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Summary
Dragons keep hoards. This is a fact of life. Sarge collects weapons he steals from corpse strewn battlefields like some kind of bizarre red scaled vulture. Donut sleeps on top of a gigantic pile of gorgeous jewels every night that no one knows how he managed to procure. Kai likes stealing bolts of fabrics from human merchants, so colorful that even she can tell the difference between them, silky and soft to lie on. Tex has an entire cave full of gold anything. Jewelry, cutlery, picture frames, buttons, it went on and on. Caboose collects rocks. Just plain rocks, all in a big pile that he’ll hiss at Tucker over if he so much as glances at them.
Dragons can really hoard anything. It doesn’t matter what it is, so long as they have it. Dragons need to have things, for some reason, specific things that they’ve decided that they love and will protect and keep no matter what. No one really knows why, although there are theories. The why of it doesn’t matter, doesn’t change fact. All dragons need hoards.
“Bro, where the fuck is your shit?” Kai asks, looking pointedly around his empty cave.
“Ate it,” he answers.
“You’re not supposed to eat your hoard.”
“Oops.”
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Bookmark Notes:
every time i find a fic i love and didn’t bookmark i commit crime
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