Phantasie had never felt so outraged in her entire life.

Bound and trussed like a turkey, her world was a mass of darkness, dirt-smelling skins and rough burlap as she was jostled this way and that, the heavy potatoes bonking her tender nose and wings mercilessly as whatever vessel – it sounded like a cart? – she was on trounced and rolled down the uneven road.
She was too groggy to remember how she’d ended up tied in a sack of potatoes – she had vague memories of drinking too much wine and making a wager with one of the beast clanners ( was it one of those longnecks? She could never tell them apart). The wager had been something to do with…was it singing? Ah, yes! That was it! She’d wagered her magic was more useful than any song. And it was!

She growled through the twine binding her muzzle shut and squirmed, trying to get free of her restraints. The longneck had cheated, that was all! He’d never said that the wager was about making people HAPPY. So what if summoning swarms of insects terrified people instead of delighting them? It was a useful skill! Insects were pollinators, after all! Or well, some of them were. The stinging flies she had set on the longneck and his friends were probably not…

Well, too late for regrets now.

The cart rolled to a stop and she froze as she heard voices. Someone – she recognized that low drawl as one of the longnecks – was speaking, sounded like he was listing prices. A second voice answered, merry and eager. She scowled inside her burlap sack, how dare someone be in a good mood when she was so miserable! But before she could squeak her outrage, the sack she was in suddenly lifted into the air. It took all her focus to curl into a ball and avoid being pounded by her potato roommates as her prison was tossed gracelessly into waiting claws. Whatever had caught her was BIG….bigger than her, and bigger than the longneck. She could feel his long claws…and his hard scales as he hoisted her up onto his shoulder, whistling a merry tune.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. Then another. She waited, straining her ears to hear the cart departing…and then, once she was sure she was alone with her new captor, she took a second deep breath and squealed through her nose at the top of her lungs.

OUCH

The dragon carrying her had been so surprised he jumped, dropping the sack. The wind was knocked out of her as she hit the ground and potatoes buried her in a dirt-smelling heap. She groaned against her muzzle – hopefully nothing had been broken, but-

Light! Air! A puzzled, hollow-socketed face peered into her prison, his looong claws widening the mouth of the sack. She shrank back, terrified by his bony skull appearance, as he said, “Oh, my! This is not what I ordered!” and pulled her out with a single gentle motion.


She blinked into the light, raising a wing to shield her eyes, but as her vision adjusted she understood a little better what she was seeing. It wasn’t a skull face at all – just a mask, worn by a round-looking ridgeback. She drew herself up indignantly at his disrespectful tone, and as he pulled the twine free of her muzzle she demanded, “How can you be so rude! Do you have any idea who I am?”


“Ah…” the ridgeback was taken aback, and looked from her sparkling form to the sack of potatoes and back again. “I…guess you’re the prettiest potato I ever saw…”


She blushed at his words, but threw her head back indignantly. “I’m NOT a potato! I’m a powerful mage, a symphomancer! With just a blow on my flute I can call a swarm of-”

Oh no, her flute! The memory came back to her like a slap in the face – the stupid longnecks had taken it from her to stop her controlling the swarm of flies!


The rotund ridgeback seemed worried by her sudden interruption, for he said, “You play the flute? T-that’s pretty amazing. All I do is work in a garden…”


“You’re a gardener?” she looked from him to the potatoes he still clutched in the burlap sack. “These were for your garden?”


He nodded, gently pulling away the rest of her bonds with a careful claw. “The last batch I ordered were too small,” he said, sheepishly, “Can’t make proper roast potatoes with-“


“Why should SIZE affect the quality of the food?” She demanded, drawing herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. “Have you TRIED the little potatoes?”

“Well…well no…” admitted the ridgeback, looking surprised under his mask. “I…I guess I didn’t.”


“Well there’s your first mistake!” She told him. “Don’t judge things by their size! Only by their quality!”

He grinned at her, and gently set her on his shoulder between the spines. “Maybe you can help me decide,” he said. “Are you hungry?”

“I am,” she said, regally. And then, as he hoisted the bag of potatoes over his other shoulder and turned to walk into the forest, she added, “But definitely NOT for potatoes.”