Quinlan Grim

Old World Ways

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. When I was a girl, they weren’t allowed. Times have changed. The first time I saw a dragon, actually, was at the Valley’s front door. Dad and I used to come every Sunday evening for the roast. It was the one day of the week he got to put on a clean shirt and see his pals, have a laugh and a pint. The men were always kind to me. I think it was great fun for them to have a little one around—children were already becoming scarce in those days. I was sitting at the table with them, sipping milk from a pint glass, swinging my stumpy legs, when a hullabaloo at the pub door caught my attention. Greg, the old barman, was shouting.