Original Short Story
The dragon arrived every winter, landed on the ridge and roared until shutters rattled. The villagers assumed it wanted sheep, treasure or dramatic respect. They hid all three as best they could.
One year, little Orla climbed the ridge carrying soup. She had been too busy to be afraid and too annoyed to waste dinner. The dragon sniffed, dipped one claw into the bowl, and made a face so tragic that Orla understood at once. The soup needed pepper.
She cracked black pepper over the bowl. The dragon purred like a furnace. From then on, the village delivered soup each winter, always peppered, always hot. The dragon stopped roaring and used its breath to warm greenhouses instead. Fear, Orla decided, was often just hunger with poor seasoning.