The Audacious Adventures of Drippy the Dragon

By E. Michael Lunsford

Drippy just flunked Flame Throwing 101. Now he's running away from home. He's had enough with the teasing and bullying-all because he can't shoot fire like the other dragons, only water. Gallons and gallons of it.

Frantically galloping through the woods to avoid the Flying Dragon Search & Rescue team, Drippy stumbles across

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen It Publications
• Release date: Jan 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781639843879

Book preview

The Audacious

Adventures of

Drippy the

Dragon

by

E. Michael Lunsford

The Audacious Adventures of Drippy the Dragon by E. Michael Lunsford

Copyright © 2022. All rights reserved.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, without the express and prior permission in writing of Pen It Publications. This book may not be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is currently published.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights are reserved. Pen It Publications does not grant you rights to resell or distribute this book without prior written consent of both Pen It Publications and the copyright owner of this book. This book must not be copied, transferred, sold or distributed in any way.

Disclaimer: Neither Pen It Publications nor our authors will be responsible for repercussions to anyone who utilizes the subject of this book for illegal, immoral or unethical use.

This is a work of fiction. The views expressed herein do not necessarily reflect that of the publisher.

This book or part thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means-electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise-without prior written consent of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Published by Pen It Publications in the U.S.A.

812-371-4128 www.penitpublications.com

ISBN: 978-1-63984-387-9

Edited by Leah Pugh

Illustrations by Abira Das

Dedication

To Merlyn, the love of my life.

Acknowledgments

I have many people to thank, but first and foremost my heartfelt and undying gratitude goes to my incredible wife, Merlyn, whose constant love and support continue to amaze me.

Several beta readers gave me invaluable feedback and suggestions for improvement, including Brittany Benson; my brilliant sisters Nancy Harris, Dustie Lynch, and Dona Linthicum; and awesome writers John Boykin, Sam Subity, Patricia Correll, Lee Kelsall, Debra Chapoton, Avon Leonard, Shelly Steig, Doug Horton, Susan Drew, Dee Hahn, Jessica Bayliss, and Beth Anderson.

My thanks and sincere appreciation go out to Abira Das for her wonderful illustrations throughout this book.

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed The Audacious Adventures of Drippy the Dragon, please leave a review to help other readers discover it.

And please visit my website! https://lunsfordmichael.com

Contents

Chapter 1 Leena the Lionhearted

Chapter 2 Shorty Bogg

Chapter 3 Dr. Death and Dr. Doom

Chapter 4 The Cavernous Cave

Chapter 5 King Furnacemouth

Chapter 6 Cantakerous the Cranky

Chapter 7 Motley Mountain of Mirth

Chapter 8 The Blaterskite Witches

Chapter 9 Swamp Scabbyback

Chapter 10 Herzod the Hermit

Chapter 11 Dragon Eggs

Chapter 12 Flugelhorn Burns

Chapter 13 Princess Gwnedonlyn

About the Author

Chapter 1

Leena the Lionhearted

Drippy shivered from the dampness and cold of the River of Riddles that flowed past him and into the night. He peeked out from under the moldy bridge, knee-deep in mud. Water from the wooden beams above splashed onto his already wet nose.

He couldn’t hide here forever. He’d have to come out sometime.

Drippy felt a sneeze coming, but put a claw over his mouth to suppress it. Feeling some snot sliding from his nose, he snuffled loudly—then glanced around, afraid someone might have heard him.

Birds flew from a nearby tree in a fluttering burst—danger nearby.

Drippy looked up. There they were. All his relatives and neighbors, and a few teachers too, swooping across the sky. Their great dragon wings sounded like a clothesline of wet, slapping sheets.

His entire dragon clan soared low over the landscape. They flew in crisscross patterns, cleverly avoiding treetops and mutual mid-air collisions. Obviously out to get him.

Even with a full moon to show the way, they shot thirty-foot flames from their noses to light up the dark corners of the countryside.

Show-offs! Drippy slowly backed into the shadows cast by the bridge and watched. And waited.

It wasn’t for long. Dark clouds drifted in from the west, neatly covered the moon, and started their slow dissolve into a light sprinkle, then a drizzle, and finally a steady downpour of thrashing rain.

Good. Dragons hate rain. It puts out their fires.

As he expected, every dark shape in the sky beat an urgent retreat over the horizon, rushing back home.

Unlike the other dragons, Drippy appreciated the water that now streamed in rivulets down his scaly back. Rain gave him a private world of his own, with no other dragons around to tease and bully him.

He was free to do what he wanted. With his head high, he strode out from under the bridge and continued his four-legged journey down the muddy path and into the woods.

He hadn’t felt this good since he’d stormed out of his fire-breathing class and headed out on his own. Running away, the others would call it. But he liked to think of it as escaping. Getting as far away from their taunts and jibes as dragonly possible.

As he walked, he thought about everything that led up to his current situation.

When he was hatched as a cute little bundle of joy with a big nose, all the grown-up dragons in the kingdom rushed to the Nozzledoffs’ cave to congratulate his happy parents.

After all, it wasn’t every day a pair of 200-year-old dragons got to celebrate the arrival of a new baby.

There was just one problem. It wasn’t apparent at first, but Mr. and Mrs. Nozzledoff got a subtle hint when their newborn sneezed—and nearly drowned the dragon nurse in a surprising stream of cold, clear water that gushed out of his nose. If she wasn’t a wet nurse when she walked in, she sure ran out as one.

That’s one explosive baby dragon, his dad said.

It certainly is a lot of liquid, his mom agreed. Gallons and gallons. Maybe he has an allergy.

Doctor Dragonbreath breezed into the room carrying a clipboard and wearing a stethoscope, metal-rimmed glasses, and an ill-fitting white coat.

Nice frock, Doc, Drippy’s dad said.

Do you like it? I won it in a contest of wits with the Jurassic Giants of Grumbly Gulch. But they were more like half-wits, so…

Doctor, tell us, please, Drippy’s mom interrupted. Is there something wrong with our baby?

Don’t worry, Mrs. Nozzledoff. You were right—he has an allergy. Of course, it’s the very worst kind. He’s allergic to air.

Oh, you mean he’s allergic to the dust in the air. Or the pollen.

Nope. Just the air. Allergic to oxygen, to be specific.

That’s crazy, Drippy’s dad interjected. How can you be allergic to air?

As if to answer his question, the baby dragon sneezed again, dousing everyone in the room with a crushing deluge of water.

About like that, Dr. Dragonbreath said, as he twisted a corner of his lab coat to wring it out.

But that’s terrible. Drippy’s mom put her front claws to her face. Isn’t there something we can do?

Not at this young age. Maybe he’ll grow out of it. Dr. Dragonbreath clucked his tongue. Oh well, them’s the breaks. Now, for our hospital records: What name have you given the baby?

Drippingham, after my father, and his father before him, Drippy’s dad said. Drippingham Nozzledoff the Third.

Oh. Good idea. He’ll love that. The doctor rolled his eyes, wrote on his clipboard, and strode from the room.

As a toddler, Drippy used to love building sandcastles and making little thatched-roof villages complete with streams, ponds, and waterfalls filled with water leaking from his impressive allergies. But the other young dragons loved burning and trampling his creations.

So, he soon gave that up.

He tried joining them in games of hide-and-go-seek, but they always found him. They simply listened for the sounds of his incessant snuffling.

And as much as he wanted to, Drippy couldn’t participate in their favorite game, getting blindfolded and using their fire skills to play light-the-tail-on-the-donkey. Using a real donkey.

The problem was, Drippy couldn’t breathe fire. Not the tiniest flame. He couldn’t light a birthday candle on a molten lava cake.

By the time he was twelve, things should have gotten better. No such luck. For six long years, the other students had teased him about his watery eyes. Made fun of his sniffing and sneezing. And, most of all, laughed at his every attempt to shoot fire. Which always ended in a firehose spray of wetness.

When he completely botched his first test of skills in Elementary Flame Throwing, that was the last straw. He was out of there.

Which is why he was now running away in the dead of night instead of being at home, curled up and sound asleep.

Drippy pushed deeper into the woods, happy to know with every step, he was putting a soothing distance between himself and his heartless classmates.

The rain was letting up now, reversing from downpour to drizzle to sprinkle, and then to no rain at all. Not good. His clan would soon be taking to the sky again.

The moon reappeared to cast quivering shadows from the damp leaves overhead onto his muddy pathway. At least he had some tree cover.

A frantic rustling and the sound of snapping branches broke through his thoughts. It came from beyond the giant oak tree off to his right.

What was it?

He slowly tiptoed from the path and pushed his way through thick undergrowth—then tripped and slipped, his legs flailing as he slid down a steep incline. With all his might, he scrambled and clawed at the ground and bushes to slow himself. It was only with superdragon effort that he managed to keep from tumbling over a jagged cliff.

He gasped for breath to feed his trip-hammering heart. When he finally recovered from his near-death experience, he stretched his long