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gravityeyelidsvia http://ift.tt/2gvQFl1:
saucefactory:
I was recently tired enough to misinterpret “dragonslayers” as “dragons’ layers” instead of “dragon slayers,” and then I spent ten groggy minutes confusedly envisioning dragons with layers like onions, with tender, smooth, shiny, pinkish-purple new scales surfacing once the dull, older ones fell out.
I would like to thank the feverish corner of my brain that had me picturing dragons either moulting like giant, fire-breathing puppies or shedding their skins like pretty, iridescent snakes.
I figured anybody who found a massive, glittery, crackly, translucent dragon-skin discarded in a field or mountain-cave somewhere would strike it rich, because wouldn’t dragon-skins fetch a high price as rare clothing materials or potion ingredients or pseudo-religious curios or fake hunting trophies for the aristocracy? Like, “Look, I slayed a dragon! Here’s its skin! Ha ha!”
But what if dragons valued their own shed skins and came after anyone who stole them? Or if their skins had such terrible powers that all dragons made a pact not to let their husks fall into the wrong hands? Because let’s face it, almost any human’s hands would be the wrong hands.
Or maybe “dragons’ layers” simply referred to dragons within dragons. Dragon babushkas. If you were to peel away a layer of dragon, there’d be a smaller dragon underneath.
Which means you could go from a fifty-foot dragon to a dragon the size of your palm or even the size of your fingernail, its miniature flame doing little more than singeing your fingertip. Its roar would sound more like the tiny honk of a tiny horn on a tiny plastic toy.
Sigh. Why, subconscious? Why?
saucefactory:
I was recently tired enough to misinterpret “dragonslayers” as “dragons’ layers” instead of “dragon slayers,” and then I spent ten groggy minutes confusedly envisioning dragons with layers like onions, with tender, smooth, shiny, pinkish-purple new scales surfacing once the dull, older ones fell out.
I would like to thank the feverish corner of my brain that had me picturing dragons either moulting like giant, fire-breathing puppies or shedding their skins like pretty, iridescent snakes.
I figured anybody who found a massive, glittery, crackly, translucent dragon-skin discarded in a field or mountain-cave somewhere would strike it rich, because wouldn’t dragon-skins fetch a high price as rare clothing materials or potion ingredients or pseudo-religious curios or fake hunting trophies for the aristocracy? Like, “Look, I slayed a dragon! Here’s its skin! Ha ha!”
But what if dragons valued their own shed skins and came after anyone who stole them? Or if their skins had such terrible powers that all dragons made a pact not to let their husks fall into the wrong hands? Because let’s face it, almost any human’s hands would be the wrong hands.
Or maybe “dragons’ layers” simply referred to dragons within dragons. Dragon babushkas. If you were to peel away a layer of dragon, there’d be a smaller dragon underneath.
Which means you could go from a fifty-foot dragon to a dragon the size of your palm or even the size of your fingernail, its miniature flame doing little more than singeing your fingertip. Its roar would sound more like the tiny honk of a tiny horn on a tiny plastic toy.
Sigh. Why, subconscious? Why?
