When I was just a young hatchling, I had always wanted to become a village guardian. My mother told me that it would be a long and arduous journey, a difficult path for any dragon to follow, and hardly rewarding basically being a servant for the human townspeople. But I thought it'd be a welcome change. Maybe even kind of fun. It was certainly more exciting than the typical life of a dragon, though I feared what the other dragons meant when they said I'd have to give up my wings.

It was indeed a difficult challenge... even eating like a village guardian in the first year of my training was difficult. I was stuffed to the point of discomfort, and eventually fattened up to the point I could barely move. My wings, well, they didn't grow a bit. But the rest of me, just continued to expand. That didn't stop my mentor from making me practice chasing off invaders, belching fire at targets, as well as slowly waddling around a perimeter. By the time I was considered to be ready, I was basically a rolling hillside. Even then, there was still the long trek up to the new village, made extra hard by my added bulk.

There was a great feast and celebration when I arrived. It felt kind of weird, getting that much attention. My job was a simple one, really. I was just supposed to stand there and look intimidating. I'd make a bridge with my right midpaw into the river, and shuffle out at night so the bridge was gone. That's a harder job than you might believe. They would feed me every day, and occasionally they'd want me to belch up some of the gases that make my fire or heat up something for their forge directly.

It was all really pretty easygoing. Everyone was pretty friendly, and most of the townsfolk would come to visit me and rest on my bulky frame. Heck, when there wasn't much of a threat, which there usually wasn't, I'd indulge my friends in rides on my back. Toast marshmallows with my fire breath. Not at all like the stories I'd heard when I was a hatchling.