by Paul Cude
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Meanwhile, not a million miles away, Richie and Tank cuddled up to each other in their big thick coats, watching as the chairman of the sports club thanked the usual people for their help in making the display possible. Drifting on the cold, misty air, the aroma of sizzling hot food wafted over the crowd from the stalls at the front of the building. Stars lit up the sky like diamonds atop a black velvet cloak, with not a cloud in sight. Everyone's breath froze as they exhaled, most of the young children absolutely fascinated by it. For a dragon, even dressed from head to toe in warm clobber, none of this was particularly pleasant. Every time the two friends pulled in a deep breath, it felt like they were inhaling a swarm of hungry insects nipping away on everything on both inward and outward journeys. Dragons, you have to remember, are comfortable in exceedingly high temperatures, with their flames generally agreed to be somewhere in the region of 800 degrees, so by comparison it's quite understandable that a temperature in minus figures would cause very different effects in a multitude of different dragons. Some can withstand the cold, suffering only slight irritability, while others suffer extreme pain, in some cases passing out altogether. Tank and Richie both seemed to lie somewhere in between the two extremes.
Finishing his speech, the chairman started to count down on the microphone, the children all joining in as loudly as they could. Approaching five, more adults started to join in. 4... 3... 2... 1...
Exactly as planned, the bonfire erupted into life, clearly enhanced by something very flammable. A dreamy look crossed the two friends' faces at exactly the same time, as they both gazed lovingly at the bright yellow and orange twisting flames that danced and swirled in the distance.