Azara perched inside the rib cage of what was likely a several million year old skeleton.

A dinosaur skeleton, the humans called it. A pterodactyl, to be precise. The reorganized bones were hanging above the stream of visitors below, and Azara sat on the bones of what was likely her ancient ancestor, watching them. She was nibbling on a chunk of muffin that she had snatched from the museum cafe, careful not to get crumbs on the ancient bones.

She really didn't understand why the humans cared so much about these bones. After all, they were more likely her ancestors than theirs.

Yet day after day, year after year, the humans flocked to the Natural History Museum of London. Considering their comparatively short lifespans, Azara thought as she peered down at the slowly moving mass of heads and limbs, they spend their time on such strange things.

It wasn't to be said that Azara didn't have an interest in history. She loved strolling the halls - out of view of the humans, usually before opening time - and studying the replicas of creatures long since their heyday and the bones of the creatures that led to become the pocket dragons and the humans.

Unsurprisingly, there was a lot more on the history of the humans than there was of the pocket dragons. The dragons knew, of course, that they had been around for millennia before the arrival of bipedal apes, and that their ancestor's tiny bones would have long since disintegrated, so the humans resorted to a lot of hypothesis.

Despite their errors, it was almost amusing reading the little blocks of text they stuck on planks in front of the skeletons and replicas and pictures and seeing what they thought, what they knew, what they theorized. Many of the texts were augmented with information provided by a dragon professor or historian - very few dragons were allowed into professions, but in certain places such as Britain, it was possible. She had even once attended a class taught at Cambridge that was led by an old pocket dragon professor. With a two-hundred year lifespan, it was not surprising that the dragon knew far more that the human professors.

She finished her muffin, careful not to leave any crumbs on the skeleton. Azara mainly made her home in the museum, wandering the halls and the cafes and the gift shoppe. She knew how to stay out of sight of the security cameras and guards. Why the cameras were keyed on dragons and not the far more suspicious looking humans, she still didn't understand. As if a dragon could take off with a 1-ton mosasaur bone. As if a dragon would even want to.

Very few dragons dabbled with the human's lifestyle. Most dragons didn't bother with money or purchasing things... After all, why would you even need to if you could sustain yourself on insects and table scraps and wild fruits and berries?

Azara waited until there were fewer people below to notice her, then leaped off the skeleton without causing it so much as to rustle. She glided towards a window that was open just a slight, and darted through the narrow area into the brisk outside air.

The pleasant streets and roads of the city opened up before her, dotted with cars and people going about their day. Several dragons glided through the skies or perched in the trees or on the street lamps or rooftops. London probably had the highest dragon population in Western Europe. Unsurprising, considering how much safer it was here for them. Sure, there were places a dragon could go to be treated like royalty, a few countries away and a few more just a jump across an ocean. Yet here, a dragon could live safely and freely- Britain outlawed the capturing of dragons, and as long as the dragons didn't cause trouble, they were allowed almost wherever they wished.

So perhaps sitting on million year old bones was not a good idea, but so long as she wasn't seen.... It wasn't like she was even heavy enough to leave a mark.

She glided out, feeling the need to stretch her wings, fly around a bit, see something other than dead things in various shapes and forms. She enjoyed staring down, watching the humans and their strange lives.

When suddenly something wet, smelly and sticky splattered into her. "Ack!" She growled in surprise, and went tumbling down out of the sky. The awful smell flooded her nostrils and made her nauseated, blurring her vision and tearing her eyes. She barely just managed to gain enough control over herself to catch the wind under her sticky wings to glide down and land on the edge of a rooftop. "Ughhhh..." She growled, taking a few breaths, each one burning her throat from the smell.

She raised a wing to inspect it, and tried not to hurl up her insides at the sight of the splattering of yellowish greenish white on the usually beautiful Caribbean-blue membrane. She sighed and dropped her wing in disgust.

Bird droppings.

The odds. She mentally complained. The odds! Not an inch of her tiny body had been spared the barrage. She could almost feel the acid eating away at her shimmery, ocean-and-azure blue scales, feel it seeping into her obsidian black horns and talons and chestplates. Her ridged turquoise membraned spines that ran from her forehead down to her tail felt sticky when they flexed, and she wanted nothing more than to dive into a pond and wash away the scat. Though she had a feeling that the smell would stay with her a long while. Her silver eyes were still tearing from the pungent aroma.

She flung out her wings, hoping to whip away as much of it as she could so that she could at least fly to a pond. She was about to take off in search of said pond, when the sound of wheels and clattering metal distracted her. Her turned her snout down and looked at the alleyway. It was shaded by the overhanging roofs of the adjoining buildings and sported a door at the very end, so dark and camouflaged with the rest of the metal wall that she might not have noticed it had she not seen the cart rolling towards it.

Indeed, a man wearing shades and a pristine tuxedo was wheeling a trolley with a dark cloth atop it towards the door. The trolley was flanked by another man in suit and shades. Neither human spoke as they brought the rattling trolley to towards the door.

I should get out of here. She thought, getting an uneasy feeling from the men in suits. And quickly. She decided, spreading her wings to jump from the edge of the tile rooftop.

Yet when she was about to jump, her slimy talons slipped on the tile and she went falling down to the concrete below with a reptilian squawk of surprise. She clawed at the air, desperately tried to angle her wings, but in the end she hit the concrete with a thump and crack.

A bolt of pain seared through her left arm, but she but back her cry of pain. Her heart thundered in her chest.

The clattering of the trolley halted.

The man pushing the trolley turned around, a blank face looked down at her. The thin lips curved upward just a slight. "Well, look what we have here. Think the boss'll pay extra if we bring in a surplus?" He commented to his companion, but his face remained intent on her.

No no no no no no no. She thought rapidly, struggling to her talons as the tall, thin man stalked towards her. Yet her left arm only collapsed beneath her- something was terribly wrong with it. She tried to flap her wings...

But by then, the man had reached her. "Most definitely," the other man replied. "And if she's pretty, she'l fetch even more."

Azara began desperately scrambling backwards, but the man easily covered the distance. She bared her teeth up at him, her face contorted into a snarl. If I'm going down, I'm going down fighting! She thought determinedly as she hissed up at the smirking man. "Leave me alone!" She growled, trying to look as intimidating as she could.

"Nah, she looks a bit worse for wear, but she has spirit. She rather looks like an angry kitten, doesn't she? People like kittens." The man above her replied, kneeling down to reach for her.

Kitten?! I am no kitten! But spirit, yes... I've got that. "And kittens have really sharp teeth!" She growled, snapping at the hand reaching towards her. I will not go down without a fight! She repeated. 

But the hand clamped down around her in a movement so swift and practiced that she didn't have time to even nip him. She squirmed frustratedly in his firm grip.

"They like pretty kittens. She looks more like she's been sleeping in a dumpster for the last year." The man standing by the trolley said, though her view had been blocked so she recognized by voice. It sounded a lot closer now. "Smells like it too."

Well you try getting dropped on by a bird and you see how good you smell you-

"True, but that can be fixed." The man holding her said. A moment later, she felt herself being shoved into a barred box- a cage, she realized. She tried to lunge for the hand- to at least give him one good bite- but the hand was gone and the door was slammed closed before she could even take another breath.

She breathed furiously, and through herself against the bars of her tiny cage for all the good it would do. "Ugh!" She growled, only causing a ripple of pain in her injured arm.

"Lass, it isn't going to help. It's solid and there's no way out." A voice said from the darkness around her- Irish, from the accent. "I've tried- trust me." He sounded so resigned, so defeated.

Azara tried to calm her furious breathing, still staring at the cloth behind the bars, not turning to face the voice. "Who are you? What happened? Who are these people?" She demanded.

"My name is Angus, and I'm here against my will just as you are. As for who these people are, that I suppose we are yet to find out." He answered.

Azara finally calmed her breathing. "Is there anyone else here?"

There was a pause before he replied. "I think you better see for yourself, lass." He said finally.

From the tone of his voice, it wasn't good, so she braced herself, and turned around.

And before her, were dozens upon dozens of stacked, individual, caged dragons. 

[ Please remember to vote and comment if you liked! I'd love to hear what you all think of Azara, as well as the latest plot development!]