The Dragon Who Wished to fly

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The Dragon Who Wished to fly Zephyr’s Magical Journey The story follows Ignis, a young dragon who suffers from an unusual ailment: despite being a dragon, he cannot fly, much to his embarrassment and the scorn of his peers. Driven by his longing for the clouds, Ignis undertakes a series of comical and desperate attempts to take flight, ranging from jumping off cliffs to tying himself to hot air currents. Ultimately, he finds a unique solution that allows him to experience the joy of the skies, proving that there is more than one way to achieve a lifelong wish.

Kiko and Pip's Garden Retreat

Goblin Creature

 

The Geode of Jitters

 

Bartholomew's Hilarious Quest to Build a Wall with Padded Mittens

Bartholomew was, by all accounts, a magnificent Golem. He was seven feet of finely packed earth and clay, capable of lifting an ox and standing guard for three days straight. Unfortunately, Bartholomew had a severe, debilitating phobia: he was terrified of rocks.

Not just big boulders—those he respected—but small, pointy, unassuming pebbles. He viewed gravel paths as mortal enemies and once spent an hour trying to tiptoe around a tiny, innocent piece of quartz he called "The Shining Menace."

"But Bartholomew," his creator, the kindly old Wizard Barnaby, often sighed, "you are literally made of earth! Rocks are just hardened, older versions of you!"

"And what if they are contagious?" Bartholomew whispered, hiding behind Barnaby's feather duster because a stray river stone had rolled under the desk. "What if I get… rocky?"

His fear reached a ridiculous climax when the village needed a new defensive wall. Bartholomew, being the only one strong enough to haul the materials, was paralysed. He stood at the quarry's entrance, gazing at a pile of perfectly harmless, grey construction stones. He whimpered, "They’re staring at me! I can feel their jagged judgment!"

Barnaby, having reached the limit of his patience, handed Bartholomew a pair of enormous, padded mittens and a pair of dark sunglasses. "You are now carrying them in an act of courageous transportation, not fear. They can’t hurt you if you can't feel them, or look them in their stony little eyes."

Reluctantly, Bartholomew put on the gear. He picked up the first stone, yelped, and promptly dropped it. But then he saw the determination in Barnaby's eyes. Taking a deep breath, he picked up a second stone with his padded mittens. It felt soft and warm, just like a piece of bread, thanks to the padding. He couldn't see its sharp edges through the dark lenses.

To everyone's surprise, Bartholomew spent the entire day carefully and fearfully hauling the rocks. He didn't run. He didn't scream. He just whimpered softly while carrying them and set them down with the delicacy of a kitten. The wall was built in record time, becoming the most gentle-proof wall in the entire kingdom.

Bartholomew never fully lost his fear of sharp pebbles, but he discovered that his true strength lay not in ignoring his fear, but in padding his hands and squinting a lot. The village, recognising his unique talent, gave him a new, perfect job: Chief Soft-Ground Paving Consultant, ensuring that all future paths were made exclusively of perfectly smooth, non-threatening dirt. And every evening, he would sit proudly on the soft earth next to his new, gently built wall, happily polishing his anti-rock mittens.

The end.

Zorp's Cloudy Victory

Paws-itively Perfect Party

Pip’s Hibiscus Dream

 

The day the world turned pink

Petal Parade Pitter-Patter

 

Rex's Rocky Ride

 

Rex's Rocky Ride

Arnie the ant, tiny but tremendously strong, wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. His little blue baseball cap, slightly askew, symbolised his determination. Today's task? Taking his best friend, a plump, lime-green dinosaur named Rex, for a stroll through the rocky, emerald-green forest. Rex, a cheerful, miniature Tyrannosaurus, wore a comfortable brown harness, from which Arnie gripped the tiny lead with all his might.

The path was challenging, winding over grey and brown pebbles and past towering, bark-brown tree trunks. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of olive-green leaves above, dappling the forest floor. Arnie's six legs pumped tirelessly, his little ant heart bursting with pride. Rex, his shiny black eyes sparkling, chirped happily, enjoying his ride. Together, the unlikely duo made their way, proving that even the smallest creature could accomplish mighty feats with a good friend by their side.

The Pterodactyl Who Knit Clouds

Percy's Fluffy Solution to Wind-Based Shame

Percy the Pterodactyl was a dinosaur of many contradictions. He loved soaring, yet he possessed the aerodynamic stability of a damp newspaper. When the wind dared to blow harder than a gentle sigh, Percy didn't glide; he pinwheeled. His contemporaries, sleek and effortlessly efficient, referred to him as "The Aerial Accident" behind his back.

"Flap with the resistance, Percy!" yelled Terrance, a highly-accredited flight instructor with the temperament of granite, as Percy tumbled past.

"I am!" Percy shrieked, landing spectacularly (and painfully) in a bed of unusually springy, pale green moss.

As Percy dusted the moss off his magnificent but bruised crest, inspiration struck. This moss wasn't just springy—it was durable. What if he could braid, twist, or somehow weave this material into something solid? Something soft enough to sit on, but strong enough to weather a gale?

The next week was spent on the ground, much to Terrance's silent relief. Percy had adopted a new, intensely non-predatory hobby: knitting. He used his sharp, powerful beak with painstaking delicacy, turning fluffy moss into thick, rough yarn. His talons, usually reserved for snaring fish, were now employed to anchor his work.

His first attempt, a tiny, lopsided disc, was a spectacular failure. It absorbed water like a sponge and dropped him straight into a shallow mud pit. His second looked suspiciously like a giant, fuzzy sock.

"What in the Mesozoic is that?" squawked Petra, gliding low for a look.

Percy ignored her, driven by the vision of stationary, wind-free napping. Finally, using a technique he called the "Triple Helix Moss Stitch," he completed it: a perfect, dense, slightly shimmering cloud.

He launched himself into the air with his creation clutched tightly. When a sudden, aggressive gust hit, Percy did not panic. He simply unfurled his knitted cloud, maneuvered his feet onto the soft landing spot, and perched mid-air. It was glorious. The wind howled beneath him, but Percy was calm, stable, and, most importantly, stationary.

He casually pulled a leaf from his satchel and began fanning himself.

Terrance, fighting a brutal headwind that threatened to de-feather him, stared open-beaked. "What... what are you doing?" he bellowed, his voice strained.

"Oh, this?" Percy replied, adjusting his position on the plush moss-cloud. "Just enjoying the view, Terrance. You really should try the Triple Helix. Excellent structural integrity."

From then on, Percy became the most sought-after pterodactyl in the valley. He opened a small, highly exclusive "Air Rest Stop and Bespoke Cloud Shop." The sign simply read: "Percy's Parcels of Plushness: We Conquer Turbulence with Textiles."

Other fliers—weary sparrows, elderly feathered serpents, and even the perpetually stressed Terrance—would pay exorbitant fees (usually in shiny river pebbles) for a chance to rest on one of Percy's stable, pastel-green creations.

Percy, once the laughingstock of the sky, was now the pioneer of atmospheric home décor. He had proven that sometimes, the best way to handle your weaknesses isn't to struggle harder, but to simply knit yourself a comfortable place to sit until the trouble passes.

The ends.

 

Fancy Kitty

 

The Mermaid and the Joyful Goldfish

 

Tale on Reward from a Bit of Joy

Elara’s Wobbly Sleepover

 

The Ghost Who Couldn't Boo

The Ghost Who Couldn't Boo

Barnaby was a ghost, and not a very good one. While other ghosts floated with an eerie grace, Barnaby tended to wobble and bump into things. He was supposed to be a master of fright, but most of his "boos" came out as a pathetic puff of air, like a leaky balloon.

One chilly autumn night, Barnaby spotted his target: a tiny kitten with fur the colour of sunset orange, sitting on a mossy log. The kitten held a tiny pumpkin carved with a wide, toothy grin, and its lantern cast a warm, happy glow.

"This is it!" Barnaby thought, his spectral form shimmering with determination. He glided forward, trying to appear menacing, but his wobbly descent caused him to trip over a stray root, sending him tumbling head-over-tail feathers in a cloud of sparkling, cerulean blue. The kitten, instead of being scared, blinked its big, emerald green eyes and tilted its head.

Barnaby righted himself, trying for a classic "boo" again. "B... b-b-boo!" The sound was more of a soft sneeze, accompanied by a little gust of lavender-hued wind. The kitten just purred and rubbed its little head against Barnaby's glowing form, making him tickle and turn a brilliant shade of fuchsia.

Realising he wasn't going to scare the kitten, Barnaby floated down to sit beside it. He watched as the kitten's pumpkin lantern illuminated the forest floor in shades of warm honey and goldenrod. The waves of stars the kitten was holding were now a mesmerising blend of silver, violet, and shimmering gold. Barnaby knew he wasn't a master of fright, but maybe, just maybe, he was a master of friendship. He smiled, a happy, shimmering, and now multicoloured ghost, content to simply sit and enjoy the quiet, magical night with his new friend.

 

The Lily-Wrapped Home

 

The Lily-Wrapped Home

Nestled deep within a valley whispered to be touched by ancient fae, stood an old cottage. Its walls were built of sturdy, weathered stones, each one a soft, mossy grey, while its thatched roof was a warm, golden-brown, looking like a giant, cosy hay bale. Tiny, diamond-paned windows sparkled like watchful eyes, reflecting the gentle sunlight.

But what truly made this cottage magical was its garden. Instead of a riot of different blooms, a magnificent semi-circle of only calla lilies embraced the front of the house. These weren't just any calla lilies. They were a breathtaking spectrum of colour and grace. Some were the purest, most pristine white, their elegant chalice shapes holding dewdrops like tiny diamonds. Others were a velvety, regal purple, so deep it almost appeared black, contrasting beautifully with their vibrant yellow spadices. There were also lilies in shades of creamy peach, soft rose pink, and even a few rare ones with delicate speckles of crimson.

Their long, emerald green leaves, glossy and heart-shaped, created a lush, verdant frame for the cottage, making it seem as though the house had sprung directly from the heart of this floral embrace. A single, winding stone path, paved with river pebbles of slate grey and warm terracotta, led to the cottage's sturdy wooden door, painted a cheerful robin's egg blue.

The air around the cottage was always sweet with the faint, delicate perfume of the lilies, and a gentle hum of bumblebees, fuzzy and golden, could always be heard. It was a place of quiet beauty and enduring charm, where time seemed to slow, and every morning brought a fresh bloom, guarding the old cottage in a timeless embrace of pure, vibrant colour.

A Toast to Friendship

 

A Toast to Friendship

Pip and Squeak were two of the friendliest sausage puppies you'd ever meet. Pip had fur the colour of warm caramel, with patches of creamy vanilla, while Squeak was a sleek, shiny chocolate brown, as rich as a freshly baked brownie. They were inseparable, always wiggling their little tails with delight whenever they saw each other.

Today was a special day! The backyard was transformed into a carnival of colours, filled with party balloons bobbing and swaying in the gentle breeze. There were balloons of shimmering rose gold, buoyant sapphire blue, and cheerful lemon yellow, all tied with ribbons that sparkled like woven rainbows.

Pip and Squeak, both sporting adorable party hats striped with festive emerald green and ruby red, stood on their hind legs, each holding a tiny, glittering glass filled with sparkling berry juice that fizzed with tiny, effervescent bubbles of amethyst and rose quartz.

"To adventures!" barked Pip, his voice a happy squeak, as he clinked his glass against Squeak's.

"And to endless belly rubs!" yipped Squeak, his tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggled like a happy jellybean.

They both giggled, a sound like tiny bells ringing, and took a sip of their delicious, sparkling drinks. The world around them seemed to shimmer with their joy, the colours of the balloons reflecting in their bright, playful eyes. For Pip and Squeak, every day was a reason to celebrate, especially when they were together.

Fuzz-o-saurus, the Gingko Guardian

 

Fuzz-o-saurus, the Gingko Guardian

In a forgotten valley, where ancient trees touched the clouds and rainbows arched across the sky after every gentle rain, lived a very special dinosaur named Nothronychus. But unlike his scaly cousins, this Nothronychus, affectionately known as "Nothy," was covered in the most magnificent, curly fur. His head, especially, was a glorious crown of spirals, soft as spun moonlight and the colour of warm, cinnamon-spiced tea.

Nothy wasn't a fierce predator; he was a gentle giant, a lover of leafy greens and sun-drenched naps. His favourite pastime was to sit beneath the grand old gingko trees, whose leaves turned a breathtaking shade of saffron gold in the autumn. Today, the breeze was playing a delightful game, sending waves of these fan-shaped gingko leaves swirling around his head.

Each leaf was a tiny masterpiece, some the vibrant hue of freshly squeezed orange juice, others a mellow, buttery yellow, and a few even tinged with a delicate blush of rose. They danced and twirled around Nothy's expressive face, highlighting his kind, obsidian-black eyes and the gentle curve of his smile. His fur, a tapestry of tight, springy curls, seemed to ripple with the movement of the leaves, catching the sun in a thousand tiny gleams.

Nothy let out a soft, contented sigh, a sound like rustling autumn leaves. He was more than just a dinosaur; he was a living, breathing portrait of calm and beauty. The floating gingko leaves were his crown, the gentle breeze his companion, and his curly fur a testament to the unique magic that existed in his ancient, colourful world. He was the Fuzz-o-saurus, the Gingko Guardian, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

Crystal Cake