The Fairytale Trilogy. Valerie Gribben

“Fortunately, you don’t have one of those dragons,” he continued, rolling over to expose an underbelly as large as a cottage. Behind him, Marianne heard a muffled cry.

      “Robin!” called out Marianne, rushing behind the dragon. “Are you all right?” she asked, propping up her dazed brother.

      “I certainly wish you’d awaken me the next time our ride starts performing gymnastics,” he said, a hand on his forehead.

      “My apologies, good sir,” said the dragon, “but in my weary state, I forgot to check for the Extra.”

      “Extra!” fumed Robin indignantly. “What’s Marianne, if I’m the ‘Extra’?”

      “Marianne is the Holder. She is the one who controls me, and you are the one I could grind with my foot if I felt so inclined,” replied the dragon in a factual tone.

      “Oh,” gasped Marianne, a look of alarm on her face. Yet after thinking for a second, she added, “But I really wouldn’t want you to squash Robin.”

      “Thanks a lot, Marianne. Why did we stop, anyway?” asked Robin, rubbing his eyes, apparently not wanting to hear anymore about his probable demise.

      “I got tired. You can’t possibly expect me to have loads of energy after being cramped up in a glass ball for years and then flying Marianne and an Extra hundreds and hundreds of miles,” said the dragon, huffily.

      Robin swelled up, getting ready to reply when Marianne cut in with, “What’s your name?”

      “My name, fair lady, is whatever you want it to be,” replied the dragon kindly.

      “Why don’t you have a name?” inquired Marianne.

      “Because I exist to carry out the Holder’s every whim, and the Holder may not like my name,” said the dragon, with a flick of his tail.

      “Ah,” said Marianne, biting her lower lip, “Well, what would you like to be called?”

      “Why don’t you call him ‘Stupid?’” suggested Robin helpfully.

      “Because then she would have to rename you ‘Charred,’ for that is what you would be,” retorted the dragon, blowing smoke out of his nostrils. “As long as you do not follow in the footsteps of my previous Holder and name me Pickles, I shall be contented with whatever you choose.”

      “Pretentious paperweight,” Robin muttered, which prompted Marianne to say “Robin!” in a disapproving tone. “How would you like to be named ‘Leopold,’ and I could call you ‘Leo’ for short because you’re as brave as a lion?” Marianne finally asked.

      The dragon glowed, his massive chest swelling with pride. “I would relish that very much indeed,” said Leo. He yawned, exposing his daggers of teeth. Robin grimaced, but the next moment Leo transformed himself back into the harmless dragonfly poised in his sphere, which rolled noiselessly at Marianne’s feet.

      Chapter the Eighth

      “Robin, how much farther do we have to walk? My legs are so sore that they’re about to fall off!” whined Marianne as they trudged down the sweltering road. The sun was shining with unbridled fierceness, and the dusty road threw the reflected warmth back at the fatigued travelers.

      “Well, maybe we wouldn’t have to be using this devilish path if your dragon had picked a better spot to land. Near a city, or a town, or even a brook! But no, he had to give out right above a blasted field in the middle of nowhere!” yelled Robin.

      “You’re upset with Leo because he thinks you’re of negligible importance,” snapped Marianne. Robin turned with a grumble, and walked faster down the trail. Marianne pulled out her dragonfly ball. “He’s certainly irritable today, isn’t he, Leo?” she said, talking to the ball. Her vision blurred. She and Robin were sitting in the back of a wagon that was making its way hastily down a rutted path. “Robin!” Marianne called out, looking up from the ball. “I think we ought to wait here.”

      With a great heave of his shoulders, Robin turned around. “Why should we wait here? I suggest we turn off at the bend up there,” he said, pointing up the road. “Here, there’s no water, no food, and—” Robin stopped in mid-sentence. “Marianne! Someone’s coming this way!”

      Behind Marianne a cyclone of dust was approaching quickly. As it bore down upon them, Marianne could make out a plump man driving a large cart. An immense team of horses was pounding the dirt. Robin ran to the middle of the road, waving his arms to hail a ride. “Hey! We need you to stop!” Robin yelled.

      The horses halted their progress under great restraint by the driver. Holding the reins and brandishing a cudgel, the man hollered, “Move yerself from my path before yew find yerself under me horses’ hooves, yew scoundrel!”

      “Wait!” cried Marianne, running onto the path and placing herself in front of Robin. “We don’t want to rob you. We just need a ride to the next town. We’ve been walking all morning. Please help us,” pleaded Marianne, in her most desperate voice. Her eyes stared beseechingly at the driver.

      The man mellowed, and he put down his stick. “Och. All right, git in the back. All tak yew to the next town. Me name’s Fargus.”

      “Well, at least his big cart makes up for his awful character judgment,” said Robin, reclining comfortably as they watched the bright meadows pass by.

      “Don’t be so ungrateful,” Marianne admonished as she fashioned a pillow from Robin’s cloak and opened her ears to Robin’s one-way conversation.

      Hours later, the cart slowed its agitation upon arrival at a town. Robin leapt off the cart. “Well, thanks for the ride,” he called offhandedly. Marianne gave a very audible “Ahem!” which prompted Robin to help her down as well. “Actually, I didn’t need any assistance, but thank you, Robin. I really wanted you to express our appreciation to the driver more appropriately.”

      With an air of shocked vanity, Robin moved to the front of the cart where Fargus cast an imposing shadow on him. “Most grateful,” Robin said, turning a dull expression to Fargus.

      “What my brother means,” said Marianne, stepping forward, “is that we surely would have perished in the heat out there. You did us a great service, and we are forever indebted to you. We will never forget your extraordinary kindness.”

      “Well, ’ere yew are then,” said Fargus, pulling a crown from his bulging stash and holding it forth to Marianne, “to aid yew in yewr travels.”

      “I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot accept thi—” Marianne began, but Robin reached forward and snatched it. “Oh, yes, we can. I, for one, do not have an aversion to being comfortable.”

      “Give it boch to yewr sester!” the man roared, standing up to his full, imposing height.

      “Hereyougo, Marianne,” said Robin, with a gulp.

      “Good. I wish yew the best of luck,” said the man, seating himself again and giving the reins a shake.

      “Thank yew! I mean you!” cried Marianne, as Fargus’s cart resumed its pace.

      “Hmm. Great choice of towns to stop in,” said Robin sarcastically, as they surveyed the dilapidated buildings ahead of them. “I get depressed just looking at them.”

      The sign outside of the town originally read “Rainbow City,” but it had been graffitied over, in a melancholy color, to read “Sadness City.” Marianne noticed that the grit on the road they kicked up was a dreary ash hue. I didn’t even know there were that many shades of gray, thought Marianne as her eyes passed from one collapsing building to another.

      “Does anyone even live here?” she asked, staring at the jaggedly broken windows and tattered awnings that seemed mortified to be viewed in such a squalid state. Behind them, a hanging sign in the shape of a bear announced, in faded letters, “The Black Bear Inn & Tavern.” While they looked at it, the sign