"Kushner,.Donn.-.A.Book.DragonUC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dragon Stories)

most dragons now refrained from eating human flesh, but
through suspicion. When they spoke of their reluctance to eat
people, dragons usually mentioned how difficult it was to
separate them from their clothes: the thick leather jerkins; the
layer upon layer of petticoats that bunched up so in your
stomach; then, the armor, the shin-guards, the chain mail,
and all the rest!

But these weren't the real reasons, the grandmother said,
winking wisely. She had finally decided that dragons did not
eat human flesh because they mistrusted it.

They were wise to do so. She herself had flown over
battlefields and seen thousands of human bodies, drying in the

wind, infecting all the air with their stench. Despite this, she
had hovered over the field for hours to watch and learn.

She had concluded that since humans killed, but did not
eat, each other there must be something terribly wrong with
their flesh. "And your cousin will leam what it is one day,"
she said. "You'll see if he doesn't!"

She was referring to Nonesuch's mean cousin, Cauchemar, a
mud-colored beast who was usually seen out of the comer of
one's eye, slithering away, and who was now the only one of
the family who ate humans.

But even though he was the terror of Serpent Grimsby and
its surroundings, Cauchemar probably did humans more good
than harm. He ate mainly murderers and other violent criminals,
his appetite excited by the scent of evil and terror that rose
from their flesh. After such a meal, Cauchemar would lie for
hours at the mouth of his own cavern with an expression on
his face that showed he had acquired as much knowledge as
nourishment from his victim.

He was also fond of liquor. Sometimes he would eat a.
drunkard who had fallen asleep after going out behind the
village inn to count the stars. But even a very little alcohol
affected Cauchemar powerfully. He would then lie on the ground
for hours, staring up at the stars himself, his great eyes like
moons come down to earth, crooning uncouth songs.

"Watch out for Cauchemar," the grandmother often told
Nonesuch, nodding mysteriously. The remark made no sense
at all. Nonesuch, who had not yet reached his full growth,
measured a good thirty feet from nose to tail, and his wingspan
was still greater. Cauchemar, who was smaller, had stopped
growing ten years ago. Nonesuch ranged high in the air for the