It was a bright sunny day and Nycteris was outside in a dirt-smudged next-next-next-best robe and heavy boots, when a smallish, sleepy, dragonish creature approached her.

“Hail archmage of the polysyllabic and impressive titles that you are required by law to put on your business card.” Nyc turned, shears in hand, to see which smallish dragonish creature it was. She knew rather a lot of them. “What intricate and dangerous ritual are you about to undertake?” continued the dragon.

“I’m pruning the hedges.” She said with the intonation of someone who didn’t entirely enjoy pruning the hedges outside on a windy day when her gravity was radically impaired. One of the hedges had a nasty gash cut through the top due to a strong gust of wind. She would convince it to regrow later. It wasn’t hard; plants like growing, especially if they think they’re getting away with something.

“Don’t you have ethereal minions to do that, or something?”

“Would you trust ethereal minions wandering around enthusiastically with big, sharp pruning shears?”

Tags: fantasy, fiction, humor, Nycteris, unfinished, writing