Sir Lancelot's Dragon

Sir Lancelot's rump was sore. That was not something he would admit, not even to another Knight, but he had been riding for days, searching for the Holy Grail, which was being quite elusive. I don't know why it would even be in this part of Christendom anyway, he mused. Some rich king probably has it hidden away somewhere else.

It was right about then that he spotted the ferocious Dragon.

Of course it was no such thing. At best it was an oversized goose. Lancelot knew that, but a story can be gussied up quite a bit by the time you get it back to the Round Table and by then all the evidence will have been eaten. Lowering his lance, he prepared to charge the dragon or whatever it was.

To his surprise, it cried out. "Spare me, good Knight!" it begged.

These were superstitious times and Lancelot had heard tales of talking animals before, but even the teller sometimes admitted that copious servings of wine might have played a part in the story. He therefore was a bit taken aback.

As he drew closer, he could see that this was not a goose at all. In fact it was a young woman covered head to toe in goose feathers.

"Rescue me, good Knight, for the evil magician Merlin has cast a spell upon me and turned me into a duck!"

No, thought Lancelot, those are goose feathers. And it was no spell. Lancelot's guess was that Merlin had doused her in honey as she slept and then dumped a pile of feathers on her. Probably carted her off out here after that, he guessed. He wondered what the poor lass had done.

"I spurned his advances", she stated, as though she were reading his mind.

Lancelot sighed. "All you need is a dunk in the river - or a heavy rain", he added as her eyes flashed. Being dunked in the river was not what this maid had in mind. She said so, quite firmly.

"Then just pick them off", Lancelot offered.

"They will grow back", the girl insisted. "Tis a powerful spell!"

Lancelot wished she were a goose. Almost that dumb, he thought.

"You must bring me to a priest who can reverse the spell!", she demanded loudly.

Lancelot stared at her ludicrous appearance for perhaps ten seconds. Then he turned his horse, clicked his tongue, and began to ride slowly away. The maiden called after him.

"Good Knight, prithee do not leave me here!"

Lancelot rode on. A feathered dragon, he thought. Not fire breathing, because it would singe the feathers, but with sharp claws, perhaps.

Ah, well, he'd have plenty of time to work on the tale before he got back to Camelot. The maiden's cursing became fainter as he rode on. Yes, a feathered dragon it was, Lancelot decided. With ferocious claws.