Thousand: Seven Hundred Twenty-Five

sarcasm. That would be unfortunate. Sarcasm has always given the dragon hives. “Hm. Steady, firm pressure stops the bleeding. Steady, firm pressure moves the teeth, or so the orthodonist says. How much steady, firm pressure must a peer pursue?” The dragon reflects. “The premise is, we’re peers? Equals? Possible. In ticks, no. In talks? That I doubt, too. I’ve been gabbing ages longer than you’ve been alive.” “And that’s just one conversation,” the girl interjects. “Yes,” the dragon allows, nodding toward the kneeling angel, “we’ve ages yet. Mind if I steal a date? You’ve a few wrapped in wax paper