The Thief- Carly Millenson ’18


The dragon looked down at the little man, its hide encased in pitifully thin strips of steel. It held a torch aloft, the weak flame flickering uncertainly with every puff of cold air that whispered through the cavern. The light reflected off the plate armor, making it almost beautiful. But this armor was plain and dull; it had no fine tracery, no designs worked upon it in emerald and ruby, nothing of gold at all. Even the steel was not finely wrought – the dragon could smell the flaky tang of rust and weakness mingled in with the man’s scent of sweat and fear. The creature moved forward uncertainly, its weak eyes unable to see beyond the pale glow cast by its torch. Never once did it look up to the raised shelf where the dragon lay watching it, half crouched and perfectly still. Even if the wretched thing had troubled to look, it would most likely would have seen nothing, and men’s ears and noses were even feebler than their eyes. Men were such strange things – seemingly frail and yet their clever hands and cunning minds gave them great power to work mischief. No other race in all of existence possessed such a gift for cruelty and murder. They took indecent pleasure in killing anything that crossed their paths and in taking what was not theirs. Continue reading