Let me see who got mocked by a dragon. Wow, it was actually me.
Much like that famous international gesture of friendship-giving someone the middle finger-a dragon's snort often carried contempt, especially a wet snort. This signature gesture had origins far older than the Anglo-French wars; dragons had been doing it at least a thousand years ago.
Brian had recently been filling the gaps in his knowledge of dragons, so naturally, he knew this too.
And just as cats looked down equally on all upright apes, dragons snorting at wizards was perfectly commonplace.
So Brian took no offense at all. Pudding's snort had even suddenly reminded him of the comical sound of a leaky saxophone.
Perhaps there was some special connection between the internal structure of a saxophone and a dragon's nasal cavity.
"Thanks for pointing that out." Brian stopped impersonating a duck and scratched Pudding's scales with a smile, looking at Targaryen. "It looks like my grammar has a lot of room for improvement. Honestly, this language you use is really hard to imitate."
Miss Targaryen stared at him with a peculiar look in her eyes, shaking her head repeatedly.
"It really is difficult, but... Brian, your talent isn't bad. In fact, you could call it excellent-you're a wizard who's never undergone a 'Cultivation Ritual,' yet you managed to imitate half a sentence of Dragon Language straight away. That's already impressive enough-wait, let's put this on hold. I need to give Pudding a talking-to first."
As she spoke, Targaryen tucked her hair behind her ears. Her expression changed, making her look five years older all at once, and she crawled forward fiercely before grabbing one of the Dragon Scales on the back of Pudding's long neck like a mother scolding her child. This scale was clearly much larger than