A Place to Call Home

He hesitated for a few moments. 

The sword was not exactly a mirror, and its blade wasn't truly flat either. So, the reflection was somewhat distorted — and yet, he could discern the shapes of things. 

There was the parapet of the rampart, the beautiful edifice of the main keep, its roof and towers, tattered flags hanging limp in the absence of wind. There was also the lilac sky behind the keep, and the clouds drifting in its vast expanse like pieces of a torn shroud. 

However, there was one thing missing. 

The great mass of the sleeping dragon was not reflected in the sword. 

Jest rubbed his eyes, then carefully leaned through the doorway to look at the roof of the main keep with his own two eyes. 

The damn dragon was there, sleeping soundly. It was hard not to notice its vivid vermilion silhouette contoured against white stone. 

'What the hell?'

He retreated back into the tower. 

"Where's the damn dragon?"