“What’s your name, mate?” I asked.

  “Um… Howdy! I’m Russel von Whaley, travelling merchant extraordinaire. At your- er, service!” He stopped cowering behind his wagon for long enough to stand, sweep his patchwork cap off his head, and bow to me. As soon as his hat hid his bald pate again, he ducked back behind his wagon, and I heard his teeth chattering.

  I moved closer and stretched out my neck, looping my head under the first axle, and looked up at him from below. His clothes were travel-stained but well-made. He was portly, not quite fat but certainly not a man who hit the gym three times a week. The oxen shivered in fear as I poked my head out from beneath the wagon.

  “You want to talk or just piss yourself?” I asked. His eyes opened, snapped down to my grinning face, and he screamed like a little girl with a skinned knee. The noise startled me, and I banged my head on the cart, which upset the oxen. Upset oxen tend to make things smelly.

  The man shot off towards a series of small bushes nearby, and I clamped down on the cart with one claw as I carefully extracted my now-bruised noggin. The oxen dragged their feet into the dirt track before stopping to shiver in place. They turned their heads to point eyes that rolled wildly in my direction. Huh. Mammals.

  “Stop hiding over there, you know I can fly!” Not being super-friendly there, Bob, tone it down. “Look, I’m not gonna hurt you or your animals. Do you need to get to Fidler's Mill? How far down the road is that?” I asked.

  “I’m calling the Guild! They’re gonna fuck you up, you monster!” he called.

  “Dude…” I flicked out my tongue to taste the air. We were alone. The only person I’d had any kind of conversation with for days was a thousand-year-old weirdo who thought of me as a mentally challenged child.

  “Bloke, I’m not gonna hurt you. Look, I can’t let go of your cart or the bloody cows will bolt, and you’ll lose your stuff. I’m looking for trade opportunities?” I finished in a slightly hopeless voice. I was going to end up eating this guy's ox and clawing through his loot while he ran screaming into the wilderness to gather a mob wielding flaming torches to try and burn me out of my mountain. I could feel it in my water. My optimism had died.

  A bald head peeked over the nearby bushes, then vanished back down after snatching a quick look. His hat was skittering across the ground in the breeze. I could hear quiet cursing, and the bush continued to shake back and forth.

  “You won’t hurt me?” he called.

  “You won’t attack me?” I bounced back.

  “What the fuck could I do to a dragon?” he said bitterly.

  “I dunno. I’m new here. I’ve seen magic cock-rings, mushrooms crossed with spiders, and some hopping pink things that I wanted to eat. I’m not from around here, boy,” I growled.

  “You’re not a local either?” his head rose over the bush and stayed there. Narrowed brown eyes locked onto my glowing purple ones. Interesting.

  “Are there a lot of non-locals?” I asked cautiously. I lowered my body so I wasn’t looming over the cart, and my neck curved down to put my eyes at slightly less than six feet off the ground.

  “I’m from Midland in Texas, man.. dragon. The locals call us Outremondes. This place is a bit of a dumping ground for souls from other planes, not just the shitty parts of Earth,” he muttered as he stood up and brushed the dirt from his knees.

  “By the ‘the shitty parts’ I assume you mean anywhere that isn’t Texas?” I asked carefully.

  “Course, boy! Where you from?” He was suddenly confident. He strode forward and stopped a couple of metres from my jaws. My face. I wasn’t thinking about how easy it would be to snap forward and swallow his upper body in one mouthful.

  “I’m from a little town you probably never heard of,” I began, but he started snickering. “What?” I snapped.

  “Heard that line before, boy. No trouble! You don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine by me. How long have you been here?” he coughed at me between his laughter.

  “I.. I’m not sure. A week or so? Maybe? I was in an egg for god knows how long.”

  “Shit.” He spat to the side as he emerged completely and strolled towards me. “A proper noobie! Where you from? Back home on Earth, I mean?”

  “Yorkshire, mate. How long have you been here?” I replied.

  “Uh… four or five years? Started in Ankmapak when I got here. Took me a couple of years to escape the Thieves Guild's clutches, but I’m a free trader now,” he said proudly. Thieves Guild. My scales couldn’t rise like the hackles of a dog, but they tried to.

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  “Is that the big city at the end of the river?” I asked, moving slightly away from the thief.

  “That’s the one! Everything has a price, and if you don’t know what something is worth, eight different assholes will be fixin’ to quote you different numbers in Ankmapak. You been there?” He stroked his chin. “Nah. Dragons get shot down by the Adventurers Guild or heroes before you can get too close. Hey… You’re rich, I’ll bet?” THIEF! Some instinct screamed at me to kill this untrustworthy creature. I held myself back.

  “I took a look, but didn’t dare get close,” I admitted.

  “Very smart! I like a smart customer. Makes me feel confident to work with them. How would you like to establish a-uh, business relationship, Mr. Dragon?”

  “What are you offering? I’d be interested in trading.” Internally, I was considering eating his oxen and stealing his cart. I was pretty sure I could carry the thing without the dead weight of the draft animals. They’d just go into the biomass stores and be used for an evolution sometime soon.

  “Now, now, big fella. That dog won’t hunt. We need to establish a working relationship, don't we? There’s no trust here yet,” he said, taking a tiny step closer to my jaws. My lips curled back slightly. “How can I grow some sense of brotherhood between us?” he added quickly.

  “I’ve got some things I could sell, if you can get me decent prices for them, we could work together in the future,” I growled. I wanted to eat the draft animals. Every time my tongue flicked out, I tasted the rich beefy flavour in the air.

  “Like what? You dragons usually have good gear, right? How about one of your scales?” he asked, a greedy look passing across his face. He hid it quickly, but the cold and logical part of my mind saw it clearly.

  “My scales are far beyond your price range,” I said haughtily. “Maybe in the future…” Who was I kidding? That would also be a nope. “I’m more interested in selling bulk goods and enchanted items.” His eyes glowed brighter than my own.

  “Bulk goods? Where are ya based, boy?” he asked. His eyes were wide, honest, and far too earnest. I turned away and shot twin streams of acid at a nearby tree. I didn’t like being called boy, nor did I like his interest in my lair.

  As the oak slowly melted and collapsed into a puddle of nightmarish liquifaction, my glowing eyes turned back to him and narrowed into slits. Hunters Gaze activated, and the man farted loudly then fell to his knees. I hoped it was just a fart. A tongue flicker later and I knew that, nope, it wasn’t just a fart.

  “I can bring some small goods down to trade with a mate from the old world, such as yourself. It will be on my terms, though.”

  “Sure thing, buddy!” He bowed low, almost digging a divot in the dirt with his forehead. “I wouldn’t dream of imposing on you! What kind of goods have you got for sale?”

  “Crafting materials, ores, and magic items,” I replied imperiously. He rose cautiously and flinched as I slapped a hand down on his cart to reinforce my draconic superiority.

  This proved to be a mistake on my part as the already terrified oxen bucked. The one on the left broke free from the yoke, bursting away from the cart in a mad rush. Something within me acted beyond my control. I leapt, flapped my wings twice to carry me across the distance, and descended on the ambulatory meal. Fangs sank into its neck, and my tail stabbed down to sever its spine just before its hind legs.

  My head pulled back, and the poor animal's front half disappeared. I sucked it down like a frat boy with a keg.

  Oxen level one slain!

  Gold earned!

  Five gold added to the hoard!

  Biomass stored:

  57.5 KG

  Biomass required for evolution: 50 KG.

  I belched and backed away from the site of the raw barbecue.

  “Oh, sorry about that!” Another belch ripped out, and I backed away from the remaining ox that had collapsed to the ground in terror. The scent of it voiding its bowels again spread out, and I clamped my mouth shut to avoid tasting any of the rank particles now floating through the air. I needed a dust mask.

  The human was shivering, and I didn’t need to taste the air to figure out what the stain running down the leg of his pantaloons was.

  “Look, I get these urges sometimes–” I started, but he cut me off.

  “I get the urge to have a second dessert every now and then, or a double helping of dumplings! Not to eat a fucking cow in two gulps! Jesus, dude.” He took a deep breath and then shifted gears. “You, on the other hand, are a valuable trade partner and can eat what you like! Look, we need to work out a contract, right?” He sounded oddly eager.

  “Sure. I’m really sorry about your ox.” I narrowed my eyes at him, and he flinched, looking away.

  “Not a problem at all, my scaly friend! Cost of doing business!” He winced as I belched again, but he had quickly gotten control of himself. I didn’t like the sneaky glint in his eyes, though. “Look, I’ve got all sorts of good stuff. If we can make a deal, I could look to set up a regular run to your, er, base of operations. Where do you operate out of, my friend?”

  I glanced involuntarily at Mount Bob in the distance, and he followed my gaze.

  “Excellent! It’s a bit far for poor old Jenkins and Jilly. Never mind, you ate Jilly. How about you fly down to the wood outside the Mill, or just north of there at least, and we can establish a trade outpost? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander after all! I can get you the best prices, old mate. I’d rather chop my own hand off than lose an opportunity like this!”

  I glared down at him. His remaining ox was busy building a pile of fertiliser that would likely stop his cart from moving, and he was looking to establish a trade outpost. What the hell was wrong with this human? Was he as divorced from the new world as I was?

  “Why aren’t you shitting yourself more than your cow?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. He stood for a moment like a goldfish, mouth opening and closing.

  “I smell profit! Any good trader would kill for this kind of opportunity! What do I call you?” he asked.

  “I’m the dragon called Bob,” I replied slowly.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bob. Ya’ll can call me Tex! Put ‘er there!” He stuck out a hand and looked down at it in confusion.