THE DRAGON AND SHARMOON 

by Trisha Monks

(FF cons toys anal magic)

The barbarian army lay encamped on the edge of a 
forest that nestled at the feet of tall mountains. In 
the chill dawn air those warriors to whom tasks had 
been assigned emerged from their tents to start the 
cooking fires for breakfast. Others still slumbered, 
for it was the morning after a hard-fought battle and 
the commanders had deemed it a day of recuperation or 
light duties.

In a patched and threadbare canvas tent beneath an old 
gnarled oak a small, wiry woman threw off her blankets 
and sat up, yawning widely as she untangled her blonde 
tresses. Beside her a taller companion, also blonde, 
stirred in her sleep and murmured drowsily. With a 
sigh the small one poked her head out of the entrance-
flap, blinking at the daylight and sniffing the autumn 
air. Outside the tent a dark-haired woman in a short 
black leather dress sat cross-legged on a flat stone, 
polishing her sword with an oily rag.

"Is breakfast ready yet?" asked the little blonde. 
"Where's the fire?"

"I haven't lit a fire, Keelam," came the reply. "Nor 
am I preparing breakfast. I'm off to the crossroads to 
get my blade sharpened."

"Have you forgotten your duties, Sharmoon? You're 
supposed to teach the recruits this morning."

Sharmoon shrugged. "Strunzel offered to take my place. 
So now I have no duties until sunset."

"Which crossroads are you going to?"

"The crossroads near Bremin. Apparently a travelling 
weaponsmith has set up his smithy at the waymeet."

Keelam yawned again. "Seems a long way to go, just to 
sharpen your sword. Why not ask one of our own smiths 
to do it?"

Sharmoon grinned. "The traveller is a dwarf, Keelam. 
Seldom am I given the opportunity to have my blade 
tended by a dwarvish smith."

"You can't afford a dwarf!" Keelam objected. "You 
spent the last of your money on our victory-ale last 
night and you still owe me six pennies."

Sharmoon shrugged. "Maybe the smith will offer me 
credit until I lay my hands on some good loot?"

"Dwarvish credit?" Keelam scoffed. "Not much chance of 
that!  When did you last meet a generous dwarf?"

Sharmoon smiled, rising to her feet and straightening 
her dress. "I'll be back before nightfall," she said, 
sheathing her sword.

"Be careful on the road, comrade. Not all of our 
enemies fled to the hills after the battle." 

With a nod, Sharmoon walked off towards the centre of 
the camp. Keelam watched until she disappeared among 
the tents, before crawling back to her blankets and 
snuggling up to her sleeping companion.

It was barely four miles to the crossroads and 
Sharmoon made the journey in less than an hour, for 
she encountered neither foes nor peril along the way. 
Two ancient highways crossed at a place where once a 
lone watchtower had stood. The tower was long 
demolished but in the circular ruins of its 
foundations a large covered wagon had been set up, 
festooned with black canvas awnings that looked like 
market stalls. Beneath the awnings stood an array of 
tables, anvils, toolboxes and braziers. Two heavy oxen 
tethered nearby nibbled the grass and gazed 
impassively as Sharmoon approached from the west. She 
saw no other evidence of activity and wondered briefly 
if her trek had been wasted, but her hopes rose when 
she saw glowing coals in a brazier near one of the 
awnings. Halting beside it, she warmed her hands and 
looked around.

Beneath the awning stood a long table to which three 
iron vices were fixed. Implements lay in neat rows on 
the tabletop but Sharmoon recognised them as 
woodworking tools rather than those used by 
metalsmiths. She saw chisels and files of various 
sizes, together with awls, planers and mallets. At one 
end of the table a dozen mysterious wooden objects 
stood in a circle. Sharmoon took a closer look and 
chuckled, for the objects were life-size phallic 
carvings, fashioned with exquisite skill from several 
varieties of wood in the shape of erect cockstems. 
Although amused by this unexpected finding, she 
wondered why a dwarvish weaponsmith would spend time 
on such a craft. Perhaps, she thought, he worshipped a 
fertility goddess and so carved these things as solemn 
religious offerings?

"Do you like them?" said a voice close at hand.

Startled, Sharmoon spun around and looked down at a 
grinning dwarf, standing a little less than five feet 
tall. Deep-set eyes under heavy brows stared up at her 
and a wide mouth beneath a broad nose showed a set of 
pearl-white teeth. A shaggy mop of brown hair framed 
the dwarf's round face, which was smooth and bare, 
with neither beard nor whisker.

"A female!" muttered Sharmoon, voicing her thoughts 
aloud.

The dwarf nodded. "Kirith Moriksdaughter is my name," 
she said, her voice only slightly less deep and 
gravelly than the voices of her menfolk. "What do you 
seek here, tall warrior?"

Sharmoon noticed the dwarf woman wore a tough leather 
apron over her grey tunic and had strong, gnarled 
hands.

"Are you the weaponsmith?" she asked. "I've trudged 
four miles to get my blade sharpened."

She unsheathed the sword and showed it to Kirith, who 
inspected it closely.

"This is a fine weapon!" said the dwarf. "But it has 
seen many, many battles. Morik my father is the smith 
whom you seek, but he went away last night to tend an 
ancient sabre."

"Will he return today?" asked Sharmoon.

Kirith shook her head. "Three days he'll be gone. Do 
you wish to wait for him?"

Sharmoon groaned. "No. I have to get back to the 
warband. Tomorrow we head north in pursuit of our 
foes."

Kirith shrugged. "No need to worry. I can sharpen your 
blade, if you wish, for my father has taught me his 
craft. I lack his skill, of course, but I'm still a 
better weaponsmith than any Skinnyleg!"

"Good tidings!" said Sharmoon, sighing with relief. 
Her eyes were drawn once again to the phallic 
carvings. Kirith followed her gaze and repeated her 
earlier question.

"Do you like them?"

"I don't know," Sharmoon replied. "They're certainly 
unusual."

"I made them," Kirith explained. "Woodcarving is my 
primary craft and I prefer it to smithying, although 
the anvil and hammer would bring me more wealth. 
There's little money in wood these days."

Sharmoon moved closer to the table and picked up one 
of the carvings. It was ten inches long and two inches 
in girth, its surface smooth and polished. The tip 
bulbed like a mushroom's cap, ending in a blunted 
point. She ran a finger along the length and around 
the tip, smiling at its resemblance to a real 
cockstem.

"I've seen something similar before," she said, 
recalling an old memory. "Four years ago, I think. One 
of my comrades bought a phallus from a half-orc 
pedlar. She paid a good price, but it was made from 
leather, and unlike these woodcarvings it was a work 
of no quality. Presumably your fine work is destined 
for the shrines of the fertility gods?"

The dwarf woman laughed heartily. "No! They're just 
toys. No different in purpose to that leather phallus 
that you once encountered."

Sharmoon raised her eyebrows. "You realise, then, why 
my comrade bought it?"

"Of course! Why else would a woman purchase the 
likeness of a cockstem?"

Sharmoon carefully replaced the phallus on the table 
and looked at the others. Some were intricately 
carved, with strange patterns that resembled sinews, 
nodules or tiny spikes. A few adornments mystified 
her: a miniature frog, a skull, a crouching lion.

The dwarf joined her at the table and rearranged the 
carvings, handling them delicately in her thick 
fingers.

"Who buys such things?" asked Sharmoon.

Kirith shrugged. "My customers are many and varied: 
single girls, married women, old women. And some men, 
too: husbands seeking gifts for their wives, men who 
love other men, and a few pilgrims."

"Pilgrims?"

"Devotees of the fertility goddess," answered the 
dwarf.. "They buy them to place in their temples, or 
at least that's what they tell me!" She chuckled 
heartily and Sharmoon laughed along with her.

For a while they inspected the objects in silence, 
until Sharmoon turned away with a sigh.

"So, Moriksdaughter! What about my sword? Can your 
dwarven skill restore its sharpness?"

"Of course! Better yet, I will charge you a mere two-
thirds of my father's rate, for he has the greater 
skill."

"Ah!" said Sharmoon, her mouth drooping. "Now we reach 
the problem. Unfortunately I have no money at this 
time, so perhaps your father might extend credit to 
me. I am known and trusted in these lands, where 
dozens of folk will readily vouch for my honesty."

Kirith's heavy brows furrowed so deeply that her eyes 
were almost hidden in shadow. "A problem indeed! Alas 
for you, my father never gives credit to Skinnylegs. 
He gives it to fellow dwarves, but only with 
extortionate rates of interest."

She saw the gloomy expression in Sharmoon's face and 
met the tall warrior's mournful gaze. Stone-hearted 
dwarf though she was, Kirith was not so stern as her 
father. Even by dwarven standards he was mean-spirited 
and his daughter felt sympathy for those with whom he 
bargained.

"Listen to me, lady," she said, after an awkward 
pause. "Perhaps we can strike an agreement, you and I?  
I'll sharpen your blade, for free, but you must do 
something in return, for free. How does that sound to 
you?"

Sharmoon's curiosity was instantly aroused, especially 
at the mention of a free sword-sharpening.

"It depends on what you want me to do."

"It's quite simple," Kirith explained. "I need someone 
to comment on my newest designs. It has to be a woman, 
of course. If the comments are favourable, I'll take 
the new carvings to market on Saturday."

"Alright," said Sharmoon. "That sounds easy enough. 
Show me the carvings and I'll give you my honest 
opinion."

Kirith grinned. "I need more than your opinion, lady. 
I need you to try them out."

The request so surprised Sharmoon that she laughed. 
"Are you serious?"

Kirith nodded, returning Sharmoon's grin. The warrior 
took a deep breath. 

"Well, Moriksdaughter! I admire your curtness. Dwarves 
are not famed for their tact, it is said, but your 
blunt speech exceeds all!"

For a moment they stared at each other, until Sharmoon 
raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright! I care 
too much for my sword to refuse your offer. Consider 
the agreement struck and sealed."

Kirith bowed, following the custom of her race, 
placing a hand over her heart and closing her eyes. 
Then she straightened and pointed to the wagon.

"My father's best grindstone sits under the front 
axle. Give me your blade!"

They walked over to the wagon and Kirith reached 
beneath the axle, hauling out a heavy grindstone on an 
iron trestle. Sharmoon marvelled at the dwarf woman's 
strength, admiring the well-toned muscles in her 
limbs. Kirith became aware of the barbarian's gaze and 
acknowledged it with a wink and a broad smile. Sitting 
on a low stool she set the stone turning, working the 
pedal with her foot, her short sturdy legs pumping 
hard until the wheel spun faster than a night-breeze.

Sparks flew from the steel as Kirith pressed the sword 
against the spinning stone. Such was her skill that 
the process was completed within a few minutes, far 
quicker than if a barbarian smith had undertaken the 
task. Sharmoon took back the blade and tested its 
sharpness on her finger. To her delight, it drew blood 
at the lightest touch.

"Excellent!" she commented, her blue eyes narrowing as 
they scanned the blade's smooth surface. "Sharp as a 
razor, yet no trace of the grindstone. If Morik is a 
better swordsmith than his daughter, then surely he is 
the best that now lives!"

Kirith stood up, smiling at the compliment as she 
returned the grindstone to its place beneath the axle. 
Standing beside a short ladder that led to a door in 
the wagon's wood-panelled side, she beckoned to 
Sharmoon, and together they stepped up and went 
inside.

The interior was shadowy and dim, taking light from 
two small windows that flanked the door. At either end 
was a floor-bed of soft cushions and blankets, 
partitioned by a curtain that could be drawn at need 
across the middle of the floor. Kirith led Sharmoon to 
the rear of the wagon and signalled for her to sit 
among the cushions.

"This is where I sleep," she said, tidying the 
cushions and blankets. She placed an open box on the 
floor and knelt beside it. "My father rarely spends 
his nights in the wagon, for he prefers inns."

Sharmoon gave a knowing grin. "He enjoys a few mugs of 
ale?"

The dwarf woman nodded, but showed no hint of 
amusement. "Too much ale, alas! And wine, too. But 
most of all he enjoys the company of Skinnyleg 
wenches, especially the tall ones."

"Dwarves do seem to have a penchant for tall women," 
said Sharmoon. "I speak now from my own experience, 
for last year two dwarves chased me around a tavern, 
proclaiming their undying love for me. Luckily I 
outran them, otherwise they would have fucked me on a 
table in front of everyone!"

Kirith chuckled. "Would you not have enjoyed it?"

Sharmoon shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Perhaps one day 
I'll allow myself to be caught and bedded by a dwarf, 
just to satisfy my curiosity."

Kirith cast her a swift glance, but Sharmoon failed to 
notice it, her attention being drawn to the box. It 
lay within her reach and she rummaged inside, pulling 
forth a long, slender phallus with a bulbous tip and 
three raised rings encircling the shaft. She examined 
it closely, lifting an eyebrow as she ran her finger 
over the rings.

"My new collared design," Kirith explained, taking the 
carving from Sharmoon. "It stimulates well, I think, 
but I would value your comments on it."

"You've used it on yourself?"

The dwarf nodded, stretching out her short legs as she 
sat on a cushion facing her guest.

"Try it. See what you think."

Sharmoon hesitated, before sitting back among a heap 
of cushions, making herself as comfortable as 
possible. She felt somewhat nervous, which surprised 
her, for coyness rarely troubled her and usually she 
felt at ease displaying her body in the company of 
other females. A flush of warmth at the edges of her 
face told her that she might even be blushing 
slightly. Stretching her long legs, she hoisted up the 
hem of the leather dress and held it in place with her 
left hand, expecting to hold the phallus in her right. 
Her expectation was corrected by Kirith, who shook her 
head solemnly.

"It's better if I do it," she said. "I have more 
experience with such things."

Sharmoon cautiously parted her thighs, keeping a wary 
eye on the phallus. For a while Kirith did nothing 
except stare at the barbarian's exposed crotch.

"Now I see why our menfolk chased you around the 
tavern, for you are indeed very beautiful."

"Thank you!" Sharmoon replied, watching in bewildered 
anticipation as the dwarf woman smeared her fingers 
with oil from a glass jar.

"Just relax, tall warrior! The test will be worthless 
if your muscles remain tense."

"Gods!" hissed Sharmoon as her cunt felt the touch of 
a warm fingertip. Then she gave a soft gasp as two 
sturdy fingers wormed inside. Old jokes about dwarvish 
clumsiness sprang into her mind, but Kirith's probing 
felt surprisingly gentle and exceedingly pleasant.

Sharmoon sighed, and smiled, closing her eyes as she 
snuggled her bare buttocks into the cushions. She 
purred when a fingertip lightly brushed her clit and 
felt truly disappointed when the touch was not 
repeated. Instead, the dwarf slowly withdrew her 
fingers and transferred them to the wooden phallus, 
oiling the shaft until it glistened.

"Do you feel sufficiently lubricated?" she asked and, 
when she received a nod in reply, she gently inserted 
the phallus into Sharmoon's slit. Inch by inch, the 
hard shaft penetrated the warrior woman's well-oiled 
flesh, making its way slowly along until its entire 
length lay inside. Sharmoon opened her eyes and beamed 
at Kirith, who grinned as she withdrew the shaft very 
slowly. As the three raised collars moved backwards 
along her slick tunnel, Sharmoon gave a series of tiny 
moans and her nostrils flared. The bulbous tip had 
almost emerged from her body when the shaft thrust 
forward again, its pace still deliciously slow, until 
once more it lay buried deep within.

"How does it feel?" Kirith inquired.

"Wonderful!" whispered Sharmoon, her long dark 
eyelashes fluttering.

"Good!" chuckled the dwarf, as she again withdrew the 
shaft. Twelve times she repeated the sequence of 
inserting and withdrawing, until Sharmoon sank down in 
the cushions, sprawled out like a drunkard, her face 
pink and her legs quivering. Kirith's final withdrawal 
of the phallus left her teetering on the brink of 
orgasm, but then the bulbous tip slipped out of her 
body and she lay among the cushions, breathless but 
unfulfilled.

"Why did you stop?" she asked, her eyes fixing the 
dwarf with a hostile stare.

"Better that you don't climax too soon," came the 
reply. "Better for me if your cunt stays hungry for my 
carvings, for then your flesh is more sensitive to the 
test."

Sharmoon sighed, sitting up with some difficulty 
before regaining her former position. Flicking a 
strand of dark hair from her face she made herself 
comfortable again.

"What's next?" she asked, peeping into the box.

The dwarf woman held up a phallus whose shaft was 
shorter and thicker than the first. Instead of a 
single bulbous tip it had a row of three, each bulb 
decorated with dozens of tiny round nodules. Kirith 
smeared it liberally with oil, chuckling mischievously 
when she saw the anxious expression in her guest's 
eyes.

"Don't fret! I know it looks formidable, but I assure 
you that the pimples won't hurt your flesh. Do you 
need more oil?"

Sharmoon shook her head, bracing herself for the 
insertion. The first bulb disappeared inside her slit 
with a soft squelching noise, then the second, and 
finally the third. Her flesh, still tingling after 
being so cruelly deprived of its orgasm, felt so 
heightened in sensitivity that she felt every one of 
the countless nodules as the three bulbs made their 
slow journey along her slick tunnel.

"Hell's Fire!" she gasped through clenched teeth as 
the phallus began to pull back, the nodules or pimples 
scraping along her tube as the three bulbs pushed 
against the slick walls. Her heart pounded and her 
head spun as the shaft halted, paused briefly, then 
thrust forward again. Her fingernails tore into the 
cushions and she closed her eyes so tightly that they 
hurt.

Kirith repeated the sequence nine times, in and out, 
in and out, and on the ninth withdrawal Sharmoon 
climaxed, her buttocks squirming among the cushions as 
she succumbed to the strange sensations. In the 
aftermath she half sat, half lay, breathless and 
sweating, her nostrils flaring at the scent of her own 
juices. She gave a faint smile to the dwarf but 
received a glare in response.

"I told you to hold back!" Kirith complained, tossing 
the phallus aside. "Why did you let yourself go so 
soon?"

Sharmoon pursed her lips. Never before had she been 
chastised for climaxing too quickly. She had always 
regarded it as an advantage, a talent that her female 
lovers appreciated and her male lovers avidly 
welcomed.

"It's hardly my fault! Blame that thing you shoved in 
my cunt! Surely my climax is a compliment to your 
woodcarving skills?"

Kirith's gaze softened and her broad muscular 
shoulders relaxed.

"I'm sorry. I was wrong to be angry with you, for 
indeed you have complimented my carving in the best 
possible way. Please excuse the heat of my dwarvish 
temper!"

Sharmoon smiled. "I forgive you. Yet maybe I should 
have held out a while longer?"

"A Skinnyleg weakness!" said Kirith, patting 
Sharmoon's knees. "A dwarf woman has the strength to 
hold her climax until the time is right."

"I don't believe that. I reckon it's no more than a 
myth."

"No. It's true," Kirith retorted, reaching inside the 
box and producing a third phallus. This she held 
aloft, while Sharmoon peered at it. Unlike the other 
two carvings it was smooth, slender and unadorned, 
with a slightly bulbous tip.

"Are you recovered yet?" asked Kirith.

Sharmoon nodded, clearing long strands of hair off her 
face. She saw the dwarf smearing the slim phallus with 
oil and wondered why such lubrication was necessary.

"No need for oil," she pointed out. "My cunt is 
dripping like a honeycomb!"

"This isn't for your cunt," said Kirith, chuckling to 
herself. "Turn over, please."

"No!" Sharmoon protested. "I'm not having that wooden 
spike shoved up my ass!"

"Remember our bargain!" hissed the dwarf. "Now turn 
onto your belly!"

Cursing under her breath, Sharmoon twisted around and 
lay face down on the blankets, folding her arms on a 
cushion and resting her chin on her hands. Another 
cushion, placed by Kirith under her hips, lifted her 
hindquarters so that her bare ass was raised and 
exposed. She groaned, still grumbling, and received a 
playful slap on her right buttock.

"Ouch! That hurt!"

"Well, stop complaining! And make sure you relax."

Sharmoon giggled when she felt an oily fingertip 
prodding her asshole.

"Hey! Stop tickling!"

"Hush!" said Kirith, as her forefinger eased into the 
puckering hole. She felt the warrior woman's flesh 
tighten around the finger as it wormed its way deeper. 
When she heard a soft moan she smiled, wiggling her 
finger to lubricate the passage. Intuition told her 
that Sharmoon was no stranger to this kind of 
intimacy.

Sharmoon gave a long slow moan and heard what sounded 
like a faint echo of it. She paused, listening, 
hearing at first only the squelching noises from her 
asshole. But then she heard it again: a sigh of 
pleasure that was not her own. Twisting her head, she 
peered behind and saw the dwarf woman's left hand 
moving beneath the leather apron. A dreamlike 
expression glimmered in Kirith's deep-set eyes and her 
wide mouth hung half-open. Sharmoon grinned when the 
dwarf gave another sigh.

"Enjoying yourself, Moriksdaughter?"

Kirith nodded, continuing to masturbate while probing 
Sharmoon with the wooden phallus. The barbarian turned 
away, resting her left cheek on her hands and smiling 
when she heard a low grunting noise. She knew Kirith 
had climaxed and she soon followed suit, the pleasant 
tingling in her rear passage suddenly welling through 
her abdomen to pulse through her entire body. A few 
moments of mutual peace ensued, in which the only 
sound was of slowly intaken breath.

"Turn over!" Kirith ordered, her voice shaky and 
hoarse. "Lie on your back."

Sharmoon obeyed, but wondered how many more objects 
she would be required to test. Kirith noticed the 
sweat glistening on her guest's brow and answered the 
unspoken question.

"Just one more experiment. Then you can go back to 
your warband."

Sharmoon eyed the dwarf suspiciously as she pulled 
from the box a small bundle wrapped in a stained rag. 
Kirith unwrapped it carefully, smiling when she saw 
Sharmoon gape in horror at the object thus revealed: 
an iron phallus, its tip fashioned in the likeness of 
a dragon's head with ravening jaws and sharp fangs. 
The dwarf grinned as she squeezed the base of the 
metal shaft, for it made a clicking noise and the 
dragon's jaws opened and closed.

"Devilry!" hissed Sharmoon. "Surely you're not 
thinking of ...?"

"Orcs made it," Kirith interrupted, chuckling at the 
terror in the barbarian's dark eyes. "They use it as a 
torture device. But fear not, Skinnnyleg. This evil 
tool is not part of our bargain!"

To Sharmoon's relief she put the gruesome implement on 
the floor and rummaged in the box, eventually picking 
out an imitation of the dragon phallus. It was in fact 
a perfect replica in wood, with jaws that similarly 
opened and closed, and rows of tiny fangs.

"Three days I spent on the making of it," Kirith 
explained, admiring her handiwork. "My instinct tells 
me that it might become a popular plaything for my 
regular customers. Are you brave enough to test it?"

Sharmoon gave a hesitant nod. "I'm brave enough, yes. 
But if you hurt me with it Moriksdaughter, I'll test 
my sword on your skull!"

"Agreed!" replied the dwarf, chuckling as she greased 
the wooden dragon with oil. 

The hidden mechanism at the base of the shaft clicked 
and the jaws closed. Sharmoon held her breath as the 
strange device approached her slit and her teeth 
clenched when the dragon's muzzle entered her body. 
The glistening flesh lips parted to receive the head 
of the carven beast and soon it was burrowing inside 
her, its ears and gaping nostrils pressing her secret 
places as it passed. Then, to her astonishment and 
delight, the jaws slowly opened, producing a sensation 
unlike anything she had known before. 

Kirith listened carefully to the warrior's sighs and 
moans, using them to guide her manipulation of the 
device. If she twisted the head too much, Sharmoon's 
appreciative noises ceased and her limbs tensed. If 
the jaws opened too quickly, they prompted a groan of 
displeasure. 

Eventually, Kirith partly withdrew the dragon to allow 
the tiny wooden fangs to close upon Sharmoon's 
stiffening clit. The barbarian cursed loudly and 
clenched her teeth, feeling a myriad of familiar 
sensations curiously intensified. Coaxed by Kirith's 
skilful handling of the dragon, she experienced a 
third climax that rivalled the sum of the other two in 
its potency. The dragon's teeth nibbled her clit until 
she felt certain that the fleshy nubbin would be 
completely devoured. Blood pounded in her head, 
subsiding slowly as the waves of pleasure gradually 
lessened, but for a full minute afterwards she lay 
breathless and panting, her legs twitching whenever 
she tried to move.

"Good! Very good!" commented the dwarf, rising 
creakily to her feet and shoving the box of carvings 
into a corner. She straightened her apron and tunic, 
offering Sharmoon a helping hand when the barbarian 
finally felt able to sit upright.

"Ignore my earlier complaint," said Kirith. "I hereby 
rescind it, for you are not as weak as other Skinnyleg 
females. True, you climax too quickly, but you possess 
a good measure of stamina, and that is an admirable 
trait."

With considerable effort Sharmoon struggled to her 
feet and tidied her hair and clothing. Looking down at 
the dwarf she noticed a twinkle in the deep-set eyes 
and a wide toothsome grin.

"I like you, my tall friend!" said Kirith. "Maybe one 
day you'll find me again, and we'll share a jug of ale 
in a tavern?"

Sharmoon smiled, reaching out to ruffle the dwarf 
woman's hair. "Maybe so, Moriksdaughter. Maybe we'll 
do that. But now I must hurry back to the camp."

Kirith bowed and led her out of the wagon. Outside, 
the sunlight seemed very bright and they shielded 
their eyes against it.

"Thank you for sharpening my sword," said Sharmoon. "I 
trust that you consider my debt paid?"

"Paid in full, dark lady! Indeed, so enthusiastically 
did you test my new carvings that I now feel deeply 
indebted to you." 

The warrior woman turned to leave, making for the 
crossroads, but Kirith called after her: "Which of 
them was best, do you think?"

Sharmoon spun on her heels and looked back at the 
dwarf. "The dragon, of course! That's why you kept it 
to the last, is it not?"

Kirith laughed and gave a parting wave as Sharmoon 
strode away, watching as the barbarian broke into a 
run before a distant dip of the road hid her from 
sight.

THE END

The Dragon & Sharmoon. Copyright 2003 Trisha Monks.