*I'm going to try and stand on your head again...* He spoke to Brisingir, the

dragon only laughed at him *You remember what happened last time you tried that?* Smoke flew from his nostrils as he glanced back at Merion.

*If it does happen, I THINK you can catch me...* Merion sarcastically motioned to him.

*Eh... fine...* Brisingir had an air of confusion as to what this would help.

Merion jumped out of his saddle, making his way up the dragons long neck, slipping once or twice here and there. He Finlay stood on the rough patch of scales on top of Brisingir crimson head, the swords still drawn and in both of his hands.

He glared at the rider, "And what if I am... "hostile"...?" He yelled, trying to be as much of a smart ass as possible. The sun silhouetted him and his dragon.