A Microcosmic Crack
    
They look like tiny koi. They swim through the air, flexing their wings like fins, twisting their tails to propel them forward. Then, before I can forget that they’re so much more than a household pet, they breathe fire or screech, arching their serpentine necks.
    
One of them pauses to give me a glance.
    
Time to feed. I drop in a raw lamb chop, closing the hatch the instant after. Immediately there is a frenzy, blood flying everywhere. The lamb’s blood, thankfully.
    
Dragon’s blood is precious, you see.
    
I tentatively lean closer. They’re too distracted by their dinner to notice the larger meat outside. The magical glass is extremely durable, but who knows how many cracks they could make if they all tried together. Even shrunken, dragons are incredibly strong.
    
Roars echo in the glass cage, and I look down. One of the Chinese dragons has gotten into a fight with another one, although there’s plenty of meat. My family went to the trouble of capturing and shrinking them (while we haven’t separated the species yet); we’ll be sure there’s enough to eat.
    
They snarl, red scales rippling, whiskers shaking. Rushing at each other, they butt horns. This happens often; they have to release the energy no longer spent hunting humans. A mischievous green European dragon nips one of the fighters, and the clawing gets worse.
    
I look for the enchanted stick to disentangle them. I find it just in time to see one Chinese dragon fling the other across the cage to the other side, and it hits the wall with a loud crack, sliding down to the land below. It doesn’t look hurt.

There’s another thing to worry about. Where the dragon’s horns hit the wall is a miniscule crack. As I watch, it grows bigger. The dragons look up, tongues flickering. They can hear it breaking. A wyvern tries to help it along.
    
The glass cage keeps them imprisoned—and small.
    
I drop the stick and run for help.
    
Forget separating them from each other; we’re going to need to separate them from us!