[Gift] The 11th Hour | Sleigh

When the porter said that he had Cinnamon ready for the sleigh rides tonight, this was, perhaps, not what the guests expected.

Cinnamon towered over the sleigh—all decked out in cozy blankets and fairy lights. A harness wound around his chest and through the gap between his crest and his dorsal spines, and hefty ropes attached at his sides down to the sleigh.

If he chose, at any moment, to break into a dead sprint, the guests would either have to hold on for their lives or be flung far afield. Cinnamon, sensing their apprehension, smiled a toothy, unpleasant smile, accentuating the fangs on his lower jaw.

Most, probably wisely, turned around and went back inside.

But some—whether brave, stupid, trusting, or curious—chose to get in the sleigh.

And Cinnamon picked up his tufted feet, easily clearing the several feet of snow, and tamely trotted around the predestined path. His tail, too tall to bother the people in the sleigh, waved over them in the rhythm of his walking. The earth shook with each mighty step, leading the guests to laugh and gasp and sometimes squeal as if they were on a ride in an amusement park.

At long last—for Cinnamon; the chosen track wasn’t actually that long as no one had wanted to wear the novelty of the dragon-pulled sleigh out or irritate the dragon doing the pulling—they pulled back around to the start and the guest began to depart. Cinnamon waited until the most annoying of them was halfway out of the sleigh, then raised a foot and stomp hard, shaking the ground and startling him, sending him falling into the snow.

Cinnamon cackled. After all, he out to get something out of this for himself.