The days are getting shorter, trees are now barren and winter is fast approaching. And still no sign of my warrior. The only footsteps I hear are of the townspeople as they hurry by, whispering and pointing at the cottage. And of course the footsteps of the letter carrier as he drops off packages and holiday catalogs.
Captain Sword has visited repeatedly with an offer from Miss Lottabarren. In exchange for our little dragon, your heir, I would never need to work again. Never need entertain men for food, fuel or a new dress. After yet another very feverish discussion, my resounding NO ringing in his ears, Captain dressed and returned to the castle. Break me he will not! Although our last heated session ended with my leg bruised, scarves were much too tight. I refuse to give my consent, no matter how many times he has prodded me, I shall remain steadfast.
My heart aches as I lay bed at night, listening to the sounds of drunken laughter coming from the castle. With every squeak of the catapult, every bloodcurdling dwarves scream, every sheeps baa, I miss you.
Please return my Dragon.
Looks like he's not returning. How does a battle weary dwarf sound? We can do lunch. 1:30 or so.
Got a taste for sheep, one in particular.