Five and a half year old Dragon Little was asleep on the deck, back leaning against the mast, head leaning back.

Her mouth and chin were still showing the dried remains of the little blood that had fallen come out of her mouth when her tooth was knocked out. He let out a small laugh and leaned down next to her.

In her hand, between her fingers, she was holding her tooth.

“Joy, Joy,” he said gently.

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