“You do know I have to ride the dragon too?” The examiner looks like he’s been working all night long — exhausted, grumpy, and already regretting this.

Puny human will roast alive before his pudgy bottom graces my scales.

“Right!” My face flushes. “Pickles will let you on. No problem.” I pat her rather aggressively.

You say no problem. You don’t have to carry that donkey.

The death glare is scarier on Pickles than the clipboard troll behind me.

“Pickles? What kind of name is that for a dragon?”

Yet, I feel sweat drip down my spine from the man instead.

Pickles used to be the size of a pony when I was a young girl myself. Now that I’m sixteen, she is a teenager at heart with a body of a full grown adult. We’ve both been feeling rather annoyed lately — at my mom for setting a curfew, at my younger sister for bothering us, and just at everyone who doesn’t get it.

“She ate a barrel of pickles and turned green for a week.” I chuckle. “Her official name is Seraphira, if you need it for your… forms.”

How dare you?! My sacred name does not belong anywhere near this man!

I throw a glare back at Pickles. The man doesn’t get it. He mumbles to himself. But thankfully, Pickles isn’t trying to eat him yet.

Mounting is… not ideal. Pickles has never let anyone ride her except me, and even then she pretends it’s charity work. But she knew we were coming here and this had to happen.

Normally, I’d run up her leg and find my seat on her back within seconds, ready to fly in battle. The squat man looks to be in less than stellar shape. The logistics don’t add up.

This is gonna be good. I almost can hear her laughing. I shout at her in my head.

He guides us over to a building where he climbs up a ladder and jumps on Pickle’s back — ungracefully but successfully. Luckily, she doesn’t roast him or buck him off. Step one : miraculously complete.

“First, let’s back up in a straight line.” The man’s voice sounds annoyed like we are a waste of time.

Oh he wants to back up? This is going to be delicious.

“Don’t even think about it.” I speak low.

“What?” Asks the man.

“I said this will be a piece of cake.”

Telepathically, I remind Pickles we need a license to fly around the city area or to work together in the mountains. Sure, we’ll have to run errands for my mom, but it would be one step closer to being seen as an adult. To being seen as an official Flier Pair.

Steam floods out of Pickles’ nose. She walks rather quickly backwards, swishing her tail. Bright orange cones fly across the lot.

“Mmhmm.” The man grumbles.

But he doesn’t get a chance to write on his clipboard. Pickles leaps into the sky backwards and flies forward into the clouds. Not a part of the test, but we both are still hanging on so I’ll count it as a win.

“This will cost you points, deviating from the course.” The man shouts at me over the wind.

Take care of him. Or I will drop him in the lake.

Shaking my head no, I give the man my best smile. “Pickles can ace your test blindfolded and backwards. But she doesn’t like you.” I shrug again.

The lake is getting closer.

“You have two options. Fail us, and we’ll keep coming back. Or pass us, and you’ll never have to see either of us again.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats. With an attitude like this, you’ll never pass this exam.” The man huffs.

Pickles stops flying. We plummet. His shrieks remind me of my little sister.

“Okay!” He screams.

Wings push back into the wind, lifting us from our fall. My cheeks are bright pink and a laugh of excitement escapes me, but I’ve survived many of Pickles’ tantrums. And I know this isn’t over yet.

The forms.

“We would like the passing forms before we land.” I know I should be more embarrassed than I am, but Pickles makes it hard to be apologetic.

The man scribbles away and shoves the paper into my hands. He huffs again. Maybe in another life he was a stubborn dragon too.

We land safely, slide off one after the other, and walk into the building together, leaving Pickles to wait. She threatens me to hurry or she’ll burn the building down. Five minutes later, I have my card with both of our pictures on it.

My smile is bright and excited. Pickles’ attempt at a smile is alarmingly threatening. Our pictures together come off a little crazy.

The next human that isn’t you that attempts to touch me will lose their hand.

“Your promises are so dramatic.” I roll my eyes.

The examiner walks by us, shaking his head. “You know, your permit lasts six months. And then you’ll need to retest for your license, but it won’t be with me.”

His laugh is quiet and deep, yet mocking. Even though his words threaten, I can tell he’s grateful to be on the ground and done with us. He points to a lady with a tag that says License Examiner. She is more burley, has pit stains halfway down her shirt, and swears as she spits on the ground.

A deep rumble roars behind me.