I suppose I'll update you all with the reason why your Dragon Master has been absent the last few days, but beware, the following recounting of events requires an emboldened spirit.
On the christening night in question, I was under the groggy belief that it was all a dream–nothing could be further from the atoning truth.
Half-asleep, and weighed down by my own lethargy, I somewhat awakened to the molestation of what felt like a female tongue glossing over my slumbering sack of bones.
Her empathic tongue initiated its route on the crown of my indifferent head, and proceeded to glide down and figure-eight my innocent orbitals. I felt the moisture from her stroke remain on my brow ridge and underside of my eye lids, and it remained there as I recoiled in sleep.
When I awakened in the morning, I was stricken with horror to find all the hair on my head absent–ALL of it.
I looked like a befuddled, pink-hued salamander with morning wood.
(To be continued...)