Ghost.. didn’t believe in dragons. The dungeon was full of creepy and wonderful things, sure, but he had never once seen one in his years of dungeon delving. Not him, not Desmond. And Desmond has a wild imagination as it is-

Needless to say when Logue requested Ghost’s help on the upper scorching floor to look for a pet dragon? Yeah. He wasn’t thrilled. Not in the slightest. He packed his treasure map, nuzzled Desmond goodbye (who was still pouting because he couldn’t come) and trotted out of the door with his beloved pet hound Poppy trailing behind him. Her silly tongue lolling out and her claws scratching against the stone in a pleasant way that gave him a constant reminder she was close. The two were inseparable.

Once it got to the hotter floor however, Poppy decided to ride in one of Ghosts shoulder bags, not wanting her poor little paws to be burnt by the hot stone. Logue was giddy as ever, trotting around researching for his soon-to-be pet dragon.. Ghost rolled his eyes.

“Are we nearly done yet?”

Ghost couldn’t help how grumpy he sounded. He was always a stallion who wore his heart on his sleeve, ever since he and Desmond had banded together to fend for themselves as foals. As rewarding as the dungeons can be, there is a real risk to them. Not every horse gets to leave.

“Almost! I can sense it.. Oh! Oh Ghost, look! I see one, I see a dragon!”

Logue seemed far too giddy about this, picking up the pace and rushing off behind a rock. Ghost braced for a battle, his heart hammering in his chest as he runs round the rock to face the dragon and-

“Logue… You are fucking mental, mate.”

The tiniest Wyrm Ghost had ever seen scurried out of its hole, hissing and spitting little flames at the two.