The dragon had done its job perfectly. As it lay sleeping off the effects of the Punch Pit, Borgon picked up the fork. He tucked it into his belt, then went over to the dragon.
‘Thanks for the Best Barbarian Breakfast Ever!’ he said.
‘Come on, Borgon,’ said Grizzy. ‘Let’s go before it wakes up.’
But then Borgon saw that the dragon’s belly was still bleeding. ‘I’m not leaving it like this,’ he said. He wiped the worst of the blood away and checked on the wound.
‘Ooh, nasty!’ he said. ‘It’s deeper than I thought. Could that strange little cactus help?’
Grizzy opened her book. She found the right page, then went to dig down underneath the Green Cross cactus. She ripped out a clump of sticky root wool, then brought it back to Borgon who helped her pull it into a square shape. They plastered it over the dragon’s wound, and left it there to do its magic. Soon the injury would heal and the great dragon would live on to have many more fantastic fights, and give other brave savages their own amazing stories to tell.
And that was how it should be.
Borgon and Grizzy got on their horses and headed back to Golgarth Basin. Borgon was full of the happiness that can only come when you’ve had a true barbarian adventure. The vultures still circled overhead, the snakes still hissed from under the cactus leaves and another old yak collapsed and died on the stone plains of the Lost Desert. It had been a perfect morning and it was just about to get even better.
