Mothers are legendary for being able to read the thoughts of their children at just the right moment.

People always talk about good, fresh country air, but I kept getting wiffs of something that was neither good nor fresh but definitely country.

Giannine--What are they going to do: smack me on the head with a pamplet?

Then, early, early, early in the morning-just as in countless Disney films-I heard a rooster crow. But guess what? They don't do it just once.

The wolf sniffed beneath the door to be sure this was a human cottage. The scent was undeniable. No pigs, except in bacon form. The wolf thought bacon form was a very sensible way for pigs to behave.

There, close enough to spit on--if I'd been a barbarian and inclined to spit--was the dragon.

They'd poisoned me, dammit. Probably to trade my dead body to the barbarians for Wulfgar's safe return. Or maybe just for the fun of it.