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Written for the Tolkien Weekly "Elevenses" prompt. For Baylor's birthday. Beta by RiverOtter.
He’d broken his fast by eating all the ponies he could find. Most had been spiced with the scent of Dwarves, a scent he knew well enough as his current lair had reeked of it for years. There were a few tunnels that were too small for him to enter that still retained that scent.
But that one odd pony—what it had smelled of Smaug was not certain. Not Dwarves, nor Men, nor Elves nor orcs.
What are you, Barrel-rider? the dragon questioned in his mind. Whatever that is, I intend to have you for my mid-morning snack!
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