Berry Exhaustion

Bartholomew, his massive snout practically buried in the bushes, was a sight to behold. He wasn't roaring, or breathing fire, or even looking particularly menacing. He was, in fact, a picture of pure, unadulterated berry bliss. His eyes, usually sharp and intelligent, were half-closed, glazed over with a delightful, almost cartoonish, satisfaction. The juicy, plump elderberries, a deep, rich indigo, stained his scales a rather fetching shade of purple around his mouth. He’d managed to find a patch so densely laden with the forbidden fruit that it looked as though a purple cloud had descended and settled upon the landscape.

Sammy, perched precariously on a high branch of an oak tree, watched the spectacle with a mixture of triumph and a growing sense of unease. She’d envisioned a dramatic showdown, a final, decisive battle. Instead, she’d led Bartholomew on a merry, berry-scented dance that had culminated in this… this berry-fueled stupor. It wasn't quite the glorious victory she’d imagined. It was more like watching a very large, very lazy toddler discover a hidden stash of candy.

"Eat up, you overgrown lizard," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Stuff yourself until you can't move. Then, and only then, will you understand the true meaning of defeat."