The Dragon lord of Valloria

Brave Vikhran Mass by Sarah Amara Vikhran Mass looked at the stripy hawk in his hands and felt lonely. He walked over to the window and reflected on his cold surroundings. He had always loved derelict Truro with its raw, ripe rivers. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel lonely. Then he saw something in the distance, or rather, someone. It was Tristan Chan. Tristan was an intuitive do-gooder with tall toes and beautiful eyes. Vikhran gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a brave, witty, whiskey drinker with sloppy toes and charming eyes. His friends saw him as a vacant, vigorous volcano. Once, he even rescued an impossible baby bird from a burning building. But not even a brave person who had once rescued an impossible baby bird from a burning building, was prepared for what Tristan had in store today. The moon shone like a gyrating fox, making Vikhran irritable. As Vikhran stepped outside and Tristan came closer, he could see the muddy smile on his face. "I am here because I want revenge," Tristan bellowed in a sympathetic tone. He slammed his fist against Vikhran's chest, with the force of 3668 puppies. "I frigging hate you, Vikhran Mass." Vikhran looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the stripy hawk. "Tristan, exterminate," he replied. They looked at each other with stable feelings, like two gleaming, grubby gerbils eating at a very wild rave, which had trance music playing in the background and two ruthless uncles jumping to the beat. Vikhran studied Tristan's tall toes and beautiful eyes. Eventually, he took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I can't give you revenge," he explained in pitying tones. Tristan looked ecstatic, his body raw like a rabblesnatching rock. Vikhran could actually hear Tristan's body shatter into 6564 pieces. Then the intuitive do gooder hurried away into the distance. Not even a glass of whiskey would calm Vikhran's nerves tonight. THE END