Dragons name: Hermione; Greek: Well born, earthly
Gender: Female
Personality: Hermione is an elegant, graceful dragon, with a sharp wit and sharper tongue. Despite her somewhat plain appearances, which aid her in blending into the blueberry bush that serves as her home, she is fierce and haughty, refusing to be upstaged by anyone. She enjoys a good battle of wit with all who cross her path. Rarely does she meet someone whose mind is greater, but Hermione accepts defeat gracefully, although vowing that the next chance she gets, she will be the victor. If you come across this Teacup Dragon, tread carefully, because she is easily offended and holds a grudge like a soldier with a sword. Get on her good side and Hermione will be unwaveringly loyal, defending her friends and protecting them at all costs. Because of her somewhat standoffish nature, Hermione is known to be a bit of a hothead, but when she makes a friend she is an invaluable companion.
Short story (Maximum 650 words):
The midnight breeze which ruffled the leaves of a certain Swedish Blueberry bush was cool and comforting, blowing the thin branches ever so slightly as to create a gentle rocking perfect for lulling Hermione to sleep. The summer night was hot and humid, but the wind's feather touch sent just the slightest reminder of spring, her favorite season, and promised that the following morning would be perfect for flying under the shade of the forest. Sighing, she rolled over, adjusting her wings against the small round leaves. Nights like these, she thought, were perfect.
Suddenly, the cool sounds of the night were broken by a huge rustling and shaking of her bush; something was violently thrashing and creating great gusts of air. Woken from her almost dream-like state, it took Hermione a few seconds to process what was going on. Sharp claws pierced through the leaves above her, and a powerful beak repeatedly thrust its way through several branches, reaching for the plump purple berries growing from the bush. Darting out of harm's way quickly, so as to avoid being eaten or smushed or whatever this nighttime intruder had on their agenda, she rose up a few feet above the Blueberry bush. "Hey!" Hermione called indignantly, angry at being woken from her sleep, and, on top of that, finding her house being eaten. "Just what do you think you're doing?" She yelled at the bird, trying to look menacing. "That's my house you're eating! Go away! Find your own bush! This one's taken!" The bird looked at her creepily, moving it's head without turning the rest of it's tawny body. She could tell it was an owl, from the large eyes.
"I need food. This bush is ripe with berries. It is of no consequence to me that you live here."
That was the worst insult yet! "Why I oughta...." She began, but then stopped. An idea was coming on. "Hey, Owl," she said, rather rudely. "I have a fair way we can settle this. I challenge you to a game of wits. The smartest creature gets the bush, and the loser has to find a new one."
The owl nodded once, its eyes half blinking. "Very well," it said, in it's somber, ominous voice.
"Okay," said the dragon, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the pale moonlight. "You must answer this riddle correctly, and if you do, you win. If not, I win." Pausing for dramatic affect, she went on, making the riddle up as it came to her.
"Mightier than a hawk but smaller than a flower.
Fierce looking eyes and wings of tremendous power.
Master of the air, land and sea.
Often I can see you, but you can't see me!
What am I?"
The owl clicked it's beak nervously, adjusted its wings and moved a claw lower down one of the blueberry branches. Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest, their melody making the great bird's silence obvious.
"Fine, I give up," he murmured, somewhat put off at being beaten by such an arrogant creature. "The bush is yours. Even the wit of an owl cannot match yours, little dragon."
Suddenly, the cool sounds of the night were broken by a huge rustling and shaking of her bush; something was violently thrashing and creating great gusts of air. Woken from her almost dream-like state, it took Hermione a few seconds to process what was going on. Sharp claws pierced through the leaves above her, and a powerful beak repeatedly thrust its way through several branches, reaching for the plump purple berries growing from the bush. Darting out of harm's way quickly, so as to avoid being eaten or smushed or whatever this nighttime intruder had on their agenda, she rose up a few feet above the Blueberry bush. "Hey!" Hermione called indignantly, angry at being woken from her sleep, and, on top of that, finding her house being eaten. "Just what do you think you're doing?" She yelled at the bird, trying to look menacing. "That's my house you're eating! Go away! Find your own bush! This one's taken!" The bird looked at her creepily, moving it's head without turning the rest of it's tawny body. She could tell it was an owl, from the large eyes.
"I need food. This bush is ripe with berries. It is of no consequence to me that you live here."
That was the worst insult yet! "Why I oughta...." She began, but then stopped. An idea was coming on. "Hey, Owl," she said, rather rudely. "I have a fair way we can settle this. I challenge you to a game of wits. The smartest creature gets the bush, and the loser has to find a new one."
The owl nodded once, its eyes half blinking. "Very well," it said, in it's somber, ominous voice.
"Okay," said the dragon, her eyes twinkling mischievously in the pale moonlight. "You must answer this riddle correctly, and if you do, you win. If not, I win." Pausing for dramatic affect, she went on, making the riddle up as it came to her.
"Mightier than a hawk but smaller than a flower.
Fierce looking eyes and wings of tremendous power.
Master of the air, land and sea.
Often I can see you, but you can't see me!
What am I?"
The owl clicked it's beak nervously, adjusted its wings and moved a claw lower down one of the blueberry branches. Crickets chirped somewhere in the forest, their melody making the great bird's silence obvious.
"Fine, I give up," he murmured, somewhat put off at being beaten by such an arrogant creature. "The bush is yours. Even the wit of an owl cannot match yours, little dragon."
no one understands what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is. Unless you have it yourself.
Aww, I lost. Congrats, Caskett! 
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