[Faroah]

Fishies! Lots and lots of wriggly fishies! except they weren't wriggling any more because they'd been suffocated, but that was okay. Wriggly fishies were hard to catch so Faroah didn't mind.

The six-inch imp dragon was wrapped around the post of a streetlamp, tiny ears perked up and his jewelled eyes fixated on a stall where a fisherman's wife was hawking his catch. She had a huge fishy raised over her head and was yelling numbers Faroah didn't understand. “Ooh. Issy. Ara an.” He wanted the fishy. He wanted it. He didn't care that it was too big for him to carry or that it would rot before he managed to eat it all or that he would make himself sick in the effort. He wanted the fishy. He wanted it! It was his. “Ine. Ine ine ineineineine.”

As proof, he launched himself from the lamp post and snapped out his wings to glide the distance between them. He had meant to land on the fishy, but he missed and had to grab at the fishwife's arm instead. She shrieked as he clawed his way up her wrist, and tried to shake him off, but he sank his tiny fangs into the fishy flesh and held on for dear life even as his rear claws scrabbled for purchase and his wings flopped about uselessly. It's miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!

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