GENRE: MG Fantasy
To save Dragon Valley from human invasion, Wingfinger, a misfit dragon must find the strength to believe in himself or lose his beloved homeland.
All summer, Wingfinger dreaded this day. It was the first session of his Level II training, and he’d be tested on his flying and fire-spewing skills. He’d rather stay home and read myth scrolls; actually, he’d even prefer to clean out the latrine, but training was mandatory.
As soon as he arrived, his stomach in knots, he noticed an unsettling smell. The foul odor grabbed the scent glands on the roof of his mouth, and he covered his nostrils with his myth scroll. His long snout puckered. EW! Smells like rotten gryphon eggs.
Branches crackled. A red and bronze figure moved in the forest surrounding the north end of the village green. He squinted and lifted his golden wing, straining to identify the oddity amid the dense trees surrounding Dragon Valley.
Wingfinger shrugged and stuffed the scroll back into his side-pouch. He straightened out his wings, puny even for a Wyvern dragon, and turned away from the thick patch of tangled trees. He inhaled deeply; the odor assaulted his nose and made his eyes water.
Flap-flap. Flap-flap. Flap-flap. Three dragons looped and twirled above Wingfinger’s head. A long-snouted Dreki with backward curling hopper horns, dropped down and shot flames at the other dragons. Fireballs blazed through the air. A Colchian retaliated, his three tongues sputtering whirlwind flashes of fire as he bobbed his crested head.
Wingfinger perked-up his ear flaps. “Hey!” He shook his longer wing to get their attention, but none of the dragons waved back.