A Dragon Whose Horde is Goats

  And it's a large horde.

  At first, the dragon hunted the hills. It would soar high over the ridgelines, scanning the ground for prey—sheep, goats, the occasional cow—and eat whatever it found. But as time wore on, the animals grew scarce. The dragon’s range had to stretch farther and farther from the den it called home.

  Its den was a simple cave. Well, simple for a dragon. A few golden circlets, some ornately carved stones, and the walls—etched with slow, painstaking claw marks—told the history of the dragon. From hatching to its most recent hunt, all who entered would see the legend in stone and know the monstrosity that dwelled within.

  But even the most glorious of creatures can grow weary.

  Flying day after day just to find something vaguely edible wore on the dragon. Until, one day, it stumbled across a small herd of goats. Not the grandest meal, but it was hungry—so it devoured five on the spot. The rest froze under its gaze, too terrified to move.

  Not one to waste a perfectly good food source, but also too full to bother, the dragon dug a shallow pit nearby, making sure it had access to water. Then it stole a wagon of hay from some nearby humans and dumped it into the pit. Some goats tried to flee, but the dragon circled above, and they quickly returned to the center.

  With a lazy flick of the tail, the goats were nudged into the hole. Satisfied, the dragon flew home and slept for a week.

  When it woke—slightly hungry—it returned to the pit, only to find half the goats missing. Three were quickly eaten, and then it took to the sky, searching for where the rest had gone... or worse, who had taken them.

  It didn’t take long to find them: the missing goats grazing in a valley, a bit leaner, a bit smarter, but still terrified at the sight of their majestic tormentor.

  The dragon, resplendent in scale and power, ate one just to prove a point.

  Panic swept the herd. No longer frozen in fear, they ran—exactly as the dragon wanted. Herding them back toward the pit was almost too easy. The dragon landed beside it and peered in.

  The goats that had remained were thin, barely a snack. A quick deduction followed: the strong ones had eaten the hay and escaped. The weaker ones, lacking strength or brains, had remained.

  One of them still looked decently round. There was hope yet.

  The dragon stayed nearby after that, watching its little herd grow. Surprisingly, the goats were feeding it well. The dragon felt something strange—a sense of satisfaction. Maybe even... contentment?

  Eventually, it dozed off near the herd. Rain tickled its scales. It rolled over—and felt a squish.

  Opening one eye, it found the remains of a goat beneath its leg. Not wanting to waste a snack, it licked up the mess. Around it, the goats had gathered, huddled near the warmth of its massive body.

  Curious little creatures.

  Four months passed.

  The dragon has eaten more wolves than goats lately. The goats were multiplying, thanks to that fat one that popped out a smaller one. Shame the wolves got bold and ate the small one before the dragon could try it—it looked tasty.

  Predators became fewer. The dragon hunted them methodically, ensuring no one else touched its herd.

  But then, the grass started to thin.

  The goats had eaten nearly everything in the valley.

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  Frustrated, the dragon snapped trees in half, scorched bushes, and devoured three goats out of pure spite. Then it flew, searching for more grass.

  On the far side of the mountain—thank the old flames—there was another grazing patch. Larger than the last. Perfect.

  With a roar, it triggered a stampede. A few goats were crushed in the chaos, but the dragon scooped up the quick snacks mid-flight. After killing a bear whose den the goats stumbled into, the new field was secured.

  Finally. A nap well-earned.

  Six months passed. The chill of the season was returning. Time to check on the horde.

  Upon its return, the dragon found the herd had quadrupled. Without wolves, bears, or cougars—and with that pesky human trapper now ash—the goats had flourished. They'd eaten through this new patch too but had remembered how to return to the old one.

  Smart goats.

  Then, out of nowhere, a wolf. Bold enough to snatch one of the goats.

  Unacceptable.

  The dragon devoured both the goat and the wolf in a single bite. But it knew—it wasn’t time to go hunting wolf dens. Not yet.

  No. It was time to get more food for the goats.

  Who eats two entire fields of grass in just a few months? And humans had the nerve to call dragons greedy?

  The dragon remembered the hay. Maybe the nearby village had more of it.

  In the past, it would take a cow or two when things were slow, just to remind them who ruled these skies. Never enough to cause panic. But now... the dragon had errands.

  It spotted a small human walking down a road and gently plucked it up.

  The child wet itself immediately.

  The dragon cleared its throat and announced its titles:

  “The Wise. The Merciful. The Majestic. The Goat Raiser. The Death From Above. Hotrod Stan. Da Razman. Usidoore, Wizard of the 12th Realm of Aethezieth!”

  The child, surprisingly, calmed a little. Perhaps overwhelmed by glory. Maybe impressed by the second title.

  “Are you... looking for something?” The child squeaked.

  “Obviously,” said the dragon. “That’s why you’re still breathing. I am the Goat Raiser. I come for your goat food... and your goats.”

  The child nodded, backing away. “I’ll be right back with those things.”

  “You’d better,” said the dragon, flopping down. “I’ll be here.”

  Hours passed. Wagons were loaded. The dragon broke a few just by poking them. Eventually, it got bored and napped.

  It awoke to the clink of chains. Someone had tried to tie it down.

  Cute.

  It stood up, shattering them effortlessly. Nearby were wagons of hay and goats.

  The child from earlier stammered, “Y-Your Majesty! A storm was coming, and we just wanted to... protect you. From the wind.”

  So, they’d tried to trap him—and left what he wanted close enough for an excuse.

  Good. They understood how dragons work.

  Trip after trip, the dragon ferried goats and hay back to the valley. As it neared the last load, the child approached again.

  “Your unmatchable championage, may I make an offer to your grace?”

  An offer? Intriguing.

  “Speak.”

  “We regret to inform you we have no more goats or hay. But... if your grace is feeling generous, perhaps you would consider allowing us to deliver future offerings—processions of goats and feed—to your bountiful valley. In exchange for... a little of your gold?”

  The dragon squinted.

  “Do not insult the quality of my valley,” it growled. “It flows with the might of nature itself. A dragon on a dragon vein is obvious to anyone.”

  “My lord! Of course! I simply— I merely meant—”

  “Remind me of your request.”

  “O-of course. Only... we ask for some gold from your hoard so we can continue supplying you.”

  The dragon ate them on the spot.

  Some minions are just too dumb to live. The clever ones knew they were fools. The fools who thought they were clever? Dangerous.

  Still... a thought lingered.

  What was it going to do with all that gold anyway? Hire adventurers to find exotic sheep? Combine breeds into newer, tastier, fluffier hoards?

  Maybe... just maybe...

  Goats could be a better hoard than treasure ever was.