That. That is a... dragon. Or, well... is it? 

Yálie ducks under the tiny gout of flame aimed at his head, side-stepping the diving dragon-or-wyrm as it descends down upon him. He tosses his mane to put out the tiny flame that had caught, regarding his novel attacker with a rolling eye. It's much, much smaller than the legends had led him to believe, so he can only assume that this pesky little winged beast is not a true dragon; or, if it is, it must be an infant. It is bright red in color, covered with iridescent scales that glitter in the dim dungeon light; two diminutive membranous wings sprout from its serpentine back, and paired with an arrow-shaped head and a long, ribbon-like tail - there is little else it could be but a hatchling dragonet. The pitiful thing looses a tiny roar of rage as it misses, and glides past him on unsteady wings to crash into the opposite side of the tunnel, hitting the solid stone wall with a solid smack! and a thud as it tumbles to the ground. It sprawls on the stone floor, utterly spent by the effort of its attack.

Well.. That's... Underwhelming. And, to be honest, a bit disappointing. 

Yálie approaches the downed creature on careful hooves, ready to leap backwards and out of the way if the tiny thing seeks to cause him more trouble. But it seems that the dive and subsequent crash into the ground have dazed the tiny thing; it regards him from its collapsed position on the ground with poison-green eyes, lit from within with fell flame. The utter malice the thing manages to emit without even speaking a word or moving is honestly quite impressive; if it were larger than the average housecat, Yálie might have been slightly intimidated.

But as it is, it is tiny; and Yálie could easily crush the collapsed little creature under a heavy hoof if he so pleased. 

However; cruelty does not come naturally to Yálie, and for all this tiny thing is undoubtedly malevolent, it can do him no harm. At least, not yet. And he will not cause harm to a creature that, for all it tried, can do very little to him in turn - which, admittedly, is likely not a sound long-term strategy down here in the dungeons - so he fishes in his packs for a small offering to the little creature. After a moment of rummaging, he locates his coin purse, and lips out a single gold coin to drop to the ground.

"Next time, try picking on something your own size. Or, if you must accost every passerby, try to practice not hitting the wall when you miss." He tells the wyrm, nudging the gold coin across the floor with a hoof so it rests beside the prone creature. The wyrm narrows its green eyes at him before reaching out with a tiny clawed paw to seize the coin and draw it into its arms (the coin is bigger than the wyrm's entire head), hissing, and abruptly leaps into the air once more. Yálie ducks again as it wings away into the shadows above, stamping a front hoof in irritation. It vanishes into the darkness, high above his head; after a moment, those vibrant green eyes peer at him from near the ceiling, glowing yellow with fell fire.

"You're welcome, you little pest!" He says irritably, satisfied that at least this encounter has ended without grevious bodily injury, and gathers himself to continue down the path into the hellish depths below; with luck, that will be his only monstrous encounter today.