Dragon Little was five years old, when she stepped out of her cabin, shortly after being woken up, went to Dragon Father and said, “Dad, something’s wrong with my tooth.”

“Huh?” He turned around. It was one of his calmer mornings, where he would just lean on railing and look at the horizon silently.

“Look,” she opened her mouth and showed him one of her front teeth. “This one.”

“Does it hurt?”

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