The dragonslayer had ridden far and wide in search of an elusive dragon. Long he had searched, but his perseverance had been rewarded. He kept a sharp eye about him, for he was drawing near to where the dragon laired.

A peasant sat by the side of the road, and the dragonslayer accosted him.

“Villein! Does a dragon lair hereabouts?”

“Yes, he does,” the peasant answered.

“Lead me to him!”

To his surprise, the peasant made no protest, gave no excuse, merely turned away and beckoned him to follow. At length they arrived at an old stone temple, massive and many-pillared. The dragonslayer dismounted and strode boldly in. The great hoard met his eye, grandiose as ever, but it lay unguarded. A loud clink of sliding metal caused him to turn. The peasant was climbing the pile.

“What are you doing?” the dragonslayer shouted. “Come down!”

Disdainfully ignoring him, the peasant continued to the top, where he lowered himself to lounge on one elbow. “I believe you wished to speak to me?” he purred.

The dragonslayer retreated in shock. Upon the hoard the man’s body lengthened, twisted, and bulged. It expanded with alacrity; before a half-minute, it was the dragon himself who lay atop his trove.

“For some time you have wandered through my domain, openly seeking me. Do you still dare to speak of my death to my face? Where is your sword? Where is your vaunted courage?”

The man made no reply. Sunlight streamed through the windows, sparkling off the gold, illuminating the scene with an archaic light. Still he said no word, only stared in silence.

“Brazen coward!” the dragon cried, losing his temper at last. “To come to me and be unable to make good even one of your many boasts! Leave! You are beneath my cares.”

The humbled man was knocked from his feet by the long, heavy tail that swept into him. He struggled to the doors, trying futilely to avoid the striking blows. Gaining the fresh air, he pulled himself to his fretful horse and fled without a backward glance.