by Tessa Permar

I sit carving another tooth.  This one came down the gullet 3 meals ago, along with a rabbit, an entire wheat field, and half of a moose.  None of them in tact, but I am able to pick at the moose meat which retained a nice char from her fiery breath. The tooth I’m carving looks to be a lower molar.  I shave it over and over with my hunting knife, now dull from belly acid.  Life in the dragon’s gut.  Who’d have thought it would come to this?  It’s only my 2nd tooth. The first was a surprise.  I thought maybe she had lost a fight.  But wouldn’t you know, dragons shed their teeth.  I assume they regrow.  It’s an adaptation to all that throat fire. Wears down the enamel.  Instead of spitting them out, it seems they swallow them!  Well she does anyway, my lady, the dragon beast who swallowed me whole the first day of shotgun season.  What are the boys saying now?  I keep wondering if she’ll get one of them too.  It’s a hope and a dread.  Don’t think the miracle of wholeness could happen twice.  If Marcus or Jeff end up in her path, I don’t think they’ll be sitting here shaving teeth with me!