A Visit
Sir Anya climbed the hill carefully. From a safe distance she called up:
"Pyra! Are you alright?"
Pyra looked out of the cave. Her nose was running. Her eyes were puffy. She looked very sorry for herself.
"I have a cold," said Pyra, in a small voice. "I am — ATCHOO!"
A small flame came out. It set fire to a fourth bush.
"Sorry," said Pyra. "I cannot stop. ATCHOO!"
Another small flame. Another small bush. The fifth bush.
Sir Anya sat down at a safe distance. She held up the pot.
"I brought soup. And a blanket. Can I bring it closer?"
"Yes," said Pyra, "but please be careful — ATCHOO!"
Sir Anya waited until after the sneeze. Then she walked up calmly, putting the pot at the cave entrance and laying the blanket on a flat rock for Pyra to lie on.
"Honey and ginger," said Sir Anya, of the soup. "It always helps when I have a cold. And the blanket will keep your wings from getting more chilled."
Pyra was very moved. Dragons did not usually receive soup.
"Thank you. ATCHOO."
A small flame went sideways. Sir Anya ducked, calmly. Years of dragon practice.
Pyra ate the soup. The honey was soothing. The ginger was warming. Within an hour her sneezes were getting weaker.
By afternoon they had stopped completely.