A Bruised but Brilliant Idea

Sammy landed, not with the graceful flutter of a wounded butterfly, but with a rather undignified *thump* onto a patch of particularly soft moss. The world spun for a moment, a dizzying blur of green. Her wings, usually a vibrant, iridescent shimmer, felt heavy and slightly singed. A fine dusting of dragon snot – oh, the indignity! – clung stubbornly to her smallest, most delicate wingtip. She spluttered, trying to dislodge the offensive goo, but it only smeared, leaving a faint, sticky residue.

“Oh, for dragon’s breath’s sake!” she grumbled, her tiny fists clenching. The mighty sneeze, Bartholomew’s parting gift, had sent her spiraling through the air like a dandelion seed caught in a hurricane. It had been… impressive. Terrifyingly impressive. And utterly humiliating. She, Sammy, the fiercest fairy in Willow Creek Meadow, had been vanquished by a *sneeze*.

She sat up, wincing as a dull ache throbbed in her left shoulder. The glitter bombs had been a bust, the tickle attacks a laughable failure. Bartholomew, the colossal, scaly menace, had barely stirred. He’d just… slept. And then sneezed. It was infuriating. He’d disrupted her peaceful meadow, flattened her prize-winning petunias with his colossal tail, and filled her air with the scent of burnt toast and… well, dragon. And all he wanted was a nap. A *nap*!