“Fury, that’s right,” Shyan growls, meeting the dragon’s blazing eyes with her own. “We’ve got a lot of anger and not a lot of money. You don’t want to have to deal with us.”
Another slight smile seems to crawl across the dragon’s scaly mouth. It arcs its neck and lets out a high-pitched noise almost like a squealing pig. It’s loud and unpleasant, such that Cang covers his ears.
A moment later, through a plain door recessed into the wall, the dragon’s butler steps forward, bearing a velvet pillow, upon qhich rests a fancy lacquered box.
“Now we’re talking,” shouts Fassn.
Logan Bright — Works 