Dreams and Other Myth-Representations.

...He cursed his overactive imagination. Had he been just a little less of a creative person, the dragon his mind had conjured might not have been so damned big. The bloody thing was huge. For a myth, the great red beast smelled awfully foul. Why couldn't he have imagined a nice little dragon that smelled like daisies? He really liked daisies. But, no, his monster had to smell like...well, whatever it smelled like, it wasn't daisies. He decided that it was better that he try not to think about exactly what this unfriendly looking thing smelled like.

Thankfully, this huge, winged, red, skeleton dismembering, fire breathing, razor toothed, four legged reject from a Godzilla movie was asleep. Why, in the name of all that was holy didn't dragons, especially ones this nasty looking, snore. If the damned thing snored, he would have heard it and at least had a little warning that it was here. As things stood, it looked like tripping over its tail had disturbed its sleep. This situation was going south at warp speed. He pushed himself into a corner of the thing's nest, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, while trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the thrashing form of the waking behemoth. After all the trouble it had caused him, his body had finally decided that this was a prudent time to return control to his mind. Like everything else about this little adventure, the timing could not possibly have been worse. The brain that was finally back in charge of his body didn't have even the slightest clue how to proceed. Things like this just don't happen in real life, and his brain decided that since dragons have no business existing in the first place, it had no business trying to figure out how to kill one.

The beast was definitely awakening. Its joints popped loudly as it stretched and yawned its way back to consciousness. An eyelid the size of a compact car fluttered in time with his stomach. This, he decided rationally, was a very reasonable time for panic.

The sword in his fist suddenly looked particularly puny, and he doubted that his armour would do much good. Actually, he thought, that wasn't entirely true. His nice shiny suit of armour would probably serve quite well as tinfoil, keeping him tender and juicy while he was roasting to a nice golden brown in the dragon's flaming breath. The torch he carried definitely wasn't going to do much good as a weapon against a creature that breathed fire. Yes, panic looked to be just about the best option he had. Maybe if he had a really convincing manic episode, the dragon would take pity on the crazed little human long enough for him to get the hell out of Dodge. It seemed like a very reasonable idea in the face of this most unreasonable circumstance...

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