Nebiros looked down at the youth from his lofty heights. Shabbily dressed, lanky, unkempt hair almost reaching his shoulders. He didn't look like much, but perhaps there were hidden qualities to him. Certainly there didn't seem to be much fear in his eyes. Or much of anything else.

"Ah, you must be the sacrifice," Nebiros rumbled. "Are you perhaps the fairest among the villagers, meant to be displayed in my lair? Or their best scholar, meant to discuss philosophy with me?"

The youth scratched his head. "Uh, what?"

"Not the latter, then," the dragon said, sighing. "What kind of a sacrifice are you meant to be, pray tell?"

The youth looked up at him with dull eyes. "Iunno," he mumbled. "You got anything to eat around here?"

"Anything to eat?" The dragon's voice gradually rose into a thundering bellow. "You stand before me and have the gall to give me demands?"

"Well, yeah. Wossmater?" The youth picked his nose, fished out a booger, and looked it over, impressed. "I'm hungry."

In his centuries-long life, Nebiros didn't often find himself speechless, but this was one of those times. He sat back on his haunches and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Do you even realize where you are, boy?" he asked in a defeated tone. "Who I am?"

"Sure. Yer that big bad dragon, right?" The boy nodded sagely. "Everyone knows."

"And yet you're not afraid of me?"

"Not much point, is there?" the boy said, glancing around the gloomy lair before losing interest. "You could probably crush me underfoot if you wished."

"Indeed I could," the dragon said, a little mollified. "What did the villagers even tell you before sending you here?"

The youth's face became animated for the first time. "Oh man, they were all like 'Get off your behind, boy, and be useful for once'." He rolled his eyes. "Parents, man."

"I see," Nebiros grumbled. "Perhaps I shall have words with the village elders about the quality of their sacrifices."

"Whatever. How about some food first?"