. In the front lawn, both families were huddled around a pair of grills. The heat they gave off was a wave that smothered Conner. He fell back, unable to catch his breath. It was like he was trying to breathe oxygen through a thick screen.

"You okay?" asked Ron, slowing down to let Conner catch up.

"I... uh... I need a second." He gagged on some saliva. Once away from the house, Conner's pace picked back up, somewhat slower than before. How can anyone manage grilling in this heat? he wondered. You're just going to cook yourself along with your meal!

A few blocks later, the two reached Conner's house. He ground to a halt in front of the door and pulled the keys out of his pocket. After unlocking it, he and Ron were greeted by a blast of sweet, cool air, which was quickly soured by their body odors.

Conner began pacing back and forth with his arms on his head while Ron went for the sink right away. "I can't stay today."

"Aww, how come?"

Ron finished his glass of water before responding. "My sister needs me to help take her school project home."

"How about Monday?"

"I should be able to stay for a bit."

"Cool. You just brought the bag, right?" Conner pointed next to the door.

"Yeah," he replied, slinging it on his back.

"Thanks for the run," said Conner as Ron reopened and stepped out the door.

"Any time! See you Monday! Sorry I can't stay!" The door shut behind him, sealing the cold air -- and the bad smell -- in.

Conner filled his own glass of water, drinking it while he went up the stairs to his bedroom. He grabbed a new set of clothes from his drawers without bothering to look at what they were and went back down to get in the shower.

The cold shower he took felt great on his skin; it would probably be more-so once the sunburn set in. Changing into his new clothes, he went back upstairs and closed the blinds to take a nap.

---

Conner woke up in darkness. He didn't remember his dream. He got out of bed, muscles sore from neglecting to stretch after the run, and turned on the lights, revealing his now-pink skin. His whole body seemed to be dragged down by a weight -- he could barely keep his eyes open, and any movement resulted in aching. Nonetheless, he didn't want to sleep the rest of the day away. Maybe some food would perk him back up.

The stairs creaked as he walked down them one at a time. Then, he passed through the kitchen and went down another set of stairs leading into the basement. Hungry eyes scanned the pantry shelves. What did he want? Nothing seemed appetizing except for what would take effort to cook. However, he eyed a package of ramen noodles, and brought them with him back to the kitchen. His sunburnt legs were not happy with him bending his joints to get up the stairs.

Standing over the hot pot to watch for boiling and later to stir the noodles only made him feel sleepier. The heat was alluring, calling him to lie down on the floor and close his eyes right then and there even though he just woke up. Finally, it was done and he spooned the noodles into a bowl.

Wow, that bowl was hot! He set it down on the table and waved his hands back and forth to make the pain go away. Then, he took a handful of ice cubes out of the freezer and dumped them in the broth. The heat on his hands had hurt, but so did the sudden shift to cold. Once they melted, he pulled a fork out of the utensil drawer and tested the temperature with his tongue. Satisfied, he began eating.

While the ramen wasn't scalding hot, it was still warm. As each fork-ful of noodles traveled down his throat and into his belly, his body absorbed the heat. It entranced him as it did on the stove, calling him to sleep. Most of the warmth spread across his chest and head, which were both now primed to break into a sweat at any moment. After sipping the last of the broth, he left the bowl and fork on the table and, with closed eyes, felt his way up the stairs to his room and under the covers. He couldn't be bothered to even flick off the lights.

---

Conner stretched his arms, wincing as the tender sunburn scraped across the bed. Cool air blew through his shirt- and pant-holes and chilled his body. The blankets that had been covering him the night before were now shoved to the edges of the bed, while he was curled up in a ball in the middle. After getting up from the strange position, he walked around and stretched his limbs. Despite the way he slept, he didn't feel stiff or numb anywhere; in fact, he hadn't had such a refreshing sleep in months!

He took a look at the depression he left in his mattress, smirking. It looked like a dog or cat or some other beast slept there instead of a person. He stopped smirking after his burnt face cried out for him to stop.

After grabbing a change of clothes, Conner went to take his morning shower. Even though the water was the same temperature as the day before, he shuddered at the cold, so turned it up to lukewarm. The itching from a scrunchie was too much on his skin, so he used a rag to wash himself.

Conner's skin color was no longer exactly pink; it had progressed to a shade of red. This didn't surprise Conner, but what did was that his feet and thighs were the same shade of red as well even though they were covered while he was running. That wasn't there yesterday, right? He probably wasn't paying attention then because of how tired he was.

Once he was out and dressed, he went downstairs to pick out something to eat, again having to take the steps one at a time to appease his skin. "What to eat, what to eat..." Pancakes didn't interest him. Toast would be too crunchy. Absently, he walked to the meat freezer and took a look inside. The thought of burgers made his stomach growl in approval. Swallowing down saliva, he pulled out a frozen package of raw meat... and set it back down, shaking his head. He never ate meat for breakfast; meat was for lunch or dinner. Giving another scan of the pantry shelves, he picked out a box of cereal and headed back into the kitchen. His friends always wondered how he could enjoy eating it without any milk. He, however, wondered how anyone could enjoy it with milk. It just made the cereal soggy.

---

Sitting on the couch in the living room, Conner flipped the page of his book. He sat down there a few hours before, figuring that he was too sore to go outside and do something, and hadn't moved since. Actually, he did get up at one point to turn down the air conditioning. Yes, the warmer air wasn't kind to his sunburn, but it was better than the chills he started having. Was he getting sick? Sunburn never made him shiver before.

Conner groaned. The next few pages were stuck together. Using his left hand, he tried to peel them apart, but his finger slipped. A tear ran the width of the page at a slight angle. The rip didn't look too bad -- he would need to tape the page back together, but it wasn't ripped from the binding -- but his fingernail got a lot of ink on it. Placing the bookmark back in the page, he pushed himself off the couch and blinked. There was something more on his finger than a smudge of ink.

He looked down at the back of his hand again. The fingernail was entirely black, not just the edge. It was also twice as long. Actually, each of his fingernails had the same appearance. He flexed his fingers back and forth. Why was he looking at his hand again? There was nothing wrong with it. Everything was normal.

Maybe he needed a drink of water. Dehydration could screw with one's senses in odd ways. Whenever he went on a run without drinking enough water, he'd either start seeing pulses at the edges of his sight or lose his peripheral vision altogether.

Conner took some steps and stopped. The rough carpet slid across his feet. Ugh, did he pick some socks with holes in them again? He looked down. There was a trail of fabric starting from the couch and ending at the sharp claws of his red feet. They were the same as those on his hands. Forget it; his feet could use the breathing room. He continued into the kitchen, having his feet chilled by the tile floor, and took a drink.

"What in the world am I thinking?" he asked himself, setting down the now-empty glass of water. It was one thing to second-guess what he was seeing and pick out if something is wrong; it was another to look again, clearly see that something was wrong, and then shrug it off as normal. Maybe he didn't get enough sleep. Sure, he just woke up from a full night's rest just a few hours before and took a nap the day before, but maybe his body needed all the energy it could get to heal the mysteriously spreading sunburn. Was there such a thing as sleeping too much? Probably not.

Upstairs, Conner couldn't get to sleep. He tried laying on his side, chest, and back, but always was too cold and itchy. Getting up, he turned off the air conditioning. He still felt itchy, so he threw off his clothes. Finally, he stuffed his blankets and pillows into a pile, curled up on it, and shut his eyes, smiling.

---

The nothingness ahead stretched on forever. Conner couldn't see anything, not even himself. Was there anything behind him? He shouldn't turn and look. He just needed to keep walking forward. Whether he was going toward or going away something was beyond him. Worrying about it wouldn't change the fact that he needed to keep walking.

How long had he been walking? The lack of tiredness in his legs said minutes, while the unchanging void surrounding him said hours. Where even was he? He couldn't remember how he came in here or for what reason in the first place. All he could do was keep going in the same direction. Maybe he was lost and just trying to meet a wall or other landmark.

Conner blinked. A few steps in front of him was a solid gray of concrete. Looking around, he was surrounded on all six sides by the material. Behind him was a doorway, the only way in or out of the tiny space. He must have passed through at just the right angle to not scrape against it with his arms and pull him out of his trance.

Since this was a dead end, there was nowhere else to go except back out. Turning around, the blackness outside the strangely-lit room was now orange. The only thing outside that wasn't orange was the gray floor, fading into the distance without ever meeting anything.

Drops of sweat began to form and drip down Conner's body. The outside was a furnace, stoked solely to cook him alive. Blazing heat filled the tiny room. Then, before he could cross the hole, a thud shook the room and knocked him back. The light inside dimmed. Poking its horrible head through the doorway was a massive beast, grinning at the sight of its meal. Red scales covered its four-legged form and strained to hold in its muscles. A tail swished back and forth in anticipation. Two horns scratched against the concrete, showering Conner in flakes.

He couldn't get up. His body was plastered to his clothes, and his clothes were glued to the ground. The tiny, weightless flakes squeezed the air out of his lungs. The faster he breathed, the less oxygen he got; the room filled with smoke from the beast's nostrils. Tears ran down Conner's face. He was powerless, so weak against this creature. There was no mercy to be had here -- the beast opened its jaws, and he gazed at the rows of sharp teeth, the flicking forked tongue, the strands of saliva waiting for him...

Any plea would be worthless, but he had to try anyway. He couldn't die like this, alone where nobody would ever know, but words failed him as the beast's mouth lit up with the same orange light behind it. A column of flame shot out, more than eager to engulf his puny body.

---

Conner opened his eyes and stared at the foot of his bed. He was safe, curled on top of his blanket mound -- or was he? Threats could attack his home at any time. Better check around to make sure. He got out of bed, stepping on his discarded clothing, and walked down the stairs, staying on the edges to make as little noise as possible.

The living room was safe; the door and windows were still shut and locked. Anything could hide anywhere in the storage room, but the untampered window proved that nothing got in. He checked every room in the house, ending in the pantry. Once he was certain he was safe, he let his guard down and went in the kitchen to get a glass of water before going back to sleep.

Turning on a light let Conner see himself for the first time since waking up. The dark red skin was now peeling all over his body -- legs, chest, arms, face, and all. "Finally, something with this sunburn that actually makes sense," he mumbled to himself. His tone was deeper than normal, but it was probably due to him being groggy; it was midnight after all, at least according to the clock on the wall.

After finishing the glass, Conner broke into a coughing fit. Of course, the water had to go down the wrong tube. Except, what he was trying to cough up didn't seem like water. It was something warm in the back of his throat. When he could get a breath in between coughs, he wasn't restricted, so it wasn't blocking anything. Eventually, the kitchen began to spin, and he needed to prop his arm on the counter to keep himself upright. Surely, if he coughed a bit harder for a while longer, he could get whatever it was out... but he'd probably pass out and hit his head on the floor. He gave up and sat down for the dizziness to go away, grimacing every time he swallowed. Breathing out of his mouth almost smelled... smoky? like the grills he had passed on his run on Friday.

Conner sighed, feeling his head pulse. All the coughing must have given him a headache. Usually, just his forehead would be the part that hurt, but this time the pain pressed against every bit of his skull. Getting back to sleep would be tough. Crawling back upstairs toward his bedroom -- his den -- he wondered if all of this would be over by Monday. Sunburn never affected him this terribly. If he was still feeling off in the morning, when it would be Sunday, he planned to spend the day either sleeping, eating, or taking showers. The last thing he wanted to do was skip out on the run with Ron on Monday.

Once he was a couple of feet away from the bed, he leaped up and crawled around his pile of softness before curling in a ball atop it and closing his eyes.

---

Conner's head was still pounding when he woke up in the morning. Reluctantly, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen, looking for the bottle of ibuprofen he had somewhere in the cupboards. He swallowed two and headed for the shower, not wanting to eat and smash his teeth together until the medication kicked in. In the bathroom mirror, he was now a dark, almost blood red color. His skin appeared cracked all over, ready to peel away. He was barely awake for more than two minutes and already decided to call today a sleep-all-day kind of day. Oh well. He stepped in the shower.

He already knew from yesterday morning that cold showers weren't the way to go anymore, so he set the temperature to lukewarm. He was freezing! He turned the knob degree by degree, waiting for the perfect temperature. When he was satisfied, it was only a handful of notches away from the maximum and a steamy haze filled the air. It felt wonderful! Sticking his arms out, he did his best to catch every scalding drop. The fact that the heat was soothing his sunburn didn't bother him.

The bliss was cut short by an itchiness. It started out as a light tingling, but quickly became irresistible. Scratching his burnt and peeling skin would surely hurt later, but it would feel so good if he just itched around a little...

His claws shredded his skin like confetti. Countless ribbons clogged the shower drain. Instead of being disgusted, he was refreshed, like his hide could finally breathe the open air after being covered for so long. Thankfully, his claws could not scratch deeply enough to cause bleeding -- they were stopped by a layer of hard scales with the same deep red color as the skin he shed. After he was done itching every inch of his body, he brought his claws to his scalp and scratched away at that too. Clumps of brown hair gathered around the plugged drain.

Turning up the temperature to the hottest possible, Conner laid down in the slowly-filling tub. His legs were bent to fit and his arms rested on the outside edges. He closed his eyes and opened his jaws in ecstasy, letting a thin tongue droop out between two fangs. He had never felt so relaxed in his life! The air was heavy with steam and the smell of smoke from his breath. This was his habitat: cozy and encased in warmth. He could almost forget about his headache---

"Huh?" Conner opened his eyes and stood up. If it wasn't for the drain hole near the top of the tub, it would have overflowed. What was he doing? Standing up, he waded through the knee-high water and shut off the flow. Reaching down, he grabbed for whatever rag or other object was clogging the drain, only to pick up a clump of hair. His hair. He gripped the top of his bald head and shrieked. The only answer was the pounding in his skull, which became more intense.

Not bothering to finish unclogging the drain, he leaped out of the shower and wiped a patch of steam off the mirror with a red, scaly hand. The thing didn't look even remotely human. Blood-colored scales covered it, ending in dark claws -- the same that were on his hands yesterday, when he ripped his book. He looked down at his arms, chest, and legs before gazing at his reflection in the mirror. A pointy grin greeted him from a demonic face. He snaked around his teeth with his tongue, causing its skinny and forked reflection to appear.

Ron once told him a trick to tell if you were dreaming or not. "Whenever I look at myself in the mirror," he once said on a run, "sometimes I'm either just a blurry blob, not there at all, or something else crazy. Usually, it means I'm not awake, but sometimes it doesn't work. Funny how the brain is like that. That's when I try reading something like the time on my clock to make sure." Well, his reflection was definitely not himself in anything but shape, but it was as clear and in-focus as the rest of the bathroom. The edges of his body and even those between his scales were only slightly distorted from the residue left by his quick wiping. He blinked, looked away, and spun around between glances at the mirror. Nothing changed.

What was he? He looked like a cross between a person and that... beast... from his dream. It was unnatural. His appearance reminded him of a platypus in a way; it was like some force decided to mix-and-match the characteristics of two creatures together without rhyme or reason. Just then, pressure built up in his shoulder blades and tailbone. Instead of freaking him out further, it was calming. Soon, he would be a whole being again. Soon, he would regain the strength that he was entitled to. The beast was strong; so would he be.

Conner walked through the kitchen, shutting down the desire to take another dose of ibuprofen. Why would he want to resist the pain? Pain meant the body was fixing itself, getting stronger. He gazed out the window. The sun shone above in the sky, sharing its warmth with everything below. Heat was good. He needed to fly out there and suck it up for himself.

His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down at himself. His body was dreadfully thin and even showing bone through his scales in some places. His ribs were especially visible. Going outside was not safe. The sunlight would make any predators easy to see, but nothing would give up the chance to claim such an easy kill. He needed to be strong, able to to show anyone or anything who dared stand up to him their place.

He needed to eat.

He stalked downstairs and pulled the package of meat out of the basement freezer, setting it down on the kitchen counter to thaw. His stomach rumbled again. Oh, he was so hungry! If he needed to, he'd eat it all raw. Uncooked. Having to wait and prepare food beforehand was silly.

Before he knew it, Conner had sliced open the plastic packaging. Rich scents of frost and some unrecognizable animal filled his lungs. Saliva drooled out of his mouth. He picked it up in his chilling hands, claws digging in. It was so red. All he needed to do was sink his teeth in. That is, if the urge to cough didn't come up again just now. At first, he was able to keep the coughing toward his arm, but soon enough drops of spit flew toward the prize in his hands. A faint taste of smoke blew over his tongue. This time, however, he could feel whatever was in his throat move. Hopefully he could get it out---

Fwoosh! Conner shut his eyes from the bright light. A large aura remained in the center of his eyelids. The pounding pressure on his head, shoulder blades, and tailbone had all exploded outwards and disappeared in release. It was like a body-wide sneeze. A growl of delight escaped him. His face, especially his cheeks, was warm. The air smelt vaguely like a firepit. One eye opened, and then the other. The uncooked meat he had held moments before was now an appetizing dark brown. Melted freezerburn slickened his claws. Peering over what he was holding, he saw that there was now a faint black outline of it all on the countertop.

The half-dragon reeled in the meat toward his nose and gave it a couple of sniffs. Then, he proceeded to stuff himself silly, tearing off huge chunks at a time with his sharp fangs. Down his gullet it went, passing over the lump in his throat which cooked the meal further. Not bloody enough -- or really at all -- but it would do. Once he was done, he licked his claws and mouth clean. He couldn't recall ever being able to touch the top of his noise or reach around the sides of his head with his tongue before.

Conner turned around. Something had been dragging his back down since he let out of the fireball. The sunlight shining though the window cast an unfamiliar shape on the wall. Two lines stuck out of his head, his shoulders were humongous and misshapen, and there was another line, long and tapering to a point, dangling between his two legs. While he couldn't see his horns, a glance behind him confirmed that the other shapes were two wings and a tail. He twitched them back and forth, getting a feel for them. Moving them was like moving an extra set of arms and leg, minus fingers and toes.

All those aches that were finally gone were the rest of his draconic body desperately trying to break free of its prison. Keeping away the beast within would not have lasted forever. He wanted to roll around on the floor, but there were other matters to take care of beforehand.

He climbed up the stairs to his den with his hands and feet. A den up in the sky would not do. When he was stronger, maybe, but not while he was weak. Down in the earth would be perfect. Sure, it would be colder, but it would be much more difficult for anything trying to attack him or rob him of his possessions to escape. He would not be an easy target.

His wings brushed against end tables and shelves, so he folded them against his back. Doing so made him feel protected. Tilting the mattress on its side, he dragged it out and down the stairs onto the main floor and then into the middle of the basement. Then, he took a second trip to bring all the blankets and pillows down. Not yet satisfied, he brought down the cushions from the couch in his living room as well.

When Conner was done, he panted, no longer able to sweat. His skinny limbs had managed to move everything without needing a break, but now they were strained and weary. Such weakness did not fit a dragon. There was a void inside him that could only be filled with muscle. And maybe food. Food would help him fill out his flesh. He fell onto all fours and walked into the pantry, making his limbs crack. It was like cracking his back in that all the stress and strain he didn't know was there was relieved.

---

Now nice and full, Conner settled down on his pile of fluff. Claws dug into the fragile fabric as he curled into a ball. He burped, causing his muzzle to glow in the otherwise pitch-black basement for a brief moment. It was a bit chilly down here. Starting a fire would keep him warm through the night... but then he'd no longer have a house to live in. Hunting down another creature and driving them out of their den wasn't something he would be able to do in his current state. Smoke drifted out of his nostrils as he fell asleep.

---

Knock knock knock. Who dared interrupt the dragon's sleep? He would not be taken without a fight!

Up the stairs he went, stretching out his wings and legs along the way. Prowling on the tips of his toes would let him surprise whatever was trying to surprise him.

He unlocked the door but did not open it, instead taking a few steps back and readying himself to lunge at whoever or whatever would open it. "Hello?" asked someone on the other side. He didn't answer. Seconds passed in silence. Then, the doorknob turned, and the door creaked inwards.

His eyes were blinded by the sun after just being in the darkness, but he was able to see the human standing before him. Before the human could move a muscle, Conner pounced upon it, pinning its arms and legs against the ground. He directed his harsh gaze at the human's eyes, piercing through to its soul. Warm smoke poured out of his muzzle onto the human's weak and soft skin.

"Get off of me! Get off of me!" it shouted, squirming beneath his claws. What a silly human, thinking it could get away. It tilted its head away, a futile attempt to escape the heat. "Conner!" it shouted weakly, coughing afterward. "Conner... where..."

Conner blinked at his name. He took his gaze away from the human's eyes, recognizing the dark hair and face. Looking down, he saw that the human was also wearing Ron's favorite shirt. He backed off. What was he doing? That was his friend!

"Ron?" he asked, giving his friend room to breathe. "Oh my goodness, are you okay? I'm so sorry I didn't -- Ron!" Ron had gotten up and was hobbling away as fast as he could. He was bleeding and surely bruised. Conner ran after Ron on four legs, swishing his tail back and forth. "Hey! Stop! You're hurt!"

Ron looked over his shoulder before sprinting -- well, trying to -- across the road. Conner died inside. Ron's face was twisted in fear, having saw what he thought would be his death. How could he have done this? His very friend was running for his life -- from him! A dragon didn't back down from anything, though. He wouldn't back down from proving to his friend that he was still his friend.

Conner's speed and Ron's hurts made it easy for the dragon to keep up. Instead of forcing him Ron down again, he kept a small distance back while yelling for his friend to stop and let him try to heal him. Eventually, Ron tripped in someone's yard and ate the ground. Conner flipped him over with his forelegs.

Ron no longer had control over his breathing. He tried to push himself back onto his feet but ended up collapsing again. His arms and legs were streaked with blood. "Please don't eat me," he pleaded, so quickly that it was nearly incomprehensible. "Please I didn't mean to harm you or anything I'll do anything please don't eat me please don't kill me oh no oh no just please I can't..." Tears formed at the edges of his eyes.

"Shh." Conner stood over him, careful not to step on him on accident. "Ron, it's me, Conner. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." Ron tried to get back up again. "Relax. I've got you."

"What... I... how..." He drifted off, probably too tired to argue.

Conner started to lick at Ron's arms and legs, cleaning the wounds and lapping up the blood. He wished he still had a human tongue for this; his was longer, but the thinness meant there was little area. With the metallic taste came hints of salt from his sweat. Whenever Ron nodded his head to the side and closed his eyes, Conner licked his face to keep him awake.

"I'll bring you to my den," the dragon said. "It'll be safe. Nothing will try to hunt you while you're hurt."

"No, no, it's alright, just take me back home..." Did he still not trust him? In any case, he'd probably scratch and bruise him further if he tried to drag him in his house and down into the den.

"Are you sure?" Ron wouldn't be happy if he ripped up his favorite shirt and used it to bandage him up. He could use the human clothes in his former room that he didn't need anymore.

"Yeah, just take me home..." Maybe it could wait. Flying there would probably only take a few minutes. He never flew before, and now he had to learn quick.

Conner flapped his wings and immediately floated in the air. Oh, right, why would he need to learn something he knew by instinct?

How would he pick his friend up, though? Ron was in no condition to ride on his back. Even if he wasn't wounded and could hold on, Conner wasn't confident that he'd be able to keep himself from inadvertently tipping him over. Grabbing him with his claws brought the potential for him to hurt his friend further, but if he slipped, it was less of a distance to fall. His maw was definitely too small to try to clutch Ron's chest with; even then, his teeth would just shred his flesh. All things considered, picking Ron up by the shoulders would likely bring the least harm to him.

The extra weight weighed Conner down. He could make the journey, though; he had to fly smart, just like how he would always run smart. He flew at the equivalent of a jogging pace -- not slow, but not as fast as possible either. He kept about six feet between Ron's feet and the tops of the houses he flew over. At first, the city was alien from the new overhead point of view, but Conner could definitely get used to this. Instead of needing to plan out a route on the streets, he could cut above all the traffic and buildings to take the most direct path.

Alternating rows of roofs and streets passed below, but power lines meant that Conner couldn't sightsee the whole time; he needed to look out so he didn't get Ron tangled in them. Humans looked so small from up here. Below, whether walking around or playing with each other, they would stop what they were doing and look up, pointing or screaming or staring awe-struck at the dragon. He snorted out smoke in amusement. What did they think they were doing -- trying to scare him away? Nothing could frighten a dragon.

Conner's muscles tired out about a minute into the flight. He needed his missing strength, but his thin frame should be able to support Ron all the way. He just needed to power through the fatigue. However, the fatigue soon became muscle failure, and he and his friend tumbled from the sky into a street below. The screeching of cars and onlookers filled their heads as they hit the concrete. Thankfully, Conner landed next to his friend and not on him.

A crowd began forming around the two. Conner felt like he just stopped after finishing a race. He could see and hear just fine, but actually looking at what he saw and listening to what he heard were difficult.

"...what is that..."

"...was it trying to eat him..."

"...stay back; it might bite..."

Conner coughed, letting out smoke. The people gasped.

"...it's a, it's a..."

"...a dragon..."

"...wow..."

He was a dragon, not a cute little critter to sit and stare at! He would show them. Opening his jaws wide, he tried to breathe out a cloud of flame, only to breathe out another cloud of smoke instead. He coughed more.

Giving up, he laid his head down on the hard concrete. And like that, the proud dragon fell unconscious, surrounded by all those he was supposedly better than.