Rohan sat against the counter in the tavern, thinking about the predicament she and her apprentice—Ewan—had found themselves in. Before she had taken the job, she had entrusted Ewan with confirming that the little township was indeed being victimized by a dragon. 

Dust drifted towards the ground as the ceiling shook.

Dragons were, on the whole, no real problem for her. She had quite a bit of experience hunting them and had collected an excellent set of tools for it. The problem was—

A scaled tail as thick as her torso crashed through the roof, showering the two of them in splinters. The spike at the end scythed through the air, passing just over their heads.

She slapped a gauntleted hand across Ewan’s mouth, stopping the scream just before it became sound. 

There were a few more thumps as the tail pulled back up, a sound like tarps being shaken out, a roar that shook the woodwork all around, and then a distant crash as, presumably, it decided to try its luck with another building.

Rhona released his face and sighed. This was going to be more difficult than she had wanted. Her armor rustled like a soft rain as she stood, the crimson red dragon-scales that covered it rustling with the movement. “Ewan. What was that?”

“The dragon we’re s’posed to be hunting!” he whispered, peeking up over the counter.

“The dragon,” Rhona repeated, leaning back against the shelves of liquor bottles and feeling quite satisfied as a sudden look of panic ran across his face. He was getting better at picking up on hints too. When he’d started with her she’d had to metaphorically – and occasionally literally – bludgeon him to get a clue through.

“Um, yes?”

“What am I going to do with you, Ewan?” she asked no one. “Right now I’m thinking about using you as live bait, then, if you survive, having you spend the next month polishing every item in my armory until they shine brighter than sun-steel.”

He blanched, pressing himself back against the counter. “Come on now, Rhona, no need for that! What’s the matter?”

In the distance, there was another crash and screams.

“You are supposed to be handling my bookings, Ewan. And part of that is is making sure you properly scout the job.” She drew her sword and pointed it at him. “What is this?”

He swallowed. “Your dragon bone blade.”

“The proper weapon for killing dragons, yes.” She patted the quiver on her side. “And these?”

“Dragon killer bolts,” he said. With barely a moment passing, he added, “Enchanted with magic to weaken dragons.”

“Correct.” At least he was learning some things. This time she patted her chest. “And this?”

“Your dragon scale armor. Highly flame resistant.”

“Yes.” She had really hoped he would figure it out with that one, but apparently she once again had made the mistake in putting any sort of faith in the young man. Instead, she put a hand on his head and marched him towards one of the tavern’s windows. “What do you see out there?”

“The dragon, uh, tearing up the town hall?”

“This is why I hate you guild kids,” Rhona said. “You think monster slaying is all stalking and stabbing and trapping when it is mostly reading and learning taxonomy.” She squeezed his head, letting just a little bit of her annoyance shine through. “That is not a dragon. That’s a wyvern.”

He tried to look back at her, but she held him in place. “But… wyverns are dragons, aren’t they? Great big scaly, flying lizards. Exactly what the mayor told me.”

“Except they are venomous, which I did not bring supplies to deal with. And don’t breathe fire, rendering this armor rather suboptimal for the situation. And my bolts will do nothing because enchantments that afflict proper dragons don’t work on things that are not proper dragons.”

“But… they are dragons. A wyvern is a type of dragon.”

She sighed. “Much like you, Ewan, are a type of monkey.”