The knight paused in thought. “Alright, it's a tall order, but I don't mind a challenge.” He snapped his fingers. “Bring me a fireproof suit, all the olive oil you can find and five— no, make it six— bottles of whisky. Tomorrow I ride out to the dragon's lair alone, and NOBODY is to follow me.”
A few hours later, the villagers watched him riding off in his fireproof suit, his oil and whisky in a cart behind him.
“Do you think he's really going to…”
“At least he's considerate.”
“At least he needs whisky.”
For the rest of the day, the villagers went about their chores in the shadow of the mountain where the dragon made her lair, trying not to think about what might be happening up there. At one point there was a sudden rise of smoke, as if a great fire had been lit. Followed by a draconic roar.
At the end of the day, the knight rode down again. The cart was empty. His suit was blackened. He looked exhausted, and was sheened with sweat.
“Job done,” he said as he got down from his horse.
“Poor girl is barely out of her first shed. Poor thing. Never been in heat before, didn't know what to do.”
The villagers kept staring.
The head man of the village felt like he should probably say something. “Are you… are you alright?”
The knight looked down at his suit. “This? Oh yeah, she sent out a few warning shots. Didn't like me getting too close to her lair.”
“So you…” the head man's sentence was cut off by another roar, and the sound of wings flapping overhead. The villagers ducked as one, the knight simply looked up, grinning.
“Olive oil and whisky, never fails.” He looked around at their confused faces. “See, normally the female is meant to build a fire herself to draw the males to her. She produces an oil from her cheek glands that lets them know she's in heat. Burning olive oil and whisky mixed smells the same— at least to a dragon— so you can use it in a pinch.” He pointed upwards. “That'll be the male.”
The villagers were silent. The knight began to feel rather unnerved. “Hey, why are you all looking at me like that?”
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