indicating how long ago the tracks had been made.

“Are they always this big?” Bodkin asked, glancing back down to the fresh imprints. Smudge had tracked dragons before, but this was Bodkin’s first hunt and he was highly apprehensive. His eyes were drawn back to the trail of dried blood that seemed to weave its way back and forth between the footprints. Their dragon was carrying a recent kill in her maw–a full-grown cow from John Talbot’s pasture–and was seeking a quiet place to enjoy her meal.

“Oh, I’ve seen some bigger, but not many,” Smudge admitted. “This one’ll give us a fine prize, me lad, ye just wait.

Still seeking reassurance, Bodkin asked, “And when we get back to town, what we take from her will make us rich and famous right?”

“Aye, that it will, Body, me boy,” Smudge said and smiled up at him, his round face beaming. “Why, people’ll rush out to greet us everywhere we go and they’ll pay us ‘andsomely to share in just a wee bit o’ what we bring back with us.”

Bodkin nodded, but still had his doubts. Everyone knew that a dragon’s horde could be worth a fortune and the prize they sought could easily make them both rich, but many brave and foolish men had died trying to sneak up on a resting dragon and Bodkin felt that he was neither brave, nor foolish, just perhaps overly gullible to allow Smudge to talk him into this crazy scheme.

“C’Mon, Body, get ye gear. We don’t want to let’er get too big a lead on us.” Smudge gathered up the pile of empty bags he had dropped earlier and started off down the path. Bodkin hesitated a few moments, still unsure whether the risks were worth the rewards of this adventure. Then, deciding that being rich and popular was better than being poor and unknown, he picked up the rest of their supplies and headed quickly after his friend.

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