So here is...
Deagon and the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog
Years of enduring the torture of The Killer Rabbit jumping out from behind rocks to gnaw on his throat had set his nerves on edge. He didn't need this sort of aggravation. He was from a long line of Headley Dragons, who for a millennia perched atop Carn Eige, until the the gangrene blight started settling in and they had to move to a drier climate.
To his left Deagon heard a feint scratching, and by pure habit he jumped into the air, twitching and cringing and protecting his throat. And being a dragon, he had an awful lot to protect. When he finished his absurd looking panic attack he noticed a small field mouse scrounging around in the grass. He slightly relaxed, though instinctively he still protected his throat.
"Oy, Deagon! Hehehe! Been years! I sees the rumor I hears about you are true. None but those what been dealing with the Rabbit move quite that quickly and, er, cringey! How'd ya manage to cover yer whole neck with just those tiny arms?"
Deagon let out a sigh, and gingerly replaced himself upon the perch he started from. "Ah, it is good to see you, Old Fergut! Yes, yes it is true. One learns certain skills when one is in the employ of a ruthless Killer Rabbit. But I had no choice, you see. No choice at all." His voice trailed off as he nervously threw his head back and forth, searching for any sign his employer and semi-nemesis might be around to hear. There were no trees here. No rocks, no bushes, now scrub. Just a little sparse patch of scrub grass, hardly big enough to hide someone as big as Killer. Not that he was huge....normal rabbit sized. Deagon cleared his throat.
"It wasn't so bad at first. Yes, the jump out and attack from behind a rock tactic gets to one after a while. But you learn to listen for it, and as you have seen you learn how to protect your, um, assets. No, it got really bad after he appeared in that movie and was given the Gentle Pillow of Nasty Correction as payment. There is just no working with him now. And he's started making the oddest demands. Every night before he goes to bed he demands a glass of chocolate milk and a bedtime story. I hate reading bedtime stories. I have to hold the book too close to the nostrils, and inevitably I end up with singed paper and a dose of the Gentle Correction." He shuddered at those last words and tossed his head around again.
Old Fergut nodded his little mouse head in sympathy. "Tsk, poor pet! You have endured much for what your family had need of you. Your mother would be proud." He placed his little forepaw upon the twitchy dragon's knee, intending comfort but getting an airborn trip to the next bluff over for his trouble.
"I am SO sorry!" wailed Deagon, as the old mouse came scurrying back. He reached down. The old mouse climbed up his arm and rested there while the nervous dragon inspected for injuries. Satisfied all was well, Deagon gently placed the mouse back in the scrubby patch of grass. He tossed his head back and forth one more time, just to make sure his employer was not around. Again satisfied with his lack of findings, he settled in a little to chat with his old friend.
"That Pillow is the worst thing one can endure!" continued the lamenting dragon. "You can't imagine!"
"I can imagine. I seen the crazy torture doohickeys those movie peoples use." Old Fergut prided himself that if nothing else, he was sympathetic.
Deagon covered his eyes with his wings and heaved a sigh that made his whole body shudder and smoke with a little bit of flame came from his nostrils, setting the little scrubby patch of grass alight and sending his old friend scurrying.
The old mouse was so concerned with where the flames were and keeping the,away from his already thinning fur that he failed to notice that in the ground, next to the scrubby patch of grass, was a hole. A small hole, but still there. He tumbled inside and landed on something soft. Something soft and furry. Something soft, furry, and a little bouncy. He jumped up and down a bit, and rubbed his paws in the fur. He looked up to see two red glowy dots amongst the black. That is the last he saw before he no longer had to worry about singed fur or twitchy dragon friends.
Up top Deagon still had his wings over his eyes. He didn't even noticed that he set the grass alight or that his old friend was missing. He was lamenting his fate, in a way that you do when you think it is safe. He paused to take a breath and noticed he didn't hear Old Fergut anymore. He removed his wings from his eyes and looked up. He saw the black singed grass and ashes that once was grass and old friend. Instantly on alert, he gathered himself on his haunches and cautiously looked around.
That is when he saw him. The Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog. Slowly the Killer Rabbit came out of the hole, first his ears, then his head, then one paw. He slowly came out of a hole he was sure hadn't been there a minute ago. The Killer had changed tactics.
Deagon started to tremble. He knew this would not and well for him. He tried to fly away but could make his muscles work, and he tripped over his wings and stepped on top of his own feet. He came crashing down next to the Killer Rabbit, a tangle of neck and wings and legs.
"I have been hearing nasty rumors about you, Deagon. Nasty rumors" said the Rabbit. He slowly turned away from the dragon and sauntered back to the hole from which he had emerged. "I have been told that you disobeyed a direct order....the order to kill my nephew Buckthorn. Is this correct?"
Deagon lay there, still tangled in himself, huge alligator tears running down his cheeks. "Hmmmhmmmm hmm" he sniveled.
"I have ways with dealing with traitors like you" The Killer Rabbit reached into the hole and brought out a huge yellow pillow with bright orange trim, little tiny mirrors sewn all over the surface, and huge tassels on each of the 4 corners. He lifted up the pillow until he could look into the dragon's eyes through one of the tiny mirrors on it's surface. "No one crosses The Killer. Rabbit. of. Caerbannog. No one!"