Fang the Laughing Dragon, Size Mini (Soft Firmness) MISHAP Hand Painted Watermelon
A gnarled, clawed hand set his splay of cards down on the old wood in a confident fashion. He was nearly sure of his victory, he had the win wrapped around his pinky finger. The Kudu across from him tilted her crown of spiraling horns, eyes scanning over the worn little cards, scrutinizing each one carefully. Fang’s grin was widening with every passing second. She had finally lost in this little game of theirs. For centuries they had played and for centuries he’d lost. She was old magic and he was old power. They came together every hundred year at this very same table in the Kudu’s secluded lair. This was his century, this was his year, this was his game. Her cloven hooves scattered her hand across the old oak, and the great dragon felt all the breath leave his chest.
It seemed the Kudu was victorious once more.
Her smile was lazy and teasing.
He folded his arms irritably.
But fair was fair, for another hundred years he would provide her with plucked scales for her magic potions and stews. A dragon’s scale was priceless in the hands of a voodoo queen.