The knife sliced through the glittering scales and deftly flicked the spine bone out of the fish, before sliding it along to sit next to the ones he had already prepared.

Dicing head and tail off the next one, it too joined the row of ten fish on the counter, waiting to be basted. Wait, one two three four…there were only eight fish here. The chef counted them again, definitely eight.

He shook his head, and then pulled two more fish from the bucket of freshly caught one, sliced and diced those two, and put them next to the other ones. One two three four….nine? How could there be nine? Eight add two was not nine.

The chef frowned, and then stepped back and looked at another table, maybe someone was moving them, trying to be a little too helpful. But no, his assistant were preparing the meat for the main course over by the fire. He turned back, just in time to see the tail of a fish flashed as it disappeared over the edge of the surface, followed by a very distinctive sound of claws tapping against the stones of the floor.

He swore through his clenched teeth as he raced around the table, chasing the sound of the claws through the kitchen. It was always just out of sight, but not out of hearing, as his assistants turned to look at him. Eventually, he stopped, threw his knife onto the chopping board and let out a scream.


Less than a minute later, footsteps drummed down the stairs and a girl poked her head into the kitchens, “What’s up?”

The chef pointed with a quivering finger at his dwindled pile of fish. “Those….little devils….have been stealing my fish. Get them out of here!”

Rachel looked around the kitchen, and then blew a piercing whistle.

Immediately, the two culprits raced to the bottom of the stairs, jostling with each other for the position on the bottom step. Gyrp’s soot coloured scales were spattered with the shining ones from the fish he was currently devouring, and Faver’s bronze face looked a little smug as she sauntered up.

Rachel looked at the half eaten fish still hanging out of Gryp’s mouth, and then at the chef, “I don’t suppose you wanted this back, did you?”

“Out! I want them out of my kitchen!”

Rachel scooped them both up, and ran out of the kitchen, back up the stairs. Once they were out of earshot, she slowed down, and deposited one dragon on each shoulder. “What are you two doing? Do you want him to hate you?”

Gyrp noisily slurped down the rest of the fish, and Faver sniggled closer to her ear, making the deep vibrating sound that Rachel had come to know as the closet thing dragons had to laughter.

She rolled her eyes, “Such mischief makers.”

toothless with a pile of fish

These are My. Fish.