In which honey attracts detritus

He was finished. Every scale shone with the light of the golden honey spread across them. It had worked, and he was excited. He cooed and cawed at his own beauty, and then decided to trounce down to the stream for a much needed drink of water.

Unfortunately, going to the stream required him to pass through all sorts of chaparral and underbrush, and when the dragon finally got to the stream, he was no longer cooing and cawing, and instead was fuming. His reflection from the stream looked more like a bird nest with legs and less like the glowing creature he had been in the meadow.

His heart was broken. The honey had not worked. All it had done was let every stick, twig, leaf, and feather grab ahold of his scales. He was not beautiful. He was trashy. Tears streaking down his cheeks, a lump deep in his throat, the dragon decided to throw himself into the stream. He would rid himself of the hated honey if it was the last thing he ever did.

He was plunging toward the water when something caught his eye, something small and shiny.

September 25th, 2008

In which honey attracts detritus

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