Sweet Victory (and Sticky Fingers)

Sammy hovered in the air, her wings buzzing with a triumphant hum that was only slightly dampened by the residual stickiness of Bartholomew’s favorite elderberry jam. The meadow, her meadow, was finally, blessedly, dragon-free. Bartholomew, the colossal, snoozing menace, had been vanquished. Not by brute force, mind you. Oh no. Sammy, with her minuscule stature and her positively gargantuan temper, had outsmarted him. And it felt *delicious*.

She’d watched him lumber away, a dejected heap of scales and disappointment, promising never to return without a fresh supply of those ridiculously plump, ridiculously blue elderberries. A bead of sweat, or perhaps just a stray drop of jam, trickled down her temple. She’d almost forgotten how tiring it was to be a hero. Especially a hero who had to outwit a creature whose primary motivation was the pursuit of a good nap.

Her initial assaults had been… well, they’d been *Sammy*. A whirlwind of glitter, designed to blind and befuddle. Bartholomew had merely blinked, a slow, ponderous movement that sent a gust of wind scattering the sparkly particles like an ill-conceived New Year’s Eve party. Then came the tickle fight. Sammy, with her tiny, surprisingly strong fingers, had zipped around his immense snout, attempting to induce the kind of uncontrollable laughter that would surely make him roll over and give up. Instead, it had elicited a low rumble, a sound like distant thunder, that had vibrated through her very bones.